summary: your hot neighbor comes by to check on you when he hears some unusual sounds coming from your apartment.
warnings: a bit of an awkward reader for the first part but she gets it together :D; smut (at the end and i marked when it starts !) fingering (f rec); one use of y/n; guys i've never actually done any ceramics or pottery so i apologize for my ignorance to anyone who actually knows what they are doing. i tried. :) i also recognize that this isn't very realistic and that you probably wouldn't be doing this with your neighbor u barely know, no matter how hot he is, but you know. fantasy and fanfic and all.
a/n: hey guys!! it has been FOREVER since i posted a fic !! i wrote this today and am kind of impulse posting it lol. i've fallen deep into the matt murdock rabbit hole and i don't think i'll be emerging anytime soon. i hope you enjoy the fic !!
The feeling of wet clay in your fingers has always grounded you. Having converted a corner of your small New York apartment into a space for your hobby, you enjoy going to your pottery wheel and creating to the melodies of your favorite songs. Tonight, you needed the outlet more than ever.
Your mind spins as you shuck off your jacket at the door. You stride to your closet to pull out the t-shirt you always wear when you sit behind the wheel, trying to focus on hurriedly changing your clothes, begging your mind to leave alone the horrifyingly embarrassing interaction you just had.
Minutes before, you had approached your building with your headphones shoved in your ears, so you had failed to hear your neighbor, your hot blind neighbor, calling out to you to hold the door. You only noticed him when the door didnāt close properly due to his body being wedged between it and the frame. Ripping your headphones out of your ears, you apologized profusely, yanking the door open for him to awkwardly shuffle through, holding his cane out in front of him before retracting it to his body.Ā
āI am so sorry! I am so sorry I didnāt hear you,ā you exclaimed, stuttering out an explanation that you hope is sufficient enough to permit his forgiveness. āI didnāt hear you. I had my headphones in. I am so sorry.ā
You clutched your headphones in your hand as you let the door close behind him. If you were not so rattled, you would have taken the time to really look at him. You have never had the pleasure of actually talking to your neighbor. You have only ever caught glimpses of him on the stairwell dressed in suits, very much like the one he was sporting today.
āDonāt worry about it,ā he assured, āI run into more doors than Iād like to admit.ā
At his words, you noticed the easy smile that adorned his features, leading you to believe that he was not really hurt, physically or otherwise. Still unsure as to what to do and still stunned that you were talking to him at all, you just nodded your head.
āBeing blind and all,ā he supplied when you didnāt respond or laugh at his joke, making you realize that you had nodded to a blind man.
āIām so sorry,ā was all you could get out, not specifying what you were apologizing for.
āYou closing the door on me didnāt make me blind,ā he joked, trying to help the awkwardness.
āNo, Iām sorry. I know. I just realized that I had nodded at you and you couldnāt see it. Iām sorry,ā you said, the headphones in your hand digging into your palm, sure to leave an imprint because of how tightly you were clenching your fist.Ā
Your ears burned with embarrassment as heat flashed over your skin. You watched him laugh a little, his shoulders shaking slightly.Ā
āI think you have said sorry more times in the last minute than I have heard in the last month. Donāt feel bad. Iām fine,ā the man said as he began to step forward. āIām Matt, by the way.āĀ
He stretched a hand out for you to shake, but you had forgotten the headphones in your hand, so as you reached out, they clattered to the floor.Ā
You cursed quietly, embarrassing yourself even more, apologizing yet again. You shook his hand quickly, supplying your name before bending down to gather your things at his feet.
āIām beginning to think that you have some sort of complex,ā Matt teased as you stood up, much closer to him than you should be upon first meeting. You were close enough to actually see yourself in the reflection of his glasses and smell the cologne he had on.
āIām sorry,ā you whispered for being so close, taking a step back, wanting nothing in the world other than to dart away and hide in your apartment and hope to forget this whole interaction.
All Matt did was laugh at your apology, set his cane back down on the ground, and begin tapping in front of him.Ā
āIt was nice meeting you,ā he said politely as he found his way to the elevator. āHave a good evening, Y/N.ā
āYou, too, Matt. Sorry again.ā
Your feet were stuck in place as you watched him get on the elevator, chuckling to himself. When you finally came to your senses, you began running up the stairwell, your stomach in your throat as you replayed the entire interaction with your hot neighbor in your head on an extremely embarrassing loop.
ā¦
When Matt made it to his apartment, he stripped himself of his jacket, pulled a beer out of the fridge and sat down. He knows that he shouldnāt invade your privacy, but he was curious about what you were doing. It has been a few weeks since your first encounter at the door, and Mattās curiosity about you has only grown. You have run into each other a handful of times since, but you tend to skirt away before the conversations can get beyond anything simply cordial.
On occasion, he will find your apartment with his ears and listen to the sound of you singing along to your music. There is often an unfamiliar sound coming from your apartment as well, one that he canāt pick out, especially when you have music playing over it. The sound is always a bit wet, so his mind initially thought of something a little more lewd than he should allow himself to think about you.
Matt listens for a moment longer, enjoying the sound of you humming and singing quietly. He was about to let his mind drift away from you until he heard a distinct clatter and a string of curses flow from your lips. He doesnāt hear anything for the next few seconds as he waits to see if you are okay. It feels like hours have passed before he hears you shuffling around your apartment, picking things up off the floor, sighing and muttering as you go. His curiosity gets the better of him, and before he can reconsider, he grabs his cane and walks out the door, intent on knocking on yours.
ā¦
Groaning quietly, you scoop the clay off the floor. You had lost focus and control, leading you to make a mess at your wheel. With your rescued clay in hand, you begin preparing it to be molded again when you hear a knock on the door.
You are not expecting anyone, so you jump a little at the sound. Glancing down at your hands still holding the wet clay in them, you are at a loss at what to do. You shuffle to the door, peaking through the peephole.
At the sight of your neighbor, Matt, you step back and curse to yourself, embarrassed that you look a mess at the moment. He is blind, but you still donāt feel particularly presentable. Another knock at the door snaps you out of your thoughts, and in a bit of a panic, you call out, āCome in!āĀ
The door slowly clicks open and your neighbor peeks his head through before opening it up all the way. Heās wearing slacks and a white dress shirt, tinted glasses covering his eyes, obviously having recently come home from work. You wonder how he could look so good in such a simple outfit, admiring the way his torso tapers down into his hips.
āHi, Matt,ā you breathe, clutching the clay in your hands, realizing that you are dripping a bit in your doorway. āIs everything okay?ā you ask, still confused as to why he is at your door.
āI guess I was coming to ask you that. I was walking by and heard some thuds and wanted to make sure you were okay,ā he smiles, leaning slightly on his cane.
āOh! Yes,ā you rush out. āIām fine. I was just doing some pottery and I, um, my clay kind of flew off the wheel a bit. Would you like to come in for a minute?āĀ
You had asked the question before really considering what that could mean. Without hesitation, Matt agrees and steps through the door with a few taps of his cane.
āYou make pottery,ā he states, a smirk on his face making you feel like there is some joke you arenāt understanding behind his words.Ā
āYeah, I converted a bit of my apartment into a studio for it,ā you say as you start to walk further into your apartment. The clay in your hands starts to weigh heavy as you realize that it is keeping you from leading Matt around. āSorry, let me put my clay down and I can help you to the couch.ā
āDonāt worry about it,ā Matt says, followed by your name. Your heart stutters at the sound of your name on his lips. āI can get around fine. Am I facing the right way at least?ā
Your mind is racing, trying to catch up with what is happening. You thought that your embarrassing first encounter would have turned him off of ever wanting to get to know you, but it doesnāt seem to be deterring him.
āYes, just about four steps in front of you is the back of the couch.ā
You watch him begin to maneuver around the room before coming to your senses and swiftly setting your clay back down on the wheel. When you turn back around, he has settled into the couch and is folding up his cane.
āLet me wash my hands,ā you mumble, striding to the kitchen to scrub the clay off your fingers.
Matt begins making conversation, asking, āHow long have you been making pottery?ā
He is kind to ask, seemingly genuine in his interest. Over the sounds of the faucet you answer, āI took a class in college. Picked it up as a hobby and have been doing it ever since.ā
You can hear him hum as you turn off the sink, drying your hands. Tentatively, you join Matt on the couch, sure to leave a cushion of space between you.
āDo you want something to drink? Beer? Water?ā you offer, standing before he even has time to answer.
āWater would be great, thanks,ā he replies. You notice the way his lips turn up in a smile and his head cocks to the side as he talks, finding it quirky, if not charming.
You take a few deep breaths at the sink, calming your nerves that have your mind in a jumbled mess. Your hot, well-dressed neighbor is sitting on your couch, happily engaging in small talk as you sit in a ratty t-shirt and shorts. āWhat am I doing?ā you quietly ask yourself as you pick up the glasses off the counter and bring them to Matt, waiting patiently on the couch.
When you offer him the glass, he thanks you softly, bringing the rim to his lips. You canāt help but watch intently, your heart picking up its pace at the thought of doing more with those lips than watching them.
āWhat do you do for work, Matt?ā you ask quickly, trying to distract your own mind from your wandering thoughts.
āIām a defense attorney. My friend and I have a firm we started together,ā he says as he puts his glass down on the coffee table. You are impressed that he even knew it was there, but before you can think too long about it, he has asked you the same question.
āIām an English teacher,ā you say between sips. āAt the high school on 76th. Twelfth grade.ā
āAdmirable,ā he laughs. āI hated my English teacher.ā
āEveryone who doesnāt end up studying English hated their high school English teachers,ā you joke. āWhat did they make you read? Grapes of Wrath?āĀ
This only causes Matt to laugh more as he nods, āWorst book Iāve read in my life.ā
āYeah, that one is a tough read,ā you concede. āBut at least itās better than The Odyssey.ā
āWell, youāve got me there,ā he smiles.
You are not exactly sure what Matt had hoped would happen when he knocked on your door, but you are sure it wasnāt to discuss literature.
āIām sorry. I can somehow always bring books into the conversation. Is there something I can do for you, Matt?ā
He shakes his head slightly, smile only growing wider. āNo, I love reading so donāt apologize for talking about it,ā he assures you. āAnd like I said, I was just coming by to make sure you were okay.ā
āRight,ā you breathe, nodding and smiling. āIām fine. Just the clay.ā
The two of you fall into easy conversation for the next hour, getting to know each other. You discovered that you both frequent Josieās, the bar around the corner, surprised that you have never run into each other there. He teases you about your first meeting, calling you out for the plethora of sorries you said.Ā
You enjoy talking to Matt. You find that it is almost effortless to do so. The conversation is seamless and you eventually make your way back to the topic of ceramics where you had started.
āCan I listen while you work?ā he asks you. āI have always wanted to try pottery but never got around to taking a class.ā
Shocked that he is asking to stay longer, and that he is asking with such surety, you agree.Ā
āYes, of course. Youāre welcome to. Would you, um, would you like to try it?āĀ
You glance again at his clothes which are far too nice to be doing pottery in, but you asked the question before you ever considered that.
āCould I? I would love to, if thatās okay,ā he says, looking adorably eager.
āOf course. It is a little bit messy,ā you say, getting up to find some clothes for him to change into. āLet me grab you some sweats or something.ā
Shifting through your drawers, you find a pair of sweatpants big enough for him to wear. You bring them out and find that he has already unbuttoned his shirt, giving you a clear vision of his incredibly toned torso. Your breath catches at the sight, eyes unmoving as he removes the article entirely.Ā
āI found some sweats,ā you mumble, your throat suddenly dry. āI can find a shirt, too.ā
āDonāt worry about it,ā he dismisses, grabbing the sweats from your hands. āI donāt want to get all your clothes dirty.ā
You breathe out a quiet, āOkay,ā before leading him gently to the bathroom to change his pants.
When the door has closed behind him, you let yourself catch your breath, mind going into panic-mode as you comprehend what is about to happen. You are about to teach your hot, blind shirtless neighbor, Matt, how to work with wet clay. How in the world did you get here?
