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lalacliffthorne · 1 month ago

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🖤 the fake dating scheme 🖤

Azriel x Reader

part I part II

summary: trying to convince your best friend you're not hopelessly in love by pretending you are in a relationshop? bad idea. panicking and kissing the first male in sight? terrible idea.

notes: new series? check. fake dating trope? check. (if you can guess which book this idea is based on, you'll get a kiss and a cookie)

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“Please?" Mor pouts before raising her brows and beaming softly. “I swear to you, I could find you someone – like this.” She snaps her fingers, and I sigh, feeling my lips quirk a little even as I struggle not to roll my eyes.

“I don’t want - someone.” Picking up my glass, I frown when I realise that it's empty.

Damn it.

It's Saturday night, and Rita's is vibrating with the thrum of laughter and music. It's the kind that sends warm shivers down your spine, sucking you in when you listen for too long. Fae are dancing, their bodies weaving and winding, laughing and shimmering in the lights.

I haven't been keeping count, but according to Mor, I have not been out with her and the others for over three moons now. In my eyes, it's no reason for an intervention, but Mor thought otherwise and showed up at my apartment unannounced, forcing me to dress up before dragging me out of the door.

Apparently, not having a very important mission the next morning meant I either went willingly or she'd get Cassian to show up on my doorstep and get me.

The thought makes me huff a soft smile, and my eyes flicker over the crowd. I clock Cass over at the bar, flirting with one of the bartenders. Neither Rhys nor Feyre are anywhere to be seen, having disappeared to do the Cauldron knows what, and Azriel –

My heart leaps a little, and I can’t stop my eyes from searching for a tall, lean figure, wings shrouded by shadows and dark, tousled hair -

Blinking and pulling myself together, I quickly drag my gaze away from the crowd - only to find Mor’s already on me.

My heart plummets a little.

The Blonde watches me, and slowly, a gentle crease appears between her brows. For a moment, she seems to hesitate. Then she squints lightly and calls over the noise: “Is it because of him?”

I barely keep myself from wincing.

��You know, I am still trying not to be insulted that you've never told me who it is.” One corner of Mor’s lips twitches in a soft laugh, but her eyes flicker over mine, careful, hesitant, and a little worried.

My heart swells and tightens at the same time.

She is too good. Worried instead of upset that her best friend, who fights her way through brawls and delivers threats with a cheeky smile, has been hopelessly pining after the same male for the better part of a century and refuses to tell her who it is.

But I can’t tell her.

I haven’t told anyone.

Because saying it out loud means admitting to it.

Admitting that I fell, like a fool. Headfirst. Crashed and burned for someone so entirely out of my league, it is almost ridiculous.

As long as I don't tell anyone, I can pretend that I haven't. That it's nothing but a silly infatuation that will eventually fade away.

I nearly grimace.

Hopefully.

Shaking myself out of my thoughts, I crunch my brows. "Don't worry, that - is all over."

Mor’s eyes flicker over my face, and she looks so obviously not convinced that something tightens in my chest.

“Really. It’s – I’m fine, I'm alright, I’m -”, the more I talk, the deeper the worried crease between Mor’s brows grows, and I feel my breath hitch.

And before I can stop myself, before I can think; just because I simply can't stand the way Mor is staring at me, like it causes her chest to ache knowing I'm in love with someone so hopelessly that I won't even tell her who it is - I blurt out the first thing appearing in my head capable of making that look disappear.

“I’m seeing someone.”

My heart leaps high, and I barely keep my eyes from widening.

Bollocks.

For a moment, Mor and I simply stare at each other, seemingly both in a comical way of neither us quite believing what has just come out of my mouth - though the reasons for that are very different. Then Mor blinks, and the corners of her lips slowly curve upwards into a giddy smile.

“What?”

“I,” I try to stop my eyes from growing even wider, “yes. I mean, it’s - casual, not serious, but -”

I blink again and swallow.

Mor begins to beam brightly.

I want to disappear under the table.

“Oh my Gods; is he here?”Her gaze darts towards the crowd like somehow, she can make out the nonexistent someone in the sea of Fae.

I barely keep myself from wincing.

“I – I don’t – I don’t actually know, but – I’m going to get myself another drink, do you want one –“ Pointing over my shoulder, I'm already sliding out of the booth, barely suppressing the urge to bolt like a deer and instead sending her what I hope is a cheeky smile instead of a terrified look.

Mor nods and beam, and I quickly turn around and feel my heart pang painfully against my ribs as i widen my eyes.

Oh Gods.

♡

My thoughts start racing as soon as I weave my way through the crowd.

What the hell was I thinking?

The little white lie that's meant to soothe Mor’s worries and keep her off my back is doomed to be very short lived, because – there is no one. I am not seeing anybody, because I – am awfully, stupidly in love with someone who is so incredibly out of my league it is almost funny.

I'm not quite sure when the spark has turned into something more. Something that makes my heart thrum at the smallest brush of rough calloused fingers.

I just know that for some cursed reason known only to the Mother herself, it was instant, the little hitch in my heart’s rhythm when Rhys introduced me to the male shrouded in shadows a little over a century ago.

My heart swells and tightens, and I inhale softly and sharply, trying to focus.

This is a disaster. What am I supposed to do now? Act like there is someone?

No, Mor would become suspicious quickly if I didn't actually have anyone to show for.

Make someone pretend with me?

I barely keep myself from snorting a giggle.

What a terrible idea. That would never work; I’ve read enough novels to know that something like that is bound to end in certain disaster.

My eyes flicker over the males scattered all over the wide room, one more exceptionally beautiful than the next, many looking at passing females in interest.