Suddenly, the door is open and Matt is shuffling to the middle of the room, glasses and dress pants removed. You grab his elbow and guide him to the stool in front of the pottery wheel. He sits down, and you let out a quiet breath.
āYou ready?ā you ask, pulling up another stool behind him.
āIām ready,ā he answers as he stretches his hands out to find the clay.Ā
You start the wheel up and guide his hands with your own, reaching around him, one arm going over his bare, sculpted shoulder, the other weaving under it. Your skin tingles as your arm presses into his side, hyper aware of every centimeter of contact. Wet hands push and mold the clay, helping it take shape.
You can hear his breath falling short as you help him cup his hands over the clay. You talk softly, whispering directions and guidance.
āYouāre doing great, Matt. Youāre a natural,ā you praise, causing his breath to hitch.
āI have a good teacher,ā he whispers as his head leans back slightly to direct his comment to your mouth.
When you have a good round shape going, you press his thumb into the center gently, your chest pressing into his back in order to angle his hand correctly. Your heart pounds in your ears, hips shifting on the stool.
āBeautiful,ā you breathe as the clay begins taking the form of a small cup. āYou were perfect.ā
āThank you for teaching me.ā
When your project is complete, you take your hands away from the clay and slow the wheel down until it comes to a stop. You do not move from your position around Matt yet, instead electing to guide his hands to the bowl of water you have beside the wheel. You submerge Mattās large, calloused hands in the water, gliding your fingers over his palms in an effort to loosen the shell of clay forming around them. Your fingers weave through his as you clean them, the feeling of his knuckles catching on yours has a subtle heat surging to your core. You feel the raised scars that litter his hands and wonder who he fought to get them.Ā
Mattās eyes are closed as you work with his hands, your chest still pressed to his back. You hear him whisper your name, drawing your eyes to his. You know he canāt see you, but you feel his attention on you, making your skin flush with heat. He leans in slowly, his nose nudging yours before finding your lips with his own.Ā
The kiss is slow, soft, unsure. Your breath flutters out of your nose as his lips begin to move. The feeling of his beard scratching at your chin causes your stomach to tighten and hands to grip his in the water. His tongue comes to press against your top lip, silently asking for entrance. You grant it as you tilt your head, finding the angle where your lips perfectly slot with his.
āMatt,ā you mumble against his lips, causing him to pull away slightly, ācome with me.ā
You stand up slowly and wrap your hands in a towel, drying Mattās with it as well. He stands up quietly and links his hands in yours, shuffling behind you. You guide him to the bathroom and turn on the spray of water from the shower head.Ā
āIām just going to wash your arms,ā you explain. You know he could wash them himself, but you want to have an excuse to keep touching him. Your heart hasnāt stopped its steady thumping since you sat behind Matt at the wheel, and the pace only quickens when you help him put his beautifully toned forearms under the water.Ā
For being so confident on the surface, Matt is exceptionally quiet. You expected maybe a few more suggestive comments or pick up lines, but instead, Matt has kept silent, only mumbling small thank youās and hums. His eyebrows knit together in what looks to be contentment, almost bliss.Ā
You run your fingers over his arms, fingernails scratching at his skin, rinsing away any remaining clay. When you have finished, you begin washing yourself, and having sensed this, Matt stops your movement and replaces your hands with his own. He quietly glides his palms over your forearms, scratching over your wrists. The tender actions have your breath coming in shallow pants as your eyes flutter closed at the feeling.
āBeautiful,ā Matt whispers, parroting your comment from earlier.
You pull your hands out of the water, turning it off. Mattās hands never leave your body. They slide up your arms and cascade down your waist. His lips find yours again as your wet hands weave their way through his hair. You gently press your hips to his which causes his breath to catch and hitch in a way that has you pressing yourself even further into him.
After a few more kisses, Matt pulls away for a second and removes his hands from your waist to loop them around your wrists.
āNo one has ever been as gentle with me as you have been,ā he says in a voice that is barely audible.Ā
āYou deserve it, Matt,ā you say before leaning in to kiss him again.
(Smut begins here)
The two of you make your way out of the bathroom and back to the couch where your glasses of water were left unfinished. You lay down and guide Matt to the space between your knees. His hips press into yours, your core clenching and burning at the friction. Lips find each other as one ofĀ his hands comes to rest above his head while the other nudges its way beneath your shirt at your hip.
āIs this okay?ā he asks softly, eyes open and gazing unfocused at your collarbones.
āYes,ā you breathe, āmore than okay.ā
At your words of consent, his hips start moving against your core, igniting a fire below your navel. His hands, still damp from the shower, slide up your bare waist, skimming below your breast. You had rid yourself of your bra when you had come home from work, completely unaware that you would be in this position a few hours later. Because of this, Matt has unadulterated access which you are more than happy to grant him.
Your hips roll into his, back arching when his thumb grazes your nipple. He hushes the quiet sigh that escapes you with a kiss, sliding his hand down your back. His lips move behind your ear, down your throat, and over the exposed skin of your collarbone. His hips have not stopped their slow circles, and your own meet him in rhythm.Ā
You can feel your panties becoming soaked by the second, and as if he can read your mind, he pulls you up to straddle his lap, his hand coming to press gently to your core. You gasp at the pressure which elicits a smile and a hum from Matt.
āCan I touch you here?ā he asks quietly.Ā
You nod and whisper, āPlease.ā
āCan I take these off?āĀ
Before he can help you, you stand up and slide your shorts down your legs and climb back in his lap.
āThatās a good girl,ā he says, the words shooting straight to your core. You clench around nothing, your hips rolling in search of friction. Shaky breaths flutter from your lips, and the sound drives Matt crazy.
In one motion, Matt kisses you hard and open mouthed as his fingers push your panties to the side, pressing into your wet core. You suck in a breath at the feeling of his fingers swiping up and down, finding place inside of you. They move in and out, nudging the spot that has you arching and keening in his lap.
āI like listening to you,ā he murmurs into your lips, capturing them in a kiss that has you moaning into his mouth. āYour breaths. Your moans. Let me hear you, sweetheart.ā
His words draw a sigh from your lips, your hands clutching his bare shoulders as his fingers drive in and out of you. Covered in you, they find your pearl, pressing and stroking. It doesnāt take long for the coil in your core to tighten, your eyes to clench, and your hips to roll against his fingers.
āIām so close,ā you mumble, sighing and moaning as you chase your release.
āThatās it,ā Matt says softly. āLet go.ā
At that moment, the pressure in your hips releases and you let yourself come on his fingers, clenching around them as his thumb rubs over your clit. He guides you through it, kissing you as his other hand cradles your head.Ā
āYou were perfect, sweetheart,ā he says, his praise soothing as you come down from your high. Your heart starts slowing its pace as you melt into Matt. He pulls his fingers out and wraps his arms around you, taking you in as you collapse into his form. You sit silently together for a minute while you catch your breath. You listen to his breathing, your face pressed into the crook of his neck.
āMatt,ā you say, at which he hums in acknowledgment. āThanks for coming to check on me.ā
He lets out a laugh that comes out more like a huff. āOf course. Iām glad you were okay.ā
āDo you want to come over again? I could show you how to make a bowl next time.ā
He laughs but does not give an immediate response. For a second you thought that he was going to say no, your body panicking, your heart rate spiking, but before you started overthinking everything, he answers, āI would love to. And Iāll bring dinner next time.ā
a/n: thank you so so much for reading !! check out my masterlist with a few other fics if you want more !!
hej guys !! i'm rachel, and i am so happy that you stopped by my blog !! i hope you find something here that you like. i have taglists for each character and for all my writing, so let me know if you want to be on any of them !!
Ā§ most recent Ā§
lite smut*
updated 11.9.23
matt murdock
Ā§ beautiful*Ā§
loki
a healing touch.
can i join you?
aleksander morozova
don't stop*
bucky barnes
i'm ready *
dr. barnes*
this is my second writing blog that i made after a hiatus, so if you want to check out my old stuff, please do !! here is the link: sweeter-than-strawberries
i'm an avid reader so if you have fic recs, send them my way !!
pair: fbi instructor!professor!bucky barnes x fem!student!reader
word count: ~6.5k
summary: you ask for some advice from your reclusive and very attractive professor.
warnings: teacher student relationship so slight age gap but i had pictured it being less than 10 years, super soft bucky, smut at the end (~1.3k), fingering (f rec) but not super descriptive, crime scene descriptions, descriptions of blood, some christian/religious references at the crime scenes, (let me know if i missed any !!)
a/n: this one held me hostage for weeks. i literally could not stop thinking about it. do i have uni exams this week? yes. but did i spend my time writing this? also yes. i hope you guys like it !!
āExplain the killer. What does he do? What motivates him? How would you catch him? A thousand words printed by the next class. Have a good weekend,ā your professor, Dr. Barnes, announces with a nod, cueing the shuffling of laptops and bags belonging to FBI trainees eager to get home on a Friday afternoon.
You load up your things, your mind still thinking about the brutal crime scene photos shown on the slides of the lecture today that made your stomach turn over. While you know you have chosen to be at the FBI, you canāt help but wonder sometimes what you are doing there. Your degree in psychology and doctorate in criminology has led you to the FBI Academy, but your mind still swirls when the most horrible acts of violence are placed in front of you. You chalk it up to you retaining your humanity and sanity, so you are not exactly upset over the fact. It just makes your job more difficult.
Dr. Barnesā class is always the most brutal, but it is by far the most fascinating class you have. It does help that your professor is the most fascinating part, being very good looking and extremely private. He shares very little personal information, telling you only that he used to work homicide at the police department before beginning teaching. You notice that he does not talk to students often, simply giving his lectures, packing up and leaving after the sea of students flood into the hallways.
You are curious about him, about what he is like when he is not lecturing, and figuring that you have little to lose, you decide to come back after your classes to ask for some help.Ā
ā¦
āDr. Barnes?ā you call out as you step into the lecture hall that is still lit, leaving you to believe that someone is there. You take a few more steps and find your professor sitting at his desk, photos piled around, staring intently at the laptop in front of him. He makes no movement to acknowledge you, his focus completely locked onto his work.
You walk all the way up to his desk, repeating his name which does little to deter him. You reach a hand out and give his shoulder a slight squeeze, causing him to jump in his seat and look up at you, eyes wide.Ā
āSorry, Dr. Barnes. I didnāt mean to scare you.āĀ
At your words, he scans your face, recognition dawning on his features.Ā
āSorry, I didnāt hear you,ā he says quietly, his eyes focusing on the books you are holding in your hands.Ā
āItās okay, Dr. Barnes,ā you assure him.
āIs there something I can do for you?ā he trails off a bit at the end of his question, asking for your name in its absence.
You fill in your name and explain, āI just have a question. Iām writing a paper for another class and was hoping that you could give me some insight on the topic. Iām really just looking for another perspective.ā
āOf course,ā he says as he leans back in his chair. There is not another chair, so you take to sitting on the edge of his desk.
āThe paper is about female serial killers, and I was wondering what you think the most common traits and motives are. We have discussed some examples in class, but I wanted to ask what your experience has been.ā
He thinks for a moment, taking his glasses off and rubbing his eyes. āThey usually work in health care professions. Theyāll, um, they will be married or have been married before. They usually kill to improve their situation, so theyāll target people they know, usually men. But not all women,ā he stops and looks up at you before continuing to explain a case he had while working homicide where they investigated a series of killings that followed the signs of a male killer but ended up being a woman.Ā
Dr. Barnes runs a hand through his hair when he finishes, leaning back in his chair. You canāt help but notice how good he looks in this position and at this angle. His dark hair tousled and glasses twirling between his thumbs, you think about how it would feel to reach out and feel his hair between your fingers. You school yourself, your face becoming hot at the idea. He is your professor, and you would do well to remember that.Ā
You continue the conversation, asking him questions and prodding for more insight. When you figure you have taken up enough of his time, you bow your head a bit and begin getting up from your place on the desk.
āThank you for your help, Dr. Barnes. I really appreciate you taking the time.ā
He nods in acknowledgment, a small smile adorning his lips which you watch perhaps a little too intently as he says. āIt was nothing. Iām glad I could help.ā
You begin walking toward the door of the lecture hall but are stopped by your name being called out.
āWould you actually mind taking a look at these pictures? Iād like to know what you see.ā
You turn back around. The look on his face is one of curiosity. You wonder why he would want to ask you, and part of you wants to believe that it is because he wants you to stay, but you know better.Ā
āSure,ā you shrug, making your way back to his desk. āIām not sure Iāll be of much help, thoughā
āJust take a look. Itās not a test, if thatās what youāre worried about,ā your professor says, standing up to hand you the crime scene photos.
They are gruesome, but you donāt know what else you could have expected with Dr. Barnes. You examine them all the while trying to ignore the way he leans over your shoulder as you fail to concentrate. You are so close that if you took a single step back, you would be flush to him.Ā
Pushing those thoughts away, you focus your attention on the photos, flipping through them, noticing the odd blood splatter near the baseboard that doesnāt have a body laying anywhere near it.Ā
āWhat would make the killer climb on top of the counter to shoot someone, get down, and move the body?ā you think out loud as you turn your head to look at Dr. Barnes. You notice how close your faces are and let out a breath at the discovery. āDominance?ā your voice is more shaky than you wanted it to sound.
āI was hoping you could tell me. My guess is they were waiting there, but it still doesnāt make sense,ā he says, looking past you and to the picture you are holding. You look back down as well, grateful you did not make eye contact, the idea of the intimacy of it alarming.
āIf they were standing on it, that would make sense, but the angle doesnāt really fit. It seems as if they were waiting for them to get home, and they sat, swinging their legs, completely calm and casual about shooting this person,ā you pause, mulling over your words before saying, āMaybe they even knew this person. The proximity to the counter could mean that the victim was comfortable enough to approach them, and that the victim was unaware of what was going to happen.ā
He hums in agreement in your ear, and a feeling of satisfaction washes over you. Turning back around, you hand the photos to your professor and take a step back.Ā
āI think you may be right,ā he says with a nod, a small smile again creeping onto his features. You make eye contact and keep it, somewhat entranced by it.
āIām glad I was able to help,ā you smile. āThanks again, Dr. Barnes. Have a good night.ā
ā¦
You anticipate going back to classes on Monday, knowing that you have to attend Dr. Barnesā lecture. You donāt know if anything will be different after the night you spent talking to your professor. Part of you knows that nothing should be different. While there are only a few years between you, you are still his student.
But part of you wants things to be different. The entire weekend, you could not get out of your head the image of his face so close to yours or the sight of him as he leaned back in his chair, legs casually falling open.Ā
Dr. Barnes is not in the lecture hall when you arrive for which you are grateful. You settle into your seat and wait for the lecture to begin by fiddling with your laptop. When your professor does come in, you notice that he combed his hair today, letting it fall neatly over his forehead. The plaid shirt he wears still doesnāt match his suit, but you find it charming. He slips his glasses on and begins teaching.
The whole lecture you try valiantly to focus on the subject, but you fail rather miserably, unable to think of anything but how you stood right where he is, your back a foot away from his chest with him humming in your ear. It is going to be a long term if this is how every lecture is going to go.
You are brought back to reality when Dr. Barnes makes eye contact with you. He smiles which you quickly reciprocate, then he turns around, gesturing to the screen before anyone notices.
It is definitely going to be a long semester.
ā¦
Weeks go on with you and Dr. Barnes smiling at each other from afar, both of you knowing that you would be playing with fire if you do anything more than smile. But the longer you go simply smiling, the more you want to do something about it.
And one day, he does something about it. On your way out of the lecture hall, Dr. Barnes stops you, calling out your name. You walk over, anticipation coiling in your stomach.
āIāve another case Iād like your opinion on. Do you have time tonight to take a look?ā he asks you quietly so as to not draw the attention of the students still exiting the room.
āYes. Here at 7:30?ā
He nods, making a flash of eye contact which you return with a smile.Ā
ā¦
You make your way to Dr. Barnesā lecture hall, your stomach roiling with nerves. You have thought too much about him, fantasized a little often for you to not think about it when you talk to him. The soles of your shoes click on the tile as you walk the hallway. You take a deep breath and open the door.
Dr. Barnes is reclined behind his desk, crime scene photos in his hand as he flips through them intently. At your entrance, his head flicks up to find your figure approaching his desk.
āHey, thanks for coming,ā he says as he stands up.Ā
āHi, yeah. Itās ā yeah itās no problem, Dr. Barnes,ā you manage to get out, tripping over your words more than you would have liked. Another deep breath to collect yourself. āWhat can I do to help?ā
He leans against the front of his desk and reaches behind him to grab the photos he was examining before. You take a few steps closer to grab them from his outstretched hand.
āA recent set of murders. Itās odd to say the least,ā he starts, watching you intently as you study the photos.Ā
The scene is horrifying, blood smeared across the walls, not as blood spray or splatter, but in an image. A lamb. Your mind spins as you look through more of the pictures, each of them showing blood splashed on the walls. You wonder what the killer did in order to get that much blood. There is too much for it to have come from just one body.
āHow many people were found dead?ā
āOnly one,ā he answers, leaning in to help you find the image of the body heaped over the table. You canāt help but notice everywhere his body touches yours, how his breath flutters against your neck, but you cast those thoughts away to focus on the case at hand.
āThere had to have been more. Thereās too much blood,ā you mumble as you cart through the images again, counting as you go. A beat passes as you take in the scene, contemplating before constructing ideas.
āWhat do you see?ā
āIn ancient religious practices, a lamb would be sacrificed and the blood would be sprinkled around seven times. There are seven places where the blood was thrown on the wall,ā you pause to show him each one. You glance up at your professor who is looking on intently, urging you to continue. āThen you have the body placed on the table. It could be sacrificial. The lamb was supposed to be perfect. Without blemish. Maybe ā maybe the killer saw this person as their perfect ā their perfect lamb, as someone who would put them in favor with God. The sacrificial lamb is sacramental. Symbolic. Messianic. Itās an act of repentance. So what was the killer repenting from?ā
A hum from Dr. Barnes pulls you out of your reverie and breaks your focus from the crime scene photos. You lean around his form to place the pictures back on his desk, your shoulder brushing against his arm. His eyes follow you before he brings a hand up to rub his eyes, almost like he is physically rubbing away the images.
āDo you think the killer knew the victim?ā he asks quietly, bringing his hands down to meet your eyes.
āI think they could be family. Family or close friends. They were their savior,ā you answer, matching his tone.
Dr. Barnes nods in agreement and in that moment, you can see that he looks like a man who is carrying the world on his shoulders. He slouches forward slightly, his hair strewn around his ears with bags under his eyes. It takes everything in you to not reach out a hand to touch his cheek, to rub a thumb across his lips as you have in your dreams.
Appalled by your own thoughts, you take a step back to give yourself space to halt that train of thought. The movement makes him stand, subconsciously trying to keep the close proximity between you. You donāt break eye contact, making the moment intimate. Intense.
āThis case has been keeping me up at night,ā he confesses as he brings a hand to run through his hair with a sigh, breaking eye contact. āI wonder where the other bodies are. I canāt seem to get my mind around it.āĀ
āIām sure youāll figure it out,ā you say in nearly a whisper. āYouāre good at what you do.ā
āThank you for your help. Itās some really great insight you had.ā
āItās no problem, Dr. Barnes.ā
āBucky,ā he says quickly, rushing it out like he knows he shouldnāt let it pass his lips.
āBucky,ā you repeat, trying the name out on your tongue.Ā
You then fall into easy conversation, learning more about each other. You discover that Bucky has a PhD in criminology as well, and that he used to be a field agent but decided to leave it to become a teacher at the academy. Part of you wants to ask why, but you figure that it isnāt a conversation he wants to have while still getting to know you. He asks about your life, your family, your education. He is interested in why and how you landed at the academy. You answer him honestly, not inclined to hide away as you normally do when people ask those questions.
Bucky is surprisingly sociable. Based on his reclusiveness when it comes to students, you were not expecting to hold such easy and fun conversation. It makes you want to spend the whole night chatting, joking, exploring. But you know you should not stay.Ā
When the conversation lulls, you glance at your watch and ask, āIs there anything else I can do for you, Bucky? I think I might head home.ā
Before you can even register what is happening, he takes a singular step forward and leans in to meet his lips to yours. In shock, you stand limply, not sure how to respond. You canāt deny that you have thought about this moment for weeks, dreaming about it, imagining what it would be like to kiss him. Bucky. But you hadnāt expected it to happen tonight.
And before you have time to respond, he pulls away, opening his eyes to look at you with wide ones of his own.
āIām sorry, Iāā
You donāt acknowledge his apology, instead leaning in to kiss him again, only you are prepared for it this time. He responds immediately as his lips move slowly over yours, testing the waters. Your hands are still by your sides, but his come to settle in your hair and over your arm. His kisses are controlled and soft, not pressing for more than what you are willing to give. A sigh flutters from your nose which ghosts over his cheeks.
Breaking away for a second, you open your eyes and find his already looking at you. The both of you know that you are playing with fire. You are still his student, and he is your professor, but the feeling of his lips on yours overrules any rational thought at the moment.
You give a slight nod and he takes that as a green light to kiss you again. Bucky pulls you closer, and your hands find their way around his torso, snaking up into his hair. It is his turn to sigh at the action which causes satisfaction to roll down your back in waves that has you leaning further into the kiss, opening your mouth ever so slightly. He takes advantage and kisses you deeper. A soft moan escapes you at the feeling, followed by a shaky breath.
He pulls away, a triumphant smile playing at his mouth.Ā
āIām not sorry,ā he whispers.
āMe neither.ā
He kisses you once more, chaste and short, but it carries more meaning than any of the other kisses. It tells you that he has thought about this, too. It wasnāt a spur of the moment, impulsive decision. And it tells you that he plans on doing it again.
ā¦
You settle into a routine with Bucky. After class on Fridays, he stops you on your way out and quietly asks you to come back to look over a case or his lectures. You always nod and come back at 7:30.Ā
The unspoken truth of the need for secrecy looms over your blooming relationship, but you are almost spurred on by the illicitness of it all. You havenāt done anything more than kiss. You havenāt even interacted beyond the walls of the lecture hall. You both know that it is safest that way.Ā
The more time you spend together, the more you find yourself falling in love with Bucky. His quirks make you smile. The way he perks up when you walk through the door makes your heart flutter in your chest. You have never felt so valued by anyone before. He trusts your opinions. He respects your honesty. You admire his dedication to what he does. You find his quiet nature calming.Ā
The list of things you love about Bucky keeps you up at night as you replay scenes of kissing at his desk behind your eyes as you fall asleep. Bucky kisses you like you are ice cream on a sunny day, slow and hungry like he savors every second of your mouth on his. He never presses you for more, only going so far as to set you up on his desk, pulling your hips to his, allowing you to wrap your legs around him as you wind your fingers in his hair. He always sighs when you tug at it which gives you the opportunity to kiss at his neck, your chin always getting scratched by his stubble.Ā
You love the routine. However, it makes it hard to concentrate during the lectures since all you can think about when you look at his desk is how good his hands felt on your hips and how his lips were pressed to yours when you were propped up on the wood yourself.
The semester continues on following your routine. If anyone suspects anything, they donāt say. You canāt imagine that someone hasnāt picked up on the soft smiles he sends your direction during lectures, and stragglers leaving class late on Fridays must hear his whispers for you to come back.Ā
Steadily approaching the end of the term, you begin to question how long your routine will continue. You will no longer be Buckyās student. Could you actually date? Would he want to? Is that what you want?
ā¦
The familiar tug of nerves settles in the pit of your stomach as you walk to class with Bucky ā Dr. Barnes if you were still professional, but you figure that his lips have kissed you a few too many times and in a few too many places for you to call him that. It is your last class in his lecture hall, meaning that beyond today, you are free to make a decision as to whether this is serious or not.