I slow, something churning in my chest as I crunch my nose and swallow.

On the other hand… I am at the one spot in the city where there are more males than I dare to count – given this circumstance, do I really have another choice?

I swallow slowly.

This is an awful idea.

A completely harebrained, ridiculous idea.

But even though I wreck my brain trying to come up with an alternative that is not telling Mor the truth – I can’t find one.

This is my only way out.

Unless I want to go and confess to Mor about my lie, inevitably leading to having to explain the why.

Yes, that is really not an option.

Which means – I have to pick someone. Randomly. And pray to the Mother and the Cauldron and anyone else who is willing to listen that that person won’t mind if I rope them into pretending to be my casual, not serious relationship for the night.

I feel my heart leap against my ribs.

This is by far the worst idea I’ve ever come up with.

Breathing out, I swallow before loosening my shoulders and starting to let my gaze quickly flicker over the crowd.

Alright.

How does one pick a pretend lover?

First step: Rule out those who are obviously taken. Then those which one's instincts mark as a clear No - either because they are staring at the passing females a little too intently, or because are very obviously not interested in females at all.

Which leaves me with quite a lot less options than I have expected.

I swallow harshly.

Gods, maybe there's somebody I vaguely know, who I can just walk up to and say Hello, I really need your help, I have been an idiot, please could you help me so my best friend stops looking at me like I’m causing her the greatest heartbreak in all of history -

My eyes flicker over a male in the crowd, and my heart skips softly, my thoughts stilling.

Because even though I’ve just caught a glimpse at him, looming in the shadows, hair dark and shoulders broad, towering over the crowd - it's enough to realise he seems familiar.

My heart leaps into my throat, and before I can think about it, stop myself with any rational thought, I start pushing forward.

Something begins to thrum against my ribs, stronger and harder with every quick step.

With dignity. Act like this is natural. Maybe hug him and hope he gets the point and plays along; do not loose your composure, do not do or say anything stupid or irrational or -

I catch a glimpse at blonde hair and red lips from the corner of my eye, and my heart jumps into my throat.

And before I can think, before I can hold myself back, my hand darts out to grab the male’s arm and tug him around – and again, the words simply tumble out of my mouth before I can stop them.

“I’m really, really sorry, but I need to kiss you,”, I whisper quickly, my hands slipping up over broad shoulders, and before I can stop myself, I pull the male down and stretch to press my lips onto his.

My breath catches.

Oh.

The male's lips are soft and cool. He tastes like ale and honey and something else, something that makes my fingers curl into his shoulders and my body shudder -

Hands, big and rough, close around my sides, just below my ribs, and my heart plummets as I ready myself to be pushed away.

But instead, they tighten. I can feel them flexing, their grip shifting. Then a low sound breaks from the male's throat, and he draws me closer, my chest pressing against his.

My breath hitches, and I slide my hands over his shoulders, bury my fingers in the soft hair at the back of his head, something swelling in my chest as I cling to him. He's tall, so tall he has to dip his head even though I am stretching to meet him. His body feels lean and steady and solid, easily holding up my weight -

Something cool brushes against my back; I suck in a soft breath, and a familiar scent rises into my nose.

My heart leaps painfully, and I still.

I know this scent.

My heart breath catches for another reason entirely, and I feel myself freeze.

Oh no.

Somehow, I manage to draw back, breaking the kiss, my heart pounding when I fall back onto my heels, forcing my eyes to open, my lips tingling and something rising into my throat -

Amber eyes clash with mine, and my eyes widen.

Oh. Shit.

Azriel's staring at me. Even in the dim lights, I can see how strangely hazy his eyes look, slightly unfocused as he blinks slowly. His cheeks seem almost a little flushed, and his lips are standing slightly agape as his throat moves in an absentminded swallow. He's still so close, his scent filling my lungs, his chest pressing against mine, his hands wrapped around my ribs -

The shadowsinger blinks again. Then he opens his mouth.

His impossibly deep voice brushes down my spine like a feather light touch, hoarse and strangely disoriented.

“Did you just kiss me?”

Staring up at him with wide eyes, I try to keep my breathing even, try to fight the rising panic in my chest.

“No…?”

Azriel’s grip shifts. I can see the moment the strange haze in his eyes begins to dissolve. His gaze becomes clearer as it pierces my face, and the muscles in his cheeks shift as I watch the traces of his usual scowl starting to form, the deep crease between his brows and the set in his jaw as shadows rise beyond his wings. His fingers dig into my ribs, and my heart rises into my throat.

Shit, shit, shit -

Quickly, before Azriel can commit murder in a public space or I can do another stupid thing, I slide my hand into his and slip past him, pushing into the crowd and pulling him with me.

If I'm lucky, Mor is watching and thinks we’re going somewhere private.

Which we are.

Only for very a different reason than what she might assume.

Azriel's long, calloused fingers tighten around mine, and I feel my heart swell and plummet at the same time.

Cauldron, he's going to kill me.

♡

Azriel lets me drag him with me until we reach a bench at the Sidra. Since he could just plant his feet and I would not be able to move him even if I threw my whole weight against him, I take it as a tentative sign that he isn’t too mad.

Or maybe he's simply still in shock and he's going to rip me to shreds the second he's recovered.

The river reflects the golden lights of the city and the galaxies high above, the crisp air clearing my head just far enough that when I slow down and turn around to face the shadowsinger, I feel the urge to just sink into the ground in mortification. Or drown myself in the Sidra. Or –

“I’m sorry,” I blurt, feeling my heart leap against my chest. “I am so sorry, I –“ My voice dies.

I have forgotten how tall he is. How much he towers over me, how small he can make me feel by simply dipping his head to look down at me, wings looming, shoulders shrouded in darkness.

His eyes are stormy as they pierce mine, dark and unreadable.

I realise I'm still holding his hand.

Quickly, I slip my fingers out of his, trying to ignore the way the cool air brushes against my skin where seconds before, his rough palm pressed against mine.

Azriel's fingers twitch, then they curl against his palm.

He's probably having to keep himself from strangling me now instead of after my explanation.

I swallow. Then I slowly step back and sink down onto the bench, rubbing my palms over my face.

Gods, this is a nightmare.

"I'm so sorry. You have every right to be mad at me. It was so stupid." I raise my head to look at him, and my heart leaps against my ribs in soft panic. "I didn't mean to, I swear, I just - panicked."

Azriel is still watching me, brows drawing together like a scowl is threatening to form on his face, eyes firmly locked onto mine, and I feel my breath hitch and blink. The pressure around my throat tightens, something in my chest squeezes painfully, and for the third time this night, simply driven by panic I blurt out without thinking: "Mor is onto me about me liking somebody."

Azriel stares at me. His shadows pull inward. A muscle in his jaw shifts, and I shrink a little.

Crap.

Quickly, I start talking.

"I know, that's - a ridiculous reason. But she knows, she knows that I've stupidly, ridiculously fallen, and she's worried, because I have never told her who it is, but I can't," I widen my eyes and raise my shoulders, "but she was trying to convince me to let her set me up, and when I wasn't responding the way she thought I would, she figured that it's because I am still hung up on that person, and while that's stupidly true, I also just really don't want her to set me up, I cannot handle that pressure, but she looked so heartbroken and I couldn't stand it, so I blurted out without thinking that I am seeing somebody, that I'm over -" My eyes meet amber ones, and my voice dies.

My heart leaps into my throat, and I blink, swallowing and mumbling: "Him."

Azriel's eyes pierce mine, deep, dark, unreadable.

I blink, raising my brows. "But I'm not. I mean, I'm not - seeing anybody, but I needed to convince her that I am, to make her stop looking at me like that." I feel my chest tighten as I raise my shoulders in a helpless shrug. "So I figured I would have to find somebody to help me pretend. And I thought I would pick someone I knew, because they were more likely to play along, but I couldn't find anyone." I blink. "Well, until I saw you." Quickly, I raise my brows. "Except I didn't even realise it was you, because it was dark and full and I was panicking, which is why I didn't just ask you like a sane person would do, but instead just -" Again, my voice dies, and I feel my shoulders sink in desperation when I mumble sheepishly: "Kissed you."

Azriel's jaw shifts, and his stormy eyes flicker over my face.

"I'm so sorry." I exhale and close my eyes, wincing. "I-I'll make it right. I swear. I'll explain to Mor what happened, that there's nothing going on between us, that it was just a stupid mistake." I swallow, rubbing my forehead.

For a moment, there's silence. The Sidra gently laps at the walls of the river bank, the soft waves of the river the only sound in the night. Then Azriel's low voice brushes over my skin, slow and calm.

"Or you don't."

I blink. Then I raise my head.

"What?"

Azriel watches me as he slowly crosses his arms, leaning back against the stone balustrade. His eyes are steady and unreadable.

"You could let her believe that what she saw is true." His deep voice is low, rasping over my skin. "Make everyone believe it is."

Something swells in my chest until it feels a little hard to breathe.

With parted lips, I stare at Azriel.

"Why would you do that?" My voice is soft.

Azriel's eyes pierce mine. Then he blinks. "Cass and Rhys have been on me lately. About putting myself out there."

He looks so offended by the sentiment, a soft giggle bursts from my throat before I can stop it.

"Pretending this is real wouldn't just calm Mor, it would also get them off my back - at least for a good while until they have found some other project." Azriel's gaze flickers over mine, steady, calm.

Something starts thrumming against my ribs.

Azriel watches me, shadows curling around his shoulders. "You can say no."

My heart leaps against my ribs.

"No," I blurt out hastily. Then I blink and hastily add: "I - I mean, yes. Not no. Yes, to that, not no -"

Azriel calls my name, and his deep voice makes me fall quiet with a sheepish wince.

For a second, I'm almost sure I can see the corner of his lips curve. His eyes flicker over my face. Then he lightly raises a brow.

I stare at him, my heart pounding against my ribs.

This is a terrible idea.

A hugely terrible idea.

Cause it's not just pretending to be in a relationship - it's pretending to be with the very male who is the reason I'm in this position in the first place. The one who manages to make my breath hitch with a glance, and my heart leap into my throat with nothing but the ghost of a touch.

It's a sure recipe for disaster, heartbreak and misery.

On the other hand…

What have you got to lose?, a quiet voice in my mind whispers. You've been in love with him for a century. It's not like you can end up having even more feelings for him. Maybe pretending to be with him is finally going to make you understand that it's never going to work. Maybe he's terrible to be with!

I almost huff.

Sure.

My heart squeezes gently.

But maybe this is exactly what I need to finally wake up and get over him.

I exhale and swallow. Then I raise my head. My eyes meet Azriel's, deep and dark and unreadable, and something flutters softly against my ribs.