In your heart of hearts, you want this to keep going. You love how you feel around Bucky. While you have not said it out loud, you love him. You feel yourself aching to hear him say it, too.Ā
When you arrive in the room, Bucky is already there, nervously flipping through crime scene photos while running his hands through his hair, creating a rather haphazard mess on his head. He looks more anxious than usual, and it takes everything in you to not to stride to his desk and ask him whatās wrong.Ā
Instead, you brush past him, trailing a quick hand over his arm, hoping that it has a calming effect over him. His eyes flash to yours as you cast a look over your shoulder, smiling at him. He sends you a tight lipped smile back as his shoulders shrug down from their place beside his ears.Ā
From your seat, you watch Bucky pace around a bit, obviously concerned about something. You rub your palms over your thighs when you discover them clenched in worry. You wonder if his stress has anything to do with the reason you were nervous coming to class today ā the talk you know is coming tonight. You figure it does when his eyes glance over at you every few minutes before beginning the lecture.
You find yourself becoming sentimental about the semester as you look around the room, taking in the feeling for the last time. If you and Bucky do decide to continue your relationship, you can never take one of his classes again. If you donāt continue to see Bucky, you doubt you will want to take one of his classes again. You will miss his funny side comments that come out of left field. You will miss his mismatched suits and disheveled hair.Ā
The sound of Bucky announcing the end of class breaks you out of your thoughts, and the shuffling of backpacks and feet brings you back to reality. A stream of students thank Bucky as they flow out of the classroom for the final time. You stall a minute, waiting for the throng to exit out the doors before approaching your professor.
āHey, Bucky,ā you say quietly, clutching your laptop to your chest.Ā
āHey.ā
You watch him lean against his desk, hands pressed to the edge of the wood.Ā
āHow are you doing?ā you ask the question that has been waiting to erupt since you entered the lecture hall an hour previous. āYou seem nervous.ā
A chuckle that comes out more as a sigh escapes him. āYeah. Iām fine. I, uh, I just didnāt get much sleep last night. How areā¦how are you?ā
āWistfully contemplating the end of my time in your class,ā you reply playfully, hoping that the happy tone will hide the melancholy you really feel about the idea.
This elicits a laugh from Bucky as he looks at you through his lashes ā a look that always has your knees threatening to come out from under you. You take steps closer and set your laptop down on his desk, then place your hands on his shoulders, running them down his arms to settle in his hands.
āDo you want to get dinner with me tonight?ā you ask, the words barely more than a whisper. You want to catch them in the air, afraid that your proposal to disrupt the routine will be rejected.
But Bucky smiles immediately, thinking for a moment before saying, āWhy donāt I cook dinner?ā
Your stomach flutters at the thought of watching him in the kitchen. You nod in response.
ā7:30?ā
ā7:30,ā you repeat before letting go of his hands to walk out the doors, throwing a smile over your shoulder as you go.
ā¦
The drive to Buckyās house is quiet but comfortable. About halfway through the trip, your hands link together, resting on your thigh. You talk lazily, asking questions about each othersā days since your morning lecture. There is something so calming about Bucky. You trust him. You love him.
Every once in a while, your eyes flick over to watch him drive, eyes intently focused on the road ahead. He can feel your gaze, so he sends a glance over to you with a soft smile playing on his lips.Ā
āWhat?ā he asks when you donāt shy away from his eyes.
āNothing, Buck. I just like being with you.ā
āI do, too.ā
The sweetness of his simple confession does more to your confidence than you ever thought possible. You feel comfortable around Bucky. You need only be yourself when you are with him, and hearing that same sentiment from him gives you hope that he wants this to continue just as much as you do.
You squeeze his hand, at which he laughs softly, squeezing yours back, brushing his thumb over the knuckles on the back of your hand.
Gravel crunching under tires and the faint sound of dogs barking indicates that you have arrived at your destination. You open the car door and follow Bucky to the front steps of a small house on the edge of town. A large open field is situated behind his house, neighbors nonexistent. Given Buckyās personality, you are not surprised to discover that he lives alone, away from people, away from the city.Ā
A flash of nervousness pricks at your mind, as no one would be around if Bucky shows you that isnāt the guy you think he is. But you trust him, and you trust him enough to accept your fate if it does prove to be your downfall.
The door creaks open, and Bucky flicks on the light. Two big dogs come bounding to greet you both, circling his feet until he crouches down to give them the attention they are begging for. To see Bucky with his dogs makes your mind go fuzzy and warm, the tenderness of the scene eradicating your doubts from before.
āCharlie and Duke,ā Bucky says, showing you which dog belongs to which name, rubbing each of them affectionately before standing and grabbing your hand.
āTheyāre adorable.ā
āTheyāre good dogs.ā
He leans in for a quick kiss, the domesticity of it causing your breath to catch in your throat. He pulls away smiling, then tugs you into the kitchen where he drags a chair out from the table for you to sit on.
āSit,ā Bucky says with mirth in his voice.
You laugh but do as you are told.Ā
āI was thinking of making steaks. Is that okay with you?ā
āSounds great.ā
You watch Bucky make his way around the kitchen, obviously having done this a lot. He looks comfortable. He catches you staring, meeting your gaze head on, an easy smile adorning his mouth before asking, āWhat are you smiling at?ā
āYou. I like seeing you here,ā you say quietly.Ā
āNot as much as I like seeing you sit at my table. Iāve thought about this a lot,ā he admits with his back to you as he throws the steaks in the pan. āI like being around you. Iām more comfortable with you than anyone else. You make me feel ā you make me feel normal. Most people donāt do that. They donāt ā they donāt want to understand me. My old friends can only think about who I was before I quit the force. They donāt ā they donāt want to like who I am now.ā
The words spill out of Bucky before he can stop them, opening up to you in a way that he has not before. He has let you in here and there over the months you have been spending together in the lecture hall, but he has stayed rather private even then. Not sure what to say in response, you simply move from your place at the table to stand behind him, wrapping your arms around his torso, resting your cheek on his back. You can feel him relax into your touch, and it is a comfort to you both.
āBucky, I think I am in love with you,ā you whisper into his shirt. His body tenses, the sizzling of the meat in the pan filling the silence. Your heart pounds in your chest as you wait for him to say something. Burying your face further into him, disappointment and embarrassment creeping in your stomach, settling heavily when he doesnāt say anything. When a minute that feels like an eternity passes in silence, you mutter a quiet, āIām sorry.āĀ
You let go of Bucky and take a step back. He quickly takes the pan off the heat and whips around to face you, pulling you back to him, whispering your name.Ā
āI love you,ā the words are sure and confident coming from his lips. āI know I do.ā
He looks at you intently, not shying away from your eyes before leaning in and kissing you softly. You get lost in his kisses, the pounding of your heart racing at a steady quick beat. Bucky backs you into the counter where he cages you with his hands as you weave one of your hands into his hair, the other running up his spine.
āStay the night,ā he mumbles between kisses.
You pull away and nod, meeting his eyes again, kissing him once without breaking the contact.
ā¦
Settling on his couch after laughing yourselves silly over the dinner table, Bucky is close behind you with bowls of ice cream in hand. He hands you a spoon before sitting down right beside you, pulling your legs to stretch over his lap. He runs a hand absentmindedly over your shins as the two of you eat your ice cream.Ā
āWhy did you come talk to me that night?,ā he asks between spoonfuls. āYou didnāt really need my help. You knew everything I was telling you.ā
You smile like a child caught with their hand in the cookie jar. āI did need your help,ā you assert before admitting, ābut I also just wanted an excuse to talk to you.ā
The sound of his laugh makes your heart flutter the same way it does when he looks up at you from behind his desk.Ā
āHey, not all my professors are attractive recluses who deserve a starring role in my nightly fantasies.ā
āOh, so you fantasize about me,ā he presses, the smirk on his face unlike any expression you have ever seen on him. He looks smug, proud, teasing. It makes heat flash to your core.
You hum but it comes out more as a squeak, your focus turning intently on the ice cream melting in your bowl.
āDo you want to know what Iāve fantasized about you?ā Bucky asks lowly, grabbing the bowl from your hands, causing your eyes to lift to his. You watch him set it on the floor. Your heart begins pounding again as he moves to climb over you, settling between your open legs.
āWhat have you fantasized about, Bucky?ā you ask quietly, voice shaky.
You take a breath when he leans in, capturing your lips in a soft kiss. You open your mouth to deepen it, and he takes advantage, his tongue pressing to your upper lip. The feeling has your hips rolling and sighs falling from your throat.
He pulls away to murmur into your neck, āEvery time I would sit on my couch, I thought about laying you down and kissing you until you canāt remember your own name.ā
Your eyes are screwed shut as you tug at his hair, his words forming pools of heat between your hips where his own apply pressure. Your words fail you, only a whimper escaping you. His lips move along your neck, working their way back to your mouth, giving due attention to the places on the way that have you squirming beneath him. You hands tug at his shirt to slip your fingers beneath the fabric, skimming up his back, scratching lightly.
His kisses become feverish at the feeling of your nails down his back. One hand hooks your knee to pull your form even closer to his, hips slipping into place. You can feel yourself becoming wetter by the second, the slow circling of his hips against yours creating friction that has you moaning.
In one swift motion, his hands are gliding up your sides, taking your shirt with you. You lean up to help him before settling back down against the pillows. He sits on his heels to take his own shirt off which allows you to see him in the faint light casted by the lamp in the corner.
You notice a shining scar that extends from one hip to the other below his navel. Fingertips reach out to touch it, barely making contact before his own hand stills your movements.Ā
āIs this why you quit the force?ā you ask barely above a whisper.
He only nods, his feelings of vulnerability silencing him. You arenāt disgusted by it. It doesnāt change how you see him. You donāt pity him. You are simply curious. And amazed at his strength. He survived whatever left him this scar.
āCan I see it?ā
Bucky takes a fluttering breath through his nose then nods again. You climb to the floor, resting on your knees between his legs. You glance up at him and see his head lolling to the side as he looks down at you, eyes hazy and soft. His eyebrows are scrunched, letting you know that he is concentrated, but the dam of secrecy surrounding Bucky is breaking with every passing second.
Tentatively, you stretch a hand forward, your fingertips grazing the scar. His stomach flexes beneath your touch.Ā
No one has seen his scar since the doctor sewed him back up. He has a fear of pity. He knows that people wonāt see him the same when they see the effects of what happened to him ā of what was done to him. But he doesnāt see pity in your eyes. He sees awe and amazement.Ā
Without warning, you press your lips to his stomach, the intimacy of it rendering his mind blank. You hear him swear quietly which urges you to keep going. You kiss all along the scar, his hips, then upwards before you climb into his lap. You find his lips again and kiss slowly, surely, passionately.
āI love you, Bucky.ā
āI love you, too.ā
You share a few more kisses before he stands up, pulling you with him to his room. He fumbles through his dressers to find a shirt and pair of shorts for you to wear. He hands them to you, then rummages through the bathroom cabinets to find a new toothbrush for you to use.
You thank him after he says that he will meet you back at the bed. The calm and comfort of being with Bucky is undeniable. The domesticity of the night has your heart skipping beats. You quickly change and brush your teeth before making your way to his bed. Noticing books stacked on the nightstand on one side, you slip under the covers of the other, sighing contently when you settle in.
Bucky comes in a moment later with only sweatpants hanging low on his hips. He decided to not put a shirt back on, relishing in the freedom that being with you gives him. He doesnāt climb into bed immediately, but rather stands and looks at you for a moment, curled up in his sheets.
āWhat have you fantasized about here?ā you ask teasingly, but your voice comes out thinner than you had intended.Ā
At your words, his tongue darts out to lick his lips. He approaches the bed slowly, kneeling down beside you.Ā
āI want to know yours,ā he says, his voice husky and low. You bite your lip, your eyes widening. A shaky inhale.