Breathing out, I nod once. "Let's do it."

part I part II

@azrielshadows1nger @waytoomanyteenagefeels @secretlyhers

@icey--stars @ailyr92 @xadenswhore

@azriels-mate2

#azriel #azriel x reader #azriel imagine #azriel fluff #azriel fic #acotar #acotar fic #acotar fanfiction #acotar x reader #acowar #acomaf #az imagine #az x reader #az fic #azriel x female!reader #azriel x f!reader #az/reader #azriel/reader #lalacliffthorne

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em1i2a3 · 5 months ago

Text

Hole in the Earth

Pairing: Bucky Barnes x Mutant!Fem!Reader

Warnings: 18+ Minors DNI, Angst, Smut, Panic Attacks, Mentions of Grief, Hurt/Comfort, Mentions of Loss and Death, Age Gap (not mentioned but there are assumptions of an age gap if you squint a bit, there’s no full acknowledgment ), Mentions of Blood/Bleeding. The warnings for smut specifically; p in v sex (unprotected, wrap it before you tap it though!), fingering, oral (fem receiving), Praise kink if you squint, light choking (nothing too serious though), Bucky talks you through it (wink wink nudge nudge)

Author's Note: I wanted to do an actual series for this original character, but I didn’t feel like committing to something so big with my job, so I thought I’d stick to a one-shot format for this one. I know some things may not be totally accurate (this is my first time actually putting something out there that is based off of the MCU, I changed things up a bit, but not extremely, at least I hope lol.) Hopefully y’all enjoy though :) .

Word Count: 13,347 (Talk about slow burn eh? Seeing this word count made my jaw drop when I checked it at the end. What an extravaganza lol)

Some people filled silence with noise—small talk, jokes, distractions, awkward anecdotes, laughter even.

But you and Bucky?

You never needed words.

Your partnership had formed without much thought, an unspoken decision, a quiet inevitability. No one ever sat down and said, "You two should work together," but after everything—after the turmoil from the snap, all the loss, all the grief, and the way neither of you truly fit into what remained of the team anymore—it just happened naturally.

You had both come back to a world that had existed without you for five years. It was like a blur to you. It felt like nothing had happened until you saw the people you loved had aged significantly since the last time you had seen them, or you had lost them by that point.

To deviate from you Bucky had spent decades as a ghost, lost in time, fighting to take back something that had been stripped from him, and the five-year disappearance from the world felt like an eternity. You had heard him mention in passing that it was as if he was in a room with nothing but white around him, and he was all alone. Not only that but when he returned it took him a long time to adjust to the new normal.

Steve was gone.

Natasha was gone.

Tony was gone.

And you?

You were still here, stuck in a limbo between mourning and moving forward, existing in a place that didn’t feel like home anymore. Sam tried to make things easier, tried to be a stand-in for Tony, but it was no use, you told him to stop early on in his attempts, and he respected the request.

Bucky somehow understood your loss better than most of the team, even though he had returned to the same ruins you did. He didn’t bother you with the questions everyone else had when you came back to the compound, he gave you a nod of acknowledgement and tiptoed around you like you were a bomb that was going to explode at any moment, which was something that you ended up preferring.

So when the missions started up again, when the world needed something resembling the Avengers to step forward, it was an unspoken agreement—you and him, always paired together. You knew you wouldn’t be able to handle anyone else other than him.

It worked though.

The both of you kept things mission-focused and ignored whatever was happening outside of that. He never brought up your past, and you never brought up his, and even when there was downtime during the mission you stayed quiet, waiting in silence until you needed to step in.

But now?

Now the most recent mission had gone to hell, and you were stuck alone with him in a safe house, forced into a kind of closeness you had never prepared for.

The mission was supposed to be simple.

A HYDRA facility hidden beneath an abandoned city block, data that needed to be extracted, an easy exfiltration plan. When Sam had explained it you felt like you were having Deja Vu because of how many missions had been like this.

The plan had been clear—

Infiltrate.

Extract the data.

Get out.

You never made it past step two.

The power core in the lower level ruptured, sending a shockwave through the entire structure.

The explosion came too fast, too strong, it wasn’t something you prepared for at all.

You had barely made it to cover before the heat ripped through the walls, short-circuiting everything electronic based in the area—including the Neural Stabilizer locked around your throat.

You had felt it immediately.

The pulse of static in your bones, the electricity surging through your limbs with nowhere to go, the sensation of drowning in yourself. You laid on the cold metal, breathing in through the pain that echoed through your entire body, attempting to calm your nervous system down before things got out of your control.

"You alright?" Bucky called from the level above you.

You had forced yourself to swallow the panic as you raised your head to look up to where he was, only seeing his shadow at that point.

"I’m fine." You replied.

A lie.

Because you could feel the stabilizer glitching, flickering between control and chaos, the red warning light at your throat blinking erratically. It didn’t go unnoticed by Bucky though, even though you wished it had.

“Are you sure?” He asked, watching you struggle to push yourself up from the metal, seeing a pulse of faint blue static running across the floor. You closed your eyes tightly.

”Yes. I’m positive. Just cover me so I can get to you, then we can get the hell out of here.”

You had to push forward.

Because you had no choice.

Because if you didn’t keep moving, neither of you were getting out alive. But if you had a choice you would’ve stayed right where you were.

By the time you had escaped the facility, hot-wired a car, and driven two hours through the backroads to the nearest safe house—your entire body was on fire with unstable currents flowing through your blood. You were in such agony holding everything in that you had almost collapsed onto the ground when you exited the car.

Bucky had watched you run towards the cabin, observed the way you almost broke the doorknob and locked him out all within seconds. By the time he had entered the cabin you were out of his sight, and barricaded inside the washroom.

When you slammed the door closed you immediately turned on the dim light of the enclosed space, stripping off your tactical gear with shaking hands, leaving you in just a pair of shorts and a white tank top. You threw your utility belt onto the counter beside the sink, trying your best to catch your breath, feeling a burning sensation building inside your chest, clawing at the bones. You braced yourself against the porcelain sink, bringing your eyes up to your reflection, looking at the red glow of the Neural Stabilizer flashing on your neck, each pulse more erratic than the last.