Soft kisses line the inside of your knee, trailing a path up your thighs. You let out a hitched moan when he places a kiss to your clothed core, your hands winding themselves in his hair. You tug slightly, inviting him to come up to the bed with you.
When he climbs up, you lean back, your shirt riding up over your stomach. Wordlessly, you pull his hands to your body, his calloused palms caressing the exposed skin. He runs his thumbs under your breasts, causing you to arch into his touch. Bucky canāt believe that you respond to him so keenly. He barely touches you and you are curving beneath him, aching for more.Ā
His lips find your neck, behind your ear, sucking gently. Your hands pull his hips to yours, rocking steadily into him. You suck in a breath, gathering the courage to grab one of his hands to lead it to where you want to feel him the most.
Bucky follows your lead without resistance, kissing you softly in an expression of consent. He helps you pull your shorts off, then presses two fingers to the wet patch on your panties. The pressure has your hips jutting into his touch, overwhelmed by the sensation when his fingers push the fabric to the side.
Your hips move in circles with his movements, his lips kissing you through it all. Moans slip and tumble from your mouth, leaving you hiccupping in pleasure. The cords in your stomach begin snapping when he speeds up his ministrations, your body contracting through your release.
āYou did so good, sweetheart,ā he whispers to you as he helps you come down from your high.Ā
Your eyes are crimped shut, but after a momentās respite and a few encouraging kisses from Bucky, you come back to yourself. You open your eyes to find him watching you intently. You smile lazily then breathe, āYour turn.ā
a/n: yayayay !! thanks for reading this !! let me know if you want to be on my taglist :):) and here is my masterlist if you want to check out my other work !
summary: loki takes really good care of you on your period :')
warnings: nudity but nothing graphic! mentions of periods and period blood, ooc!loki honestly because i wanted him to be mega soft and sweet
a/n: hey guys! i wrote this a minute ago and am impulsively posting it because i am too tired to proofread it lol. it is just super self indulgent and everything i needed today so i hope it is what you need today :)
Your day had been plagued with one unfortunate event after the other, the crowning jewel of the ugly tiara you wore being the surprise arrival of your period. You didnāt expect it for another week, and it struck with a vengeance, worse than you have experienced in years. Wanting to simply crawl in bed with your favorite book, you manage to make it through the day and to the rest you ached for.
Curled up in a ball with the lights low and book in hand, you hear footsteps and a knock on the door. You call out, āCome in!ā not wanting to remove yourself from the comfortable position you finally found. The door clicks open and you throw a glance over your shoulder when the footsteps near the bed.
āHey, love,ā Loki says softly, swiftly moving to lay on his side in the empty space beside you.
You hum and smile, happy that he decided to stop by your apartment. āHey,ā you whisper back, sighing as he reaches over to stroke your cheek, obviously sensing that you are not feeling well.
āHow was your day?ā he asks, already knowing the answer.
āNot the best, but thatās okay. Thereās always tomorrow, right?ā
You find yourself often trying to hide yourself from Loki, not wanting to burden him with your mortal trivialities. He has never given you a reason to think that he does not want to hear about them, but you canāt help but feel that he would not be interested.Ā
At your words, he eyes you suspiciously, sensing rather acutely that you are downplaying your struggles, and asks āWhat happened?ā
āThings were just not going my way today, thatās all. And I donāt feel very good. I,ā you paused, considering telling him why. You figure that he is thousands of years old, so he is not unaware of the condition, so you finish your sentence. āI started my period.ā
He sighs in sympathy, reaching out again to stroke your side.Ā
āIs there anything I can do to help you feel better?ā he asks, continuing to run soothing fingers over your hip, slipping his fingers under your shirt to skim over your stomach. āHave you showered yet? That might help.ā
You shake your head as your eyes fall closed at the feeling of his cool knuckles brushing below your navel. He leans in to kiss you softly as he continues to massage your stomach gently before pulling away and grabbing the book from your hands. āCome on,ā he says, linking his fingers in yours, tugging you off of the bed and into the bathroom.Ā
āCan I join you?ā his voice comes out more tender than you have ever heard it. All the bite in his voice seeps away when he talks to you, a low and gentle tone replacing it.
You consider his words. It wonāt be the first time he has seen you naked, but you feel gross and bloated. But, you think about his fingers in your hair, massaging your body as the warm water patters over your shoulders which outweighs your thoughts of apprehension.
āPlease,ā you nod.
Loki smiles at your response and begins helping you get undressed. Grabbing the hem of your shirt, he pulls it over your head, dropping it to the floor beside you. Nothing about this feels sexual, but everything about this feels intimate. He is not rushed at all, seemingly enjoying comforting you in the best way he knows how at the moment. He helps you unhook your bra as you start shimmying out of the pajama pants you had thrown on as soon as you stepped through the door of your apartment.Ā
You move to turn on the water in the shower, leaving your panties on until you are ready to hop in, not keen on having blood drip down your legs and over the floor in front of your boyfriend. You can hear him removing his own clothing behind you. When he finishes, he hugs you from behind, tucking his nose into the crook of your neck as you wait for the water to heat up. With every touch, he can feel you relax into him.
When you deem the water ready, you slip out of your panties and into the spray of the water, Loki trailing in behind you. You moan at the feeling of the warm water hitting your skin, and you can hear Loki chuckle at the sound. Cheeks heating, you turn to have your back to him, facing the shower of water.Ā
āSorry, love. Iām not laughing at you,ā Loki says as he reaches for the shampoo, āI love seeing you happy and feeling better.ā
With shampoo lathered between his palms, he reaches into your hair, massaging his way over your scalp, fingernails scratching every so slightly. Another moan falls from your lips at the sensation. You whisper his name, almost reverently, your mind thinking of nothing but the feeling of his hands on you. He guides you to turn around and rinse out your hair under the water, his hands helping the suds rinse out. Your hands find his torso, your grasp on him rooting you to reality.
Loki continues to gently and carefully wash your hair before grabbing the bar of soap, lathering it between his hands. His hands glide over your back, tracing your spine to the small of your back, massaging there for a moment. You brace yourself against the wall of the shower, your head falling against the tile. His hands push their way over your shoulders and down your arms before tugging you to turn around. He lathers more soap in his palms and smooths his hands over your chest, thumbs flicking over your sensitive breasts, causing you to arch into him ever so slightly.Ā
At this, he leans in for a chaste kiss, pouring his tenderness into it, expressing how much he loves you in such a simple action. Loki breaks away to kneel in front of you, placing a soft kiss to your hip, skimming his palms over your stomach. He lathers more soap then sweeps his hands down your legs, rinsing away the pink trails on the inside of your thighs.Ā
You marvel at his willingness to take care of you so keenly, not bothered by the blood, by the way your body has changed because of your period, or your lack of desire for intimacy in the way you normally express it. He seems completely content in attending to you without any hint of want of anything in return.
When he is finished, he stands again, finding your lips, enjoying the sigh you let out when he does. You weave your hands into his hair, intending to do the same thing to him what he just did to you. Loki, suspecting this, stills your hands with his own, whispering, āItās okay. This was just for you. Letās get out and get you back in bed.ā
His words cause tears to well in your eyes, his tenderness and your hormones getting the better of your emotions. He kisses your cheek then steps out of the shower, reaching for the towels in the cupboard.Ā
āLoki, I forgot to get a new set of underwear,ā you say as he wraps you up in the towel. āI donāt want to drip on the carpet.ā
āOf course, sweetheart,ā he says before padding away to fetch you clean panties. He returns with your most comfortable pair and fresh pajamas, practically reading your mind.
āHow did you know this is my period pair?ā you ask with a laugh in your voice, holding up the underwear, too comfortable at this point to care about sounding ridiculous. He did just spend the last twenty minutes tenderly attending to you in the shower, so you think that you have unlocked a new level in your relationship.
āI pay attention, you know,ā he replies slyly, āIāll let you finish up.ā With that he leaves the bathroom, closing the door. You sigh, already feeling leagues better than you did an hour ago. You wonder how you are so lucky as to be allowed to see this side of Loki which is so gentle, kind, and attentive.Ā
When you are ready, you go to lay back down in bed, finding Loki already dressed and waiting for you beneath the covers. You tuck yourself into his side and wrap around his torso, hooking a leg over his.Ā
āThank you,ā you whisper into his neck.
āYouāre welcome, love. Anything for youā Loki hums, pulling you closer while reaching to grab your favorite book from your nightstand. He flips it open to the bookmarked page, and begins reading aloud. You close your eyes, enjoying the sound of his voice, and before long, you are fast asleep in his arms.Ā
a/n: thanks so much for reading! let me know if you want to be added to the taglist!!
summary: bucky proposes to you after realizing that he loves you a lot more than he realized.
warnings: mentions of nightmares, some light smut at the end but nothing crazy, soft bucky so he is just a shy mess.
a/n: this was all i could think about for a week straight lol. there isn't a specific time this was set in the mcu but i don't know if it matters. this was inspired by the song i'm ready by adam melchor. i hope you like it !!
A quick, jolted breath draws you out of your sleep. You roll over beneath the sheets to find Bucky, sweating and panting beside you, a nightmare startling him upright. Having become accustomed to the frequent nights of disturbed sleep, you donāt panic but rather try to be the lighthouse that calls him back from the storm.Ā
āHey Buck,ā you mumble, sleep making your words wispy. Your boyfriendās back is to you, sweat dripping down his neck, darkening his gray t-shirt. With gentle hands, you help him pull his shirt up over his head. He doesnāt say anything, but you can hear his breaths beginning to even out, telling you that he is finding his way back to his own mind and into the real world.
You run your hands slowly over his flushed skin, up his spine, softly pulling him by the shoulders to lay down beside you. He settles down with the sheets pooling at his hips. His skin is hot to the touch, but you donāt mind, tucking your head into his neck, pressing a kiss to the skin there before resting your cheek on his chest. You curl up against his body, one hand reaching around to run a soothing palm over his side. He sighs quietly at the sensation, and before long, you are fast asleep with your whole body wrapped around him.Ā
Bucky looks down at you to take in the sight of the person who anchors him to the world pressed to him, pinning him to the sand. The feeling of your breath fluttering against his chest has his heart clenching, gratitude and love finding their place within him. He closes his eyes and lets the sound of your steady breathing lull him back to sleep.
...
The two of you settle into the back booth of the bar with your drinks in hand. You let Bucky take the seat that allows him to look out the door, knowing how anxious he can get when he feels trapped.Ā
āHow was work?ā you ask, taking a sip of your drink.
āAs thrilling as ever,ā he replies sarcastically with a little huff of laughter. You know that he enjoys teaching at the compound, but you also know that part of him misses doing field work.Ā
āWhat defense tactics did you talk about today?ā
He clears his throat and scrunches his eyebrows the way he does when heās uncomfortable, boring a hole in the table with his eyes.
āNevermind,ā you say gently, deciding to change the subject. Bucky glances up at you from beneath his eyelashes. That look from him always makes your breath catch and think about how lucky you are to have him. You link your hands together over the table and enjoy the feeling of his thumb brushing over your knuckles, drawing circles around them.
The conversation shifts and before long, you are discussing what movie you will watch tonight. You talk, letting topics flow together, not sure when one subject ends and the other begins. You always get lost when you talk to Bucky because his metaphors keep you deciphering his words until you are three sentences behind and unsure where he is going with his train of thought.
It doesnāt bother you. It is something you love about him. You love how smart he is but how unwilling he is to laud it over you. You love how much he cares for people. He is so perceptive and sees them in ways that only he can. And while it has caused him a great deal of grief, you love that he doesnāt keep that from stopping him helping others. You get lost in your own thoughts, thinking over all the things you admire about the man sitting in front of you.
āWhere did you go?ā Bucky asks with a squeeze of his hand, breaking you out of your romantic reverie.