Tony had promised it would always work.

Now it was failing as you stood there.

You reached up to touch the fried titanium of the neck plate, feeling the warmth radiating off it, as the light above you glowed brighter for a brief moment before returning to its normal state. That was the only warning sign you needed to kick yourself into high gear. You opened up your gear pouch, fumbling through the various tools you had, until you found what you needed. The tiny utility screwdriver, the one Tony had told you to keep on you at all times. You thanked your past self that they actually listened to him for once.

“It’s just for backup, kid, but if you ever need it, don’t panic. You got this.” You could hear his voice in your head, you could picture the moment he gave it to you and you reluctantly threw it into the gear pouch, making sure he witnessed you do it.

You pushed the memory out of your head and forced yourself to focus, returning your gaze back to your reflection, stretching your neck out so there was enough lighting. Your eyes trailed over the grooves of the metal, finding the space where the first latch would be. You shifted again, turning your head to the side before bringing the screwdriver to the first screw that secured the panel—

———

"Hold still, Sparkplug," Tony muttered, adjusting the metal band around your neck so that it was fitting snugly against your skin, "You fidget more than Peter, and that’s saying something."

You sighed, tilting your chin up, watching him work in the reflection of the mirror.

"Feels like a shock collar." You commented, digging your nails into the palm of your hand.

"Yeah, well, better than the alternative." He replied, looking at you out of the corner of his eye, before returning his gaze to the stabilizer. "Unless you like turning every elevator ride into a death trap." He added.

You scowled.

"It’s not that bad."

"Tell that to the toasters and light bulbs you murdered last week. You know I think I stepped on some of the broken glass you forgot to sweep up." You felt your lips tilt slightly at the joking tone he took.

"That was an accident."

"Yeah, and I’m accidentally a millionaire genius." He tightened the clasp on the metal, sliding his stool back to examine his work. "Alright. Try not to electrocute me when you test it out."

You hesitated, looking at the stabilizer in the mirror, seeing the signature blue glow that Tony had in his chest piece now reflecting off of your very own Stark Industries creation.

"You’re sure this will work?"

Tony’s smirk faded slightly, his expression softening at the worry that laced your voice. You had come a long way since he had taken you under his wing, but he knew you still struggled with keeping the power under wraps, it was evident by the way everything would short circuit even when you were feeling happy, it trapped you. When he designed the stabilizer all he wanted was for you to feel normal, and this was the one thing that he was confident in providing.

"Yeah, kid." His hand rested lightly on your shoulder. "I’m sure.”

“And what if it malfunctions?” You questioned, your hand now tracing the ridges of the titanium.

”I’ll be there to fix it…I promise Y/N. I wouldn’t let it get to that point anyways. Routine maintenance will prevent that I’m sure.”

Back then, you had believed him.

Because Tony always kept his promises.

———

Your hands trembled as you worked on the stabilizer, the screwdriver slipping between your fingers while you twisted it into the second latch. The sharp edge of the tool had sliced against the sensitive skin on your neck three times at this point, and the droplets of blood began to stain your hands. The faint pain began to curl into itself, causing the lights to brighten once again, only this time it remained that way. The tips of your fingers began to veil themselves in the mesh-like glow that slowly stretched along your skin, another bad sign that you needed to get yourself under control.

Your breath came in shallow, panicked gasps, watching the red light blinking faster and faster with each mistake you made, almost as if it was in sync with your pulse.

You couldn’t do this, and there was no doubt that by the end of this, you would have a hazardous explosion waiting to happen. You wouldn’t be surprised if you’d take out the whole town.

You were going to—

"Breathe, kid." Tony’s voice warned.

You couldn’t help but remember the video he had left in your inbox, dated the day before his death. You hadn’t looked at it for three weeks, you weren’t ready to see him at that point, you were grieving, but the day that you decided to click on it to listen, and to watch…You knew it was going to be seared into your memory.

———

Tony sat at his workbench, rubbing a hand over his face, scratching at the stubble on his chin almost in frustration. His hair was a little longer, a little messier, and the exhaustion on his face was worse than you’d ever seen it.

"Alright, kid. If you’re watching this, then congratulations. You survived. You came back. And I…Well…I didn’t, unless you are watching this for fun, which is absolutely weird, but whatever.”

A pause, he sighs, licking his dry lips, trying to search for what he was going to say.

"Not that I’d know, obviously, because I made this before all the very bad, end-of-the-world war type stuff went down, but I’d like to think I got to go out in a blaze of glory."

His lips tugged up, but there was no humor behind it.

"Which, by the way, is something I told you not to do a thousand times, so let’s not make this a trend, okay?"

You had let out a choked laugh, tears already stinging at your eyes. He took another pause, shaking his head.

"Five years." He exhaled hard, tapping his fingers against the desk. "You’ve been gone for five whole years, and I gotta tell you, kid, it’s sucked. Like, really sucked. We have this whole ‘Save the World’ initiative going on, and I keep looking around thinking, ‘Where the hell is my electric gremlin when I need her?’ But no. You were gone. Taken just like that."

He snapped his fingers, inhaling deeply through his nose, trying to control his voice.

"And that?" His tone dropped lower, something raw scraping at the edges. "That was a real bitch."

You pressed a hand against your mouth, trying not to break down, trying to keep yourself as composed as you could.

"You left, and everything was just… quieter. Too quiet. No more blowing out the lab’s power grid on purpose because you got pissed at me. No more stealing my coffee and blaming it on Rhodey. No more dumb science debates about whether or not your powers count as a renewable energy source. Just… nothing."