You shake your head, breathing out a quiet, āSorry. Just got lost in thought.ā
He smiles at your words, understanding better than most what that is like. āThatās okay. I wasnāt talking about anything interesting anyway.ā
The conversation lulls and you sit in a comfortable silence, listening to the soft music coming from the speakers and the conversations of the people at the bar behind you. Bucky stares at your interlocked hands, his ring finger rubbing intently over your own. You hear your name fall from his lips, and you look up at him and find his eyes.
In a sudden jolt of nervousness, Bucky pulls his hand away and knocks his drink over the table. You gasp quietly and reach for the napkins. The two of you start dabbing up the mess, laughing softly.
āSorry,ā he whispers, his demeanor becoming very shy and reserved.
āItās fine, Bucky. You know how much of a klutz I am. Donāt act like I didnāt do this last week.ā
āI love you,ā he says quietly, the words tumbling almost clumsily out of his mouth, despite having said them to you a hundred times before.
āI love you, too, Bucky.ā
āWill you marry me?ā the question comes out so hushed that you are sure you didnāt hear him right. His eyes flash to yours, looking through his lashes. āI love you, and I,ā he pauses, āI think that,ā a deep breath, āI think that I want to spend the rest of my life with you. You see me like no one else does.ā
You nod, a grin breaking out on your face. āBucky,ā you breathe, āI would love to. I love you.ā
You reach out to grab his hand, noticing that his drink is still dripping off the table into his lap. You stand up from your seat, and a confused look flashes across his eyes before understanding dawns on him. You slide in next to him, grabbing a few more napkins and press them onto his lap as you lean in to kiss him softly.Ā
āLetās get you home and clean you up.ā
A blush spreads across his cheeks as you tug him out of the corner booth with you and out of the bar into the cool night air.
...
āWhat made you want to ask me tonight?ā you ask quietly as you set the keys in the bowl by the door, having thought about the question the whole ride home from the bar.
āI realized that I was ready. I had played out the conversation hundreds of times in my mind, and you said yes in some of them. I decided that it would be worth asking,ā he explained rather matter-of-factly, leaving little room for you to question his reasoning. Nor did you need to. You love Bucky Barnes, maybe a little too much for your own good.Ā
āIām glad you asked,ā you whisper, taking a step towards him as he sheds his jacket from his shoulders. āI have been doodling Mrs. Barnes in my notebooks for months.ā
At this he laughs and reaches to cradle your head in his hand, whispering your name with his last name behind it. He smiles, not breaking eye contact before leaning in to kiss you. Your eyes flutter closed as his other hand snakes around you, pressing into your lower back, pulling your hips to his. His fingers skim the skin underneath your sweater, eliciting a sigh to fall from your lips which he swallows in a deep kiss.
Your hands make their way to his hair, tugging gently, enjoying the heave of his chest as you do so. Licking into his mouth, your kisses are languid and slow. He kisses you back, just as sweetly, but there is an edge of urgency you can feel bursting at his seams. You pull away to look at him, relishing in the fact that kissing you leaves him panting like a puppy, eyes half-lidded with want for more.
Linking your fingers in his, you pull him to your bedroom, and he quietly follows you, self-control waning in every footstep. When you turn back to him, his hands are tugging at the hem of your sweater, pulling it up over your head. Bucky finds your lips again, pressing his palms to your sides, gripping your hips. You feel him guiding you to the bed, urging you to lie down before breaking away to undo the buttons of his own shirt.
āThatās my job,ā you whisper, not wanting to break the spell he has you under, but you are too desperate to touch him to care.Ā
He smirks, stopping his efforts in order to crawl to you. Bracing himself above you, he watches as you carefully unbutton his shirt, his anticipation growing with every brush of your fingers down his chest. When youāre finished, he sits back on his heels between your legs to remove his shirt entirely, and you feel his eyes raking up and down your body, almost like he is doing in his mind what he is restraining himself from doing to you in reality.
āBucky?ā you breathe, bringing him out of his thoughts. He hums and finds your eyes. āI love you. I trust you. You donāt have to be gentle.ā
You can see his mind spinning, deciphering through a fog of lust what you mean.
āBecause I love you, I want to be,ā he says, his eyebrows knitting together, his head cocked to the side in thought.
You just nod in recognition, a small smile tugging at the corners of your mouth at the thought of Bucky treating you like you are fine china, easily broken if clutched too tightly.
Watching his hands slowly glide up your thighs, pushing their way under your skirt has your breath coming in shakey gasps. He leans down and kisses you carefully, his hands pinning your hips to the bed, fingers brushing underneath the fabric of your panties. Your hands trail up his arms, one weaving its way through his curls as the other scratches down his back, urging his hips to yours.
You can feel the restraint in his kisses as he keeps them soft and much too chaste for your liking. Rolling your hips against him causes him to pull away, his mouth dropping open at the feeling. You kiss him again with more intensity, hoping to draw Bucky out of his shell.
It works. A hand slides under your leg to hook your knee and push it towards your chest as his hips rock into yours. You moan at the action, but his mouth hushes you with a deep kiss. Breaking away for air, he takes the opportunity to kiss all the way down your neck to the edge of your bra, paying due attention to the spots that have you whimpering beneath him. Your whole body shudders as his fingers press to your core, your hips jutting into his touch.
He hums into your skin before pulling away to look at you. Your eyes are screwed shut, not able to think of much else than what his hands are doing skimming below your breast and stroking between your legs. The quick escalation has you groaning, the sudden onset of sensation overwhelming you. Bucky notices and stops his ministrations, but this just leaves you begging for more.
You grab his wrist that pulled away and guide it back, your eyes never leaving his. āDonāt be gentle, Buck,ā you whisper, āplease.ā
āI wonāt be.ā
a/n: thanks so so much for reading !! let me know if you want to be added to my taglist !!
summary: your magic is requested to help a certain prince.
warnings: nothing graphic! but injuries (bruises) and mentions of throwing up (which never actually happens); light kissing and unrealistic escalation at the end, i acknowledge but this was a completely self-indulgent fic.
a/n: i hope you guys like it !! i am such a SUCKER^tm for hurt/comfort and healing fics, so i think that you'll discover a reoccurring trope in a lot of my work lol.
Finally settling in for the night, you slip out of your dress and into your nightgown, the cool breeze from your open window acting as a balm brushing against your aching temples. You close your eyes and take a few deep breaths. The events of the day play through your mind as you recall the various patients you helped to soothe their aches and pains.
You make your way to your bed and throw the covers back, ready for a night of pleasant dreams. While you know you should not, you indulge yourself in thoughts of the prince who keeps your secret attention. Loki hardly knows that you exist, but you are content in keeping your interest from afar. He has come to your nursing station a few times, seeking out your particular skill set as a healer, but his mother is practiced enough so he rarely calls for your help.
Laying back and resting your head on your pillows, your thoughts are interrupted by an urgent knock at the door. You shuffle out from under your sheets and pad your way to the door. Frigga Allmother stands on the other side of the wood, her eyes filled with concern.
āYour Highness,ā you say as you bow slightly, surprised by the visit. You open your mouth to ask her why she has come, but you are interrupted before the words pass your lips.
āYour healing is requested,ā she responds, sounding almost rushed, but she does not let on more concern than what you can see in her eyes. āWould you come with me?ā
You find a pair of slippers and a robe at the end of your bed before you follow the queen through the hallways of the palace. She leads you silently to a green wooden door ornamented with a gold door knob.
She turns to you, finally explaining why you are needed. āLoki has been hurt. It is of his own making, and it is beyond my abilities to help. He is laying in his bed. Please do what you can.ā And with that, she leaves you in front of the door, heart racing with nerves and confusion. You take a deep breath, then turn the knob.
Your heart leaps into your throat at the sight of the prince, curled up on his bed. His face is ghostly, his body having obviously gone into shock at the injuries he has suffered. Yet his injuries are what confuse you the most. There is no blood, no gashes, no obvious wounds except for the dark bruises that litter his pale skin. But they are everywhere. From his neck, all the way to the waistline of his pants, purple and black bruises mottle his skin.
Loki is so out of it that he does not even bother raising his head at the sound of your entrance. He simply stays curled up, the pain plain on his face. You glance around the room, then to his bathroom, looking for a bowl. You spot one made of gold and grab it before making your way to the prince in his bed.Ā
Crouching down beside him, you whisper, āYour Highness?ā
At his title he stirs, eyes fluttering open just enough to meet yours.
Ā āI have been called in to help you. Is it alright that I touch you?ā
He nods slightly as a shuddered breath escapes his lips. Your fingers skim over the bruises, prodding ever so slightly to see how severe they are and if there are any bones broken beneath them. You can see the swelling in some areas, and he sucks in a sharp breath when you touch a particularly swollen spot on his side. You canāt help but let out a sympathetic sigh.
āYour Highness, I will be using magic to help you. This does require me to press the injuries which can be very painful,ā you pause, allowing him to process your words before continuing, āI have this bowl that I want you to hold, so if the pain is too much you can throw up in it, okay?ā
He grimaces at the thought of the pain he will endure for the next hour as you use your magic, but he nods in recognition.Ā
āI am so sorry,ā you whisper before beginning your work, the familiar tug of magic pulling at your fingers.Ā
You press a hand to his side to the area that is swollen the most, letting your magic seep beneath his skin. Loki lets out a groan and grips the sides of the bowl you offered him. You can see his teeth clench and grind as you continue to press, your magic mending the ribs broken beneath.Ā
Humming softly to yourself, you concentrate on your work, trying to not let yourself get distracted by the fact that you are touching the object of your affections as he lays shirtless in bed. But professionalism keeps your eyes in check, but it does not keep your cheeks from prickling with heat.
You continue your ministrations, taking a break after every few bruises that you quell to yellow. Loki has yet to do more than groan. He keeps his eyes screwed shut as you work which you are grateful for, as you do not think that you could bear being under the scrutinizing gaze of your patient.
You work your way over his body, walking around his bed and climbing to your knees behind him to touch his back. Strength is clear in his muscles, but he is not pure brawn as is his brother, Thor. Rather, Loki is lean and lithe yet coiled with power in more ways than one. After healing the bruises on his back, you run your fingers lightly over his spine, ghosting over his shoulder blades before you bridle your fingers and get back to your healing efforts.
The movement does not go unnoticed by Loki, and he has his wits about him enough to comment, āIf only every touch of yours was as sweet as that.ā
At his words, your body prickles with heat and embarrassment. āIām sorry, Your Highness,ā you breathe, grateful that he cannot see your face as you curse yourself for falling into temptation.
āIt was a pleasant relief from the pain,ā he sighs, turning over to lay on his back, carefully stretching and twisting. His face pulls into a grimace as he is not yet healed completely. You duck your head, avoiding his eyes and leaving the comment hanging in the air.Ā
Still situated on your knees beside him, you move your hands to his lower stomach, pressing and prodding. You can hear his breath hitch and become ragged, but you push your face closer to him in an effort to ignore how his body reacts to your touch. This only makes the situation worse, so you close your eyes entirely, concentrating your magic on healing the injuries that lie below his skin.
You slide your palm over his torso to his side that had been previously hidden to you when he was laying on it. The bruises there are not nearly as dark as the ones you have already treated, so they do not take long to ease into shades of green. At this point, you are leaning over him entirely, your breath hitting his exposed skin, and you can hear him throw his head back on his pillows, sighing softly.
āYour Highness, I am nearly finished,ā you say, more for your own sake than his, knowing that you need to get as far away from him as possible as soon as possible.Ā
Your hand lifts from its place on his side, your fingertips ghosting over his chest to find the bruise on his collarbone. Before you can make it there, Lokiās hand grips your wrist, halting all movement in you. Your eyes flash to his that are stricken with pain but mixed with gratitude.Ā
He breathes your name as he guides your hand to his neck, fingers skimming down your arm as he watches your face. His other hand comes to guide yours to his stomach, his palm pressing yours flat against him.Ā
āLoki,ā you whisper, sure that he is confused and letting his pain govern his emotions. āThere are more.ā
He shakes his head, and says, āLeave them. You have done more than enough.ā
You nod and shift to slide off the bed, but his hands flash to your thighs, dragging one over his hips. You know that you should stop him, stop touching him, and leave. But you are drawn to him, craving the feeling of touching his skin to do more than heal but to please.