His fingers curled into a fist, hitting his knuckles lightly against the workbench.

"I miss you, kid. And I know I didn’t say it enough when I had the chance, so I’m saying it now."

A sharp inhale. There was a cut in the footage. Now his position had changed, and he was standing.

"You’re back though. And I need you to listen, alright?"

You sat up nodding, even though he couldn’t see you.

"This thing?" He said, tapping a Neural Stabilizer on his own throat.

"Yeah, I made one for myself. No, I don’t need it. But you’re a visual learner—or maybe you just don’t trust me unless I put myself in your shoes. Either way, I made one so I could show you how easy this is to fix."

He sighed.

"Anyways, let’s be real. If this thing is flickering red, that means something bad happened. Maybe you got hit by an EMP. Maybe you took too many hits in a fight, and someone broke it. Maybe the universe just hates us both equally, who knows. But if it’s failing, that means you’re going to short-circuit because your body won’t know what to do with all the excess energy. And when you short-circuit, so does everything else around you. That means streetlights, security systems, Wi-Fi—" he gestures around him with his hands "—you know, everything people actually need to function."

You sniffled, pressing your fingers against your lips.

"So. Let’s fix it before you blackout an entire city block, huh?"

His eyes softened, something warm but worn behind them.

"You got this, kid. You always have."

A pause.

"Alright. First step—pop the latch. Gently put the screwdriver into the large metal coil, it should be bright orange if the stabilizer is malfunctioning due to the overheating. Twist it counterclockwise. And whatever you do, do not—"

——-

You pressed too hard.

The screwdriver slipped, and another sharp sting burned across your neck, the blood now dripping down your neck and soaking into the tank top you wore.

"Shit." You muttered, your fingers flying to your throat, wiping off the blood as much as you could, your pulse hammering throughout your entire body, as the crimson liquid smeared across your skin.

Before you could even process the impending pain, the Neural Stabilizer’s light turned off completely.

Without missing a beat a violent pulse of static erupted outward, a crackling, jagged burst of energy tearing free from your body.

The lightbulbs overhead shattered, raining sparks and broken glass onto the tiles, lightly cutting up some of your exposed flesh. The mirror fractured down the middle, sharp cracks splintering outward, but not fully falling off the surface.

The entire safe house went dark, the fridge cut out, the security system fried, the cell towers blinked offline. In the kitchen, Bucky sat at the rickety dining table, thinking about whether or not it would be a good idea to try to come in and help. Even after the power surge, he was still on the fence about going and intruding on what was happening in there, not out of fear, but out of what he might have to do to get everything under control.

Inside the bathroom, the only light left was coming from you, and now the soapy smell that had once filled the room had been taken over by the crisp smell of ozone, as if a rain storm just occurred.

Your reflection in the mirror flickered, illuminated by the uneven, stuttering glow of electricity crawling over your skin. Tiny spiderweb cracks of raw current slithered up your arms, twisting beneath the surface, licking along your fingertips, wrapping around your body, almost like it was a reunion. The stabilizer narrowed the current down significantly when it was on, without it there was no regulation.

The charge had nowhere to go. It buzzed, and coiled, desperate for an escape, trying to find something to attach to. Your body felt too full, like a live wire wound too tight, ready to snap apart, and now the pain was truly starting to settle in, deep inside your bones, causing your blood to curl.

"No, no, no—"

You repeated, slamming your hand against the countertop. A sharp crack of static arced outward, splitting the porcelain, hairline fractures splintering in front of you.

Your breath hitched in your throat, as every muscle in your body seized.Your heart pounded painfully against your chest, erratic, frantic—

Then the doorknob rattled.

"Hey."

It was Bucky.

"You okay?"

The words barely registered with you, it sounded muffled, drowned beneath the buzzing that rang through your ears. You could feel your pulse spike violently, as panic slammed through your ribs like a live wire.

You couldn’t answer the simple question.

Couldn’t breathe.

Couldn’t stop the charge from rising once again.

The electricity under your skin wouldn’t settle, wouldn’t stop expanding, the raw static skittered along your body, flaring out in thin veins of uncontrolled current.

"I—" you croaked, holding onto your chest, trying to stabilize your voice from shaking.

The door creaked open.

And before you could even react, the barricade was removed from between the both of you.

Bucky stood in the dim blue glow, still dressed in the majority of his tactical gear, minus the weapons. The glass crunched under his boots as he stepped into the washroom, his sharp and guarded expression softening when his eyes locked onto the scene in front of him.

His gaze flickered over the shattered bulbs, and the fractured mirror, and when he breathed in the smell of static tickled his nose, almost like someone had taken chlorine and mixed it with metal.

Then his eyes landed on you. Your trembling hands, your shaking shoulders, the way your body twitched with the electric currents still pulsing beneath your skin, his eyes watched the glowing cracks spread along your arms. He could see in the lighting that your neck was bleeding, and that your stabilizer was practically fried. At this point, he concluded that he in fact didn’t know where to start.

”Y/N…” His voice was dripping with concern, trying to piece together what he could do.

You tried to speak, tried to tell him to go away but all that came out was a gut-wrenching sob, the panic and fear sinking its claws deeper into your ribs.

"Hey, you need to breathe," Bucky instructed his voice low, calm, and even. But you couldn’t. Couldn’t stop shaking, couldn’t pull yourself back from the static buzzing inside your skull, it was mind-numbing. The only thing that snapped you out of your haze was the crunching of glass beneath Bucky’s boots, as he stepped towards you.

"Don't—" You snapped, desperate to keep him away. "I can’t— I can’t shut it off…Just stay…Stay back Bucky." Your hands trembled, as your arms locked up, the muscles tightening, like a cord was wrapping around them. The crunching noise stopped, but the buzzing in your ears didn’t, as you leaned your body on the sink, moaning through the stinging pain that ran up your spine.

”Listen I can’t just leave you in here like this, what can I do to help?” You could feel your knees go numb while you were trying to contain whatever was building up to release next. You braced yourself against the counter, cushioning the drop to the ground as much as possible. Your bare knees felt the impact of the glass as the sharp edges dug into the thin flesh, a grunt escaping your throat, while you were attempting to shift slightly to the side before putting all your weight on the front portion of the counter.

”Just go away.” Was all you could muster to say through your short sobs of pain, “Please just go.” You begged, tears now streaming down your cheeks, as you put your forehead onto the edge of the porcelain sink, letting the cold temperature even out the heat that was radiating off your skin.

Bucky didn’t move, didn’t heed your request to leave, instead he crouched down, and sat on the glass-covered floor, with his arms resting on his knees. He watched you closely, noting how your body would tremble every couple of seconds, or how the static that covered every exposed area of your skin buzzed lightly at any sign of movement.

”Please leave.” You choked out again, barely above a whisper. Bucky sighed, his jaw clenching at the rawness in your voice. The last-ditch effort to push him away before anything worse happened, before you hurt him.

”I’m not going anywhere Y/N…It would go against my better judgment.” He replied, clenching and unclenching his vibranium hand, contemplating. He knew what he needed to do, but had no clue how he would execute the plan without you possibly lashing out at him.

He glanced back up at you, watching as your grip tightened on the edge of the sink, another strangled whimper escaping into the room. You were already so far gone at this point that there was no way you were going to come back without additional help, at least that’s what Bucky was starting to conclude from what was transpiring in front of him.

Another burst of static snapped out from you, slashing against the mirror, fully breaking the reflective pieces, hearing the shattering as it fell into the sink, splintering, leaving small superficial wounds on the tips of your fingers, lines of red blooming across your knuckles. You didn’t even register the pain.

Bucky barely flinched, because at this point he wasn’t going to wait anymore, and now that you were distracted he took the opportunity. Quickly he brought himself forward and wrapped his vibranium arm around your waist, pulling you against him with more force than he intended. Your back collided against his chest, and immediately you could feel your body locking up in his grip as his other arm wrapped around your waist to try to stabilize you so you weren’t thrashing on the glass-covered ground. You could feel your lungs seize up.

”Let me go!” You twisted violently in his hold, as you dug your nails into his right arm, trying to loosen the restraint he formed around your body. You slammed your back into his chest, attempting to wind him, but it was no use, Bucky was a solid unmoving force at this point, and he remained locked around you. Another fresh stream of tears ran down your cheeks. He could feel your body heating up against his as he adjusted, trying to get you to stop thrashing.

”Bucky, please…” Your voice cracked, a sob tearing from your throat, feeling another burst of static snapping around you, at whatever was near, it was lashing out until it found Bucky’s arm, as the blue static slipped into the limb causing the vibranium to light up. A crackling wave of electricity ran up each plate, filling the thin gaps between each one. This realization only made you thrash against him even harder.

”Y/N I’m fine! Stop it, you’re not hurting me.” He insisted, tightening his arms around you once again as you began to shake against him. “Look,” He murmured. Through the haze of your panic, you forced yourself to focus, your gaze trailing down to the arm that was clenched around you. The shock and static wasn’t building, or lashing outward, it was being absorbed. Bucky could almost feel your body relax at the sight, even though you were still wheezing and breathing too fast.

”It’s not hurting me.” He repeated again, but all you could hear was the buzzing inside your skull, it was deafening. Your vision blurred as you made small attempts to push him away, even though it was of no use, he didn’t budge. He was steady, controlled, and unfazed, as his ears tuned into the way you were breathing, the panicked wheezing.

“Y/N, you have to breathe…Can you feel me breathing?” He asked, trying to hide the urgency behind his voice, adjusting again so now he was able to see the side of your face, and the way your pupils were blown out. His damp hair tickled the side of your face, as he leaned forward trying to make sure you were practically cocooned in him, almost mimicking an emergency blanket in a way. You could feel yourself trembling in his arms, as his right hand came up to intertwine with yours, guiding your palm to rest flat against your chest, right over your heart.

“Y/N, focus on me…If you can hear me, focus on my breathing.” He instructed, holding you closer to him so your back was directly pressed into his chest. You could feel his body rise and fall against you, even, measured…A slow inhale, a gentle exhale.

”Match me.” He whispered, his warm breath sticking to the exposed skin of your shoulder. You attempted to breathe in as deeply as he did, feeling a burning sensation creep up along the sides of your ribs. The exhale came out fast and uneven from you, but Bucky didn’t rush the process, as he took in another breath, his chest expanding against your back. You attempted to take in another breath, but this time it came a little easier, even though it still felt like every bone in your body had its own personal vice grip around it. Black dots began to pebble into your sight, feeling a numbness washing over you.

“Good…Now let it out.” Was the last thing you heard before your vision went dark.

------

The first thing you heard when you regained consciousness was music.

Soft and slow, floating through the air in a smooth jazz melody, rich with nostalgia. The mellow voice of the crooner was claiming he would never smile again, as the lyrics gently carried over the hum of the muted trumpets, the backup singers harmonized the man's sorrow while the serenade continued. It felt like a lullaby that was meant for another time.