āLoki,ā you say again, a hint of warning in your tone, but he reads through it, finding the desperation in your breath.
āTouch me again,ā he says, guiding your hands again to skim over his skin, feeling over every faded scar and groove of muscle.
āI shouldnāt,ā you whisper, but he just shakes his head, dismissing you, leaning into your touch.
āIām asking you to.ā
You let out a shaky breath as you curl your fingers to drag your nails over his chest. This elicits a groan from the prince beneath you, and you canāt help but feel triumphant that your touch has an effect on him. You dare to lean down and touch him with more than your hands, your lips skimming over the skin of his neck.
Loki sucks in a sharp breath at this and turns his head to give you more access, encouraging you to keep going. Your lips find purchase on his collarbones, and you feel your magic tugging at you as your lips press into his bruise. You take a breath and pull away, noticing that the bruise he didnāt let you finish with your hands begins healing itself under your lips. You chuckle, discovering that your magic works through more ways than you knew.
Watching you carefully, Loki smiles at the discovery you make, his hands coming to wrap around you to urge you closer to him. You look up at him, matching his smile before tentatively placing your lips on his jaw, then his cheek, making your way closer to where you would like to touch him the most.
With a breath, Loki meets your lips with his own, sliding his mouth over yours. His hands are all over you as you kiss deeply into his mouth. You feel everywhere that he touches you, and he burns hot beneath your touch.Ā
āIs there anything else I can do for you, Your Highness?ā you ask between kisses. He hums into your mouth, then nods, a smirk pulling at his lips.
āI do believe there is.ā
a/n: yayayay !! thanks for reading !! let me know if you want to be on my taglist :)
summary: general kirigan discovers just how touch starved you are in a sparring session.
warnings: lite semi smut, essentially a thigh kink...., a touch of self-conscious reader with moments of poor self-esteem, kind of ooc!darkling at the end, but i'm not mad about it.
a/n: hej guys !! this is the first fic that i'm posting on this blog, so i hope you like it !!
You know you are not alone in your fascination with the Darkling, making the fact that you watch him more than you should more of a problem than it should be. You hear the whispers among the other Grisha about his appearance, his power, his mystery, and you canāt help but to fall into the trap. He never pays you any attention, and why should he? You never considered yourself the prettiest, the strongest, or the best, especially when it comes to the Small Science. Grisha you are, but exceptional you are not.
...
āAgain,ā Botkin calls to you, instructing you to run the training course around the courtyard and into the forest for the third time today. With only a nod, you obey and take off running, praying that this will be the final time.Ā
You concentrate on your breathing, keeping it at a steady rhythm as you pass through the courtyard, glancing quickly at Botkin watching the other Grisha spar in the middle. The path into the forest is all too familiar, the ground becoming uneven with unearthed roots and rocks. You quickly slip into the world of your thoughts which is dangerously full of General Kirigan.Ā
Lost in yourself, you fail to notice the ground becoming stone under your feet. You skim the shoulder of someone as you round the corner of the last hall before you return to Botkin at the start, sprinting the final stretch. Your combat instructor is waiting for you, his arms crossed before him, standing beside the Darkling himself.Ā
Your heart seemingly beats faster; not due to the three mile run you just completed, but for fear and anticipation of what these men have in store for you. Halting before them, you quiet your breathing, willing your heart to slow down enough so you can get a word out without panting.Ā
āThis is her?ā General Kirigan asks in a tone that can only be described as nonplussed, his eyes surveying you carefully.Ā
āYes, sir,ā Botkin nods.
A hum, then a reply that makes you even more apprehensive than before, āSheāll do.ā
āDo what?ā you blurt, then recover yourself by finishing, āIf I may ask.ā You know you should hold your tongue, but the words are spoken before you can tie them down. Eyes expectantly watch the General as the corners of his lips twitch up slightly at your question.Ā
āFight.ā
Before you can register the word, you are grabbed by the arm and led by General Kirigan to the sparring circle in the middle of the courtyard. Every sense you have is trained on the Generalās hand on your body, on the grip he has around your arm. As quickly as you were snatched, you are released and left alone in the middle of the ring.
Luckily, many of the Grisha have already completed their training, so you are unhindered by too many eyes watching the commotion. Still, enough gather around to get your blood to sound in your ears. You stand, eyes darting around in an attempt to puzzle together what is happening to you.Ā
āWho am I fighting, sir?ā you ask tentatively.Ā
A smirk pulls at the Generalās mouth before he simply says, āMe.ā
Your brain comes to a halt. Then goes into overdrive. You cannot possibly fight the Darkling, the most feared man in the country. You are a mediocre fighter at best who can barely fight Grisha of her own level. The Darkling is going to beat you to a pulp if he shows any self control.
General Kirigan humorously watches your panic as he shrugs off his kefta, seemingly enjoying the terrified look on your face. You take short breaths in an attempt to get your adrenaline pumping enough so the pain will be less intense. You have no doubt that the Darkling will land every harrowing jab he throws.
āAre you ready?ā he asks with more intensity than you think necessary. A simple nod from you is enough for him to begin.Ā
He approaches you quickly, immediately on the offense. A few quick lunges and carefully placed hits graze off of your defensive positions until the last blow of the round finds its place under your rib cage. Your heart hammers against your chest, your focus completely intent on shielding yourself from his attacks that come too swiftly to keep up.Ā
General Kirigan begins stepping around you, his feet becoming involved with the spar, leaving you with another source of attacks to defend. You are successful at first but within three steps, you are grabbed by the waist and pinned to the ground, the Darkling holding you down with his thigh locked through yours. Your nose is pressed to his chest, breaths heaving in and out of your mouth.
You feel every place the Darkling touches you. The cool metal of his belt buckle brushes against the exposed strip of skin above your pants. One of his hands grips your wrists that scratch against the dirt above your head. His thigh presses the inside of yours, dangerously close to your core as his hips shift ever so slightly against your stomach. Your body responds involuntarily to the position, moving closer to his thigh before you regain control over yourself.
A small chuckle sounds from General Kirigan who stares at you from above.Ā
āHow long has it been since someone touched you like this?ā he whispers before abruptly standing up, his knee grazing your core as he moves.Ā
He reaches out a hand to assist you, and you take it, nerves igniting in your stomach as his hand grasps yours and pulls you off of the ground.
āThank you,ā you say quietly once you are on your feet.Ā
āThank you,ā the General replies before bowing, whispering your name as he gathers his kefta and waves to Botkin.
You watch him leave in complete disbelief. He took you down with ease, so you should be much more embarrassed by that, but you are too possessed by the feeling of him to care.
...
You thought little of anything other than the moment you had had with General Kirigan. The reason Botkin had chosen you to spar with the Darkling when there were other, more impressive Grisha training at the same time you were has escaped you, and you doubt that you will ever understand. A repeat performance has not happened, and you donāt expect it to. Your life continues as usual, other than the occasional whisper about the fight muttered between Grisha over dinner plates.Ā
...
Picking at the herring in front of you, you feel the hair at the back of your neck prickle, followed by goosebumps rippling over skin under your kefta. Your eyes dart from one face at the table to another, attempting to find the eyes that watch you. The effort is fruitless, and the feeling fades as quickly as you noticed it.Ā
Subconsciously, you glance at the Darkling sitting at the head of the table. It is a luxury to see him at dinner as he is always far too busy to dine with the other Grisha. He sits tall, his features sharp yet bleary with disinterest. You wonder if he has always looked as he does now: a man who knows the worldās cruelty and the bitterness of time. His hand wrapped around his fork holds your stare as you recall the feeling of those same fingers around your wrists, imagining what they would feel like in other places. You catch yourself falling down the rabbit hole of General Kirigan, so you force the last few bites of fish down before sneaking away from the dinner table to bury your thoughts in the shelves of the library.
...
The Darkling watches you quietly excuse yourself from the table and slip into the hallway. He had been watching you during dinner, taking in the way you scrunch your nose at every forkful of herring and smile pleasantly after each bite. He felt your eyes find him as he sat, listening to his Grisha argue. You look at him a lot, no more than the other girls, surely, but the General has started to take notice of you everywhere. He finds you in the hallways, always bowing to him respectfully.Ā
At night, for reasons unknown to him, he thinks of the way your body responded to his, how your hips sought out his thigh and the feeling of your breath erratically hitting his chest. No one has responded to him the way you have in a long time, and he thinks he wants to feel it again.Ā
After dinner is through, he strides through the Little Palace, intent on escaping his duties for the night. He has had enough of the countryās and his Grishasā troubles, so he heads to the stables for a late night ride alone. Swiftly moving down the hallway, he notices a thin stream of light spilling out from under a library door. Rarely do the Grisha study at this time of night, as they are usually causing trouble in efforts to impress their classmates. And if they are studying, it is never in this library - the small one that often smells of spores due to the age of the books that are somehow always damp.Ā
He pauses for a moment, considering entering the room to find who is in there, but decides against it. He begins to walk away, only to stop after a few steps to satisfy his curiosity. Opening the door, he finds a form laying on the couch with the light dimly glowing from the candle in the corner. Whoever it is doesn't notice him as they do not move from their place.
General Kirigan walks further into the library and finds that it is you on the couch. The book you were reading is on the floor with its pages bent at awkward angles. You have your arms wrapped tightly around yourself, almost as if you were comforting yourself, providing yourself with the touch you crave from others.
The jab he made about being touched while you were pinned under him begins to echo in his mind, coming to realize that his question was a legitimate one.Ā
Silently, General Kirigan strides to you, crouching in front of your sleeping form. A hand comes to ghost over the side of your face before he can stop himself. Your eyes flutter open, blinking blearily. When the sight before you comes into focus, you sit upright quickly, causing the Darkling to retract his hand from your face.
āSir,ā you start, but he waves his hand to cut you off.
āFollow me,ā he says, standing from his crouched position and striding to the door with only a single glance behind him. Wordlessly, you get up and walk behind the general, wondering what he could possibly want.Ā
Your nerves tingle with anxiety and surprisingly with excitement. You have wanted his attention, and here he is, finally giving it to you. Whether this is a good thing or not, you havenāt decided.Ā
Suddenly, General Kirigan comes to an abrupt halt before turning sharply and opening the door to your right. He slips in quietly, and you follow him into the room, discovering that it is a bedroom. A large four poster bed with black satin sheets stands in the middle of the room, clouding your mind with the images of the fantasies you have dreamed up at night, and your neck heats at the indecency of your thoughts.Ā
āI am going to be honest with you, and I ask that you do the same,ā the general says as he stands in front of the bed, his focus completely on you.Ā
You nod in agreement, nervousness forming a pit in your stomach.
āYou have monopolized my thoughts. I have seen the way you look at me, and it has led me to believe that you will not object to what I have in mind. Now, I want to ask you again. When was the last time,ā he takes a step in your direction, leaving no more than a meter between you, āsomeone,ā another step, ātouched you like I did?ā
By the end of his question, he is standing directly in front of you, his eyes locked with yours. You want to tear your eyes away, but you find yourself unable to do so. Your body is hot, embarrassment flooding your veins, but somehow, you are not bothered by it. He prefaced his question with candor, and you want to do the same.
āNever, sir,ā you whisper, providing him the honesty you promised.
A small smile pushes his lips up as he reaches a hand to tilt your chin. His hand drops slowly to your throat when he whispers, āWould you like me to do it again?ā
āYes, sir.ā
The general makes no sudden movements and without any urgency, puts his hands on your waist and pulls you to his body. You take the necessary step forward to have your stomach flush to his. His hand finds its place at the small of your back, the other pushing a strand of your hair out of your face.Ā
Your hands stay by your sides, unsure as to where to put them. He notices and moves to grab them, bringing them around his neck. His hands slide down your arms as they come around your waist, his fingertips pressing into your hips.
His eyes never leave yours as he leans down to whisper into your mouth, āTell me when to stop.ā
You nod, almost imperceptibly, but it is enough confirmation for him to close the gap between your lips. A breath flutters in through your nose, the sound of your nerves causing him to smile against your lips. He kisses you slowly and surely. He does not rush into your mouth, keeping his kisses languid and smooth, each one flowing into the next.
Slotting his thigh between yours, he pushes himself closer to you, the feeling of his leg pressed to the inside of yours inciting warmth to seep into your core. Your hips move upon their own accord, rocking to find his thigh like they did when you sparred. Your breath hitches, and you pull away to look at him, embarrassment creeping up your neck as every part of you starts prickling with heat.
The almost triumphant look on his face leaves you breathless and sweeps away your embarrassment. āDoes it feel just as good this time?ā
āYes,ā you breathe, closing your eyes as he meets your lips again.
The kisses come a little quicker now as his hands remove your kefta from your shoulders. You help him push off his own, unbuckling and untying shirts as you go.
āWill you lay down for me?ā he asks as he gently guides you to the bed behind him, kissing you once along the way. āThatās a good girl.ā
Your heart is pounding in your chest, your mind unsure, but your body craves the feeling of everything he is so willingly offering. Black sheets engulf you as you lay back on his bed, your dress falling up your thighs. He removes the shoes from your feet and kisses a trail up your calves. You canāt help the sighs that escape your lips as your eyes slip closed.Ā
āLook at me,ā General Kirigan says, breathing your name against your knees. You watch him slide his hands up your legs, your sides, skimming your chest before resting them beside your head. āWhen was the last time someone touched you like this?ā
You look right into his eyes and whisper, āNever.ā
Your response elicits a smile from him before he captures your lips again, moving his thigh to press into your core. You gasp and keen into him, your chests pressing together. The feeling of him between your thighs has pressure building in your stomach, the muscles below your navel tight with anticipation. One of his hands comes to rest on your stomach, teasing you and causing you to jolt beneath him, your hips pressing further into him in response.
His thumb begins to caress the skin just above your panty line, and this causes the fire in your core to burn hotter than you have ever felt. He begins to help you rock into him, finding a rhythm that makes you whimper and kiss him harder.
Suddenly and without warning, his hand is out from under your dress and his thigh is absent from between yours. Your eyes fly open, thinking that he has had enough, and your heart leaps into your throat.Ā
What you see leaves your heart pounding in your ears but not out of concern. He is sitting on his heels, looking down at you in what could only be interpreted as awe.
His eyebrows are high and his lips are slightly parted as he leans back down, not touching any part of you but with his lips. He kisses your neck, your throat, your collarbones with his hands bracing him beside you. The lack of contact anywhere else on your body has you reaching out and pulling his hips to yours, the feeling of his pants on the inside of your thighs making you tingle and clench your legs around his.
āTell me if you want me to stop,ā he whispers again against the column of your throat, reminding you that you are in control. Everything is a new land yet to be discovered, and you are enjoying every moment of exploration.
āPlease,ā you breathe. āDonāt stop.ā
a/n: yay !! thanks for making it through !! let me know if you want to be on my taglist :)
happy spooky season, y'all! now that summer is ending and spirit halloweens are re-opening, i wanted to celebrate my favorite season by hosting a writing/moodboard challenge (my first!) around one of my favorite things: horror movies. i've selected 31 horror movies/franchises and 31 horror movie quotes to inspire folks with some spooky, scary cinema!
how it works:
select a movie and/or quote from the lists below to base a fic or moodboard around. (i've also included picker wheels if you want to choose at random.) if you choose a movie, you can use any aspect of that movie as inspirationāthe story, an image, a scene, a song, a line, whatever you want! if you use a quote, please incorporate it into your work in some way!
there are no limits on how many people can use each movie/quote
the challenge will start september 1 and end october 30 (at 11:59pm ET)
all works will be put into a masterlist to be published on october 31
you don't need to follow me to participate
tag me and #horrormoviehoeathon in your entry so i can read/reblog your work!
the rules:
you must be 18+ to participate in this challenge!
chris evans, sebastian stan, henry cavill characters and marvel characters are welcome - but NO RPF
works can be dark, fluff, smut, angst but make sure to use appropriate warnings. works don't need to be horror even though we're using horror movies as our inspiration!
no grooming, underage, watersports/scat, incest, necrophilia or bestiality
dubcon, noncon and monsterfucking are ok!
reader-inserts only, and all works (fics and moodboards) should be inclusive. works with poc, gender neutral, plus size/curvy readers are encouraged!
there are no word limits but please use a read more after 300 words
limit of three entries per person (including both fics and moodboards)
works can be part of an existing series but must be able to stand on their own
have fun!!
if you have any questions or want to enter with a movie/quote not included in my lists, please send me an ask or DM. otherwise, horror movies and quotes are below the cut!
horror movies (picker wheel)
A Nightmare on Elm Street (franchise)
Bram Stokerās Dracula (1992)
Candyman (franchise)
Cursed (2004)
Donāt Breathe (2016)
Fresh (2022)
Friday the 13th (franchise)
Ghost Ship (2002)
Halloween (franchise)
House of Wax (2005)
I Know What You Did Last Summer (franchise)
Jeepers Creepers (2001)
Jenniferās Body (2009)
Joy Ride (2001)
Knock Knock (2015)
Ready or Not (2019)
Saw (franchise)
Scream (franchise)
Stay Alive (2006)
The Boy (2016)
The Cabin in the Woods (2011)
The Craft (1996)
The Invisible Man (2020)
The Invitation (2022)
The Purge (franchise)
The Strangers (2008)
Trick 'r Treat (2007)
Urban Legend (1998)
Van Helsing (2004)
When A Stranger Calls (2006)
Youāre Next (2011)
horror movie quotes (picker wheel)
Whatās your favorite scary movie?
Trust is a tough thing to come by these days.
There's evil in the wood.
I'm sure it's a lot scarier at night.
Save your breath for screaming.
No. I'm killing boys.
Don't you want to be an urban legend?
I want to play a game.
Do not read the Latin.
Whatever you do, donāt fall asleep.
I know what you did last summer.
We all go a little mad sometimes.
It's Halloween. I guess everyone's entitled to one good scare.
Iām your number one fan.
We are the weirdos, mister.
Iām your god now.
Do you think this is a fucking game?
I love you too much to condemn you.
Even Hell has its heroes.
There is much to be learned from beasts.
Why does it smell like wet dog in here?
Women just taste better.
Do I look like some kind of monster?
Oh you wanna play psycho killer? Can I be the helpless victim?
Be afraid. Be very afraid.
I'm your boyfriend now.
It's about giving. Giving yourself over to somebody.
No, please donāt kill me Mr. Ghostface, I wanna be in the sequel.
He said that wherever I went, he would find me.
I've met my demons and they are many. I've seen the devil, and he is me.
the sheer offensivenessĀ of rereading something you wrote, discovering that, hey, itās actually pretty good, and then reaching the end, wherein you realize that if you want more you actually have to write it
Warnings: injuries, but nothing graphic, fluff, enhanced!reader
You sit in the medbay, waiting for the team to return from the most recent mission. It was supposed to be a simple in and out, but you had received word that more than one member was seriously injured. So here you are, anxiously getting the room set up and drinking lots of water in preparation.
u know the pining content? yearning stuff, stuff that you see on the television or in a book that gets you shipping things like crazy?? yeah. here u go buddies. as always, feel free to reverse the circumstances! sender is the person sending the meme, receiver is the person receiving the meme, and specify muses if you're sending it as or to a multi!!!
[ JACKET ] : sender gives receiver their jacket after seeing them shiver in the cold.
[ EXTRA ] : sender buys an extra coffee/snack/etc. to give to receiver.
[ GAZE ] : sender stares longingly at receiver when they think they aren't looking.
[ HOLD ] : sender holds receiver in their arms in order to comfort or protect them.
[ CATCH ] : sender catches receiver's hand instinctively out of surprise or concern, and holds it.
[ WAIT ] : sender, out of concern, waits for receiver to make sure they're okay after noticing them act strangely.
[ ESCORT ] : sender accompanies the receiver home late at night, in order to ensure they're safe.
[ RESCUE ] : sender goes out of their way to help the receiver after they call for help. ( aka: 'stay right there, i'm on my way' )
[ TACKLE ] : sender instinctively tackles or shields receiver from harm's way.
[ LISTEN ] : sender attentively listens to receiver as they speak. ( i.e., eye contact, leaning forward, nodding etc. )
[ NOTICE ] : sender verbally acknowledges a recent change in the receiver, either physical or in their personality.
[ TEND ] : sender gently tends to a wound the receiver recently got. ( 'you're such an idiot' but lovingly??? yeah i'm weak-- )
[ CUP ] : sender cups or caresses receiver's face.
[ CHECK ] : sender checks in on receiver following an emotionally distressing incident to make sure they're okay.
[ ADJUST ] : sender adjusts an item of clothing or jewellery that the receiver is wearing, resulting in them being very close together.
[ SMILE ] : sender lights up with a bright smile upon seeing the receiver enter the room.
[ OPEN ] : sender is openly emotionally vulnerable in front of the receiver, trusting them with this moment of vulnerability.
[ FAVOR ] : sender does a favor for receiver without being asked to, or expecting a reward in return.
[ TALK ] : sender initiates conversation with the receiver to comfort them. ( BONUS: ADD A QUESTION THAT THEY MIGHT ASK THE RECEIVER! )
[ BEDSIDE ] : sender waits by receiver's bedside as they recover from an illness or an injury.
[ LOOK ] : sender engages in focused eye contact with the receiver.
[ CONFESS ] : sender confesses their feelings for receiver.
[ CLOSE ] : sender and receiver find themselves unexpectedly close to one another.
[ KISS ] : sender kisses receiver in order to protect their identities, but is the kiss completely professional? or is there something else...?
So, were going to do this! We're doing snippets again because I miss writing and posting!!
I will be reblogging an already made prompt list shortly that you can choose a prompt from or you can send in your own idea/prompt.
As always, please specify the character you want the snippet to be with and if you want something extra or specific in the snippet, go ahead and add it into your request.
Just a reminder that I write for (or attempt to write for) any and all characters from; The Witcher, Vikings, MCU (including characters from recent movies such as The Eternals).
Also, because I cannot remember where I put my taglist, please let me know if you would like to be tagged in these snippets.
You can start sending snippet requests in and I will start working on them tonight and all through the weekend.
Have fun, and I look forwards to seeing and working on your requests!!
Edit: Please specify if your prompt for the list is from the fluff or the angst section
Summary: You and Bucky Barnes have been going out for quite some time, and you finally get some alone time at your place.Ā
Pairing: 40s!Bucky Barnes x female!Reader
Word Count: 1.5k
Warnings: Smut (+18 ONLY, minors DNI), hot and heavy make out session, dry humping, lots of kissing, Bucky being a gentleman, kinda sub!Bucky but not really but kinda but not really but kinda but mostly no, sweethearts in love, I managed to leave out the pet nameĀ āDollā (YOUāRE WELCOME), 40s Bucky. He is a warning.Ā
A/N: I love 40s Bucky and I love kissing. The inspo for this just randomly struck and I had to write it. I hope you like it! Leave a comment, reblog to let me know you love me, or that you love Bucky. Ok, I love you!Ā
Kisses š
āK
~~~~~~
āJesus Christ, sweetheart, whereād you learn how ta kiss like that?ā Bucky sighed out incredulously against your kiss-swollen lips, his own were plump and slick with spit. You giggled and lured him in for another breath-stealing kiss that had his mind reeling and his hands pawing at your hips. Your apartment was empty, and Bucky was grateful for that. He didnāt want your roommates Clara or Margaret to hear the moans you were pulling from the base of his throat; those were only meant for you.
fanfiction really messed up my expectations of men. i deserve to be kissed tenderly while baking cookies on rainy days, but thatās for sure not what iām getting. so thanks to all the fanfic writers who have set all my relationships up for failure. u guys deserve all the happiness that iām missing because of u.