Then everything else began to settle in; the bed beneath you, the rough comforter scratching against the backs of your legs. The blanket on top of you pulled up to your neck, enveloping you in its warmth. A dull ache lingered in every area of your body, your hands were sore, your face felt swollen from the crying that you had done, and it felt like if you attempted to move you would throw up. But at least your breathing was finally stable. No longer ragged or filled with panic. It was a relief in a way.

The music continued as your ears caught the sound of a soft tapping in rhythm with the song. A gentle exhale released into the room. Bucky. Slowly, you forced your heavy eyelids open, as the stucco ceiling came into your sight, the dimmed emergency lights providing a soft hue to the space. You tilted your head up so your chin was settled on your chest, noticing that you were still wearing the white tank top that was now stained with your blood. The way you were able to move your neck with such ease also made you realize that you didn’t have your stabilizer on, which brought on another concern, as you laid your eyes on the sight before you.

Bucky sat at the kitchen table, illuminated by his cell phone, which was leaning against one of the salt shakers, the light casting shadows along his jaw and cheeks. His hair looked damp and curled in on itself like he was fresh out of the shower, and you had noticed he wasn’t in his regular combat gear. Instead, he had on a black, form-fitting long-sleeved shirt, and a pair of matching cargo pants. He was so lost in what he was doing that his gaze was practically glued to the table, and you could tell he was fiddling with something that you couldn’t particularly see. You tried to lean up onto your elbows to try and catch a glimpse of what he was doing, only to have your knees scream out in pain when you accidentally bent them. A hiss escaped your throat, automatically breaking Bucky’s concentration on what he was working on, as his head snapped in your direction, putting down whatever he was working on to pay attention to you.

“Take it easy. You still have glass in your knees.” He informed, hesitating to tell you that he hadn’t pulled out the shards when you were passed out. You groaned at the sentence, your body dropping back against the pillow, as you reached up to massage your head, trying to mend an impending migraine.

“I feel like I’ve been through a few rounds with a freight train.” You said, closing your eyes tightly at the sound of the rawness of your voice.

“Well…That’s kind of what happens when you go nuclear on yourself.” He muttered, leaning back in his seat, his gaze locking on you as you dragged your hands down your face. He nervously tapped his fingers on the table, biting the inside of his lip, “You scared me y’know.” The words fell from his mouth before he could even stop himself, the admission causing you to let out a ragged sigh.

“It wasn’t my intention to do that.” He shook his head.

“Intentions don’t mean much when you’re screaming for me to go away and you’ve caused every light bulb in the place to explode.” You could hear the control he had on his voice, the way he took his breaths so that his words didn’t waver. He was bothered by what you had done, there was no doubting that, but you had never heard him speak like this before.

“Are you honestly going to pick a fight with me right now? Could this not wait until the glass gets taken out of my knees?” You snapped, as your body began to slowly heat up. He scoffed at your suggestion, shaking his head in disbelief.

“No. It can’t wait, because the second I come to help you’re going to avoid the conversation.” You rolled your eyes.

“Jesus Christ Bucky. I get it.”

“Do you?” He questioned. You clenched your jaw as you pushed yourself up so you were able to look at him, to hash this out before it killed your partnership. Your knees seared at the quick movement while you settled on the bed, but you shoved the pain aside, keeping the tensity in your eyes.

“I don’t know what the fuck you want me to say. Do you want me to say sorry I didn’t tell you about the stabilizer breaking as I was attempting to not fucking explode around you?!” You shot back, squeezing your hand into a fist, trying to hold in the static that began to line your skin again.

“I want you to say you trust me. Because right now it doesn’t feel like it, and if we’re going to continue working together, I need that reassurance.” You looked up from your hands, catching his hardened gaze, seeing the betrayal in his eyes.

“You know I trust you.” You stated, watching as he shook his head, and stood up from his seat.

“Do I? Because you don’t act like it. Do you remember what just happened an hour and a half ago? You had plenty of opportunity to tell me what the hell was going on and you refused. I had to come in and see you in absolute shambles, do you understand how that felt?” Your eyes followed him as he paced.

“I didn’t want you to see me like that, you made a choi-.”

“I chose to take care of you!” He snapped, his voice raising in volume, the reaction making you flinch, not because you were scared, but because he had never yelled at you like that. “That’s what any teammate would do. But you make it impossible unless it’s forced on you, which is what I had to resort to. Do you think that made me feel good?” He asked, looking over at you, his eyes shimmering in the light. The guilt hit you harder than any punch you had taken, truly realizing how much pain you had put him in. You could see the way his hands twitched at his sides, remembering the way he was holding you and restraining your movements, reliving the moment over and over again as you fought against him.

“I-I was afraid I was going to hurt you Bucky, that’s why I was fighting you. I didn’t want to hurt you, or even worse kill you…” The words were heavy when they left your lips, “You may think you’re invincible, but you could’ve died…And then what? I lose another person I care about?” You could immediately see his eyes soften at your words and the way that your voice was shaking and cracking as you attempted to keep it steady. He held your gaze, keeping his spot at the side of the table, but now he was holding the edge of it, leaning on it for support. You could see the frustration in his eyes draining away with every moment that passed as he connected the dots.

“So that’s what this is about?” He asked softly, the sharpness from earlier being replaced with something gentler, caring. He ran his hand through his hair,“...You do know I’m 106 years old and have gone through way worse than a little bit of electricity right?” You were surprised by the sudden change in his tone, detecting the trail of humour that laced his words.

“And that this new arm…” He lifted his vibranium hand into your line of sight, flexing his fingers, letting the dim light catch against the matte black material “Doesn’t allow you to hurt me correct? The material just absorbs it. You saw it when I showed you in the washroom, you even stopped fighting me when you saw it. It doesn’t have a voltage limit or anything so…I don’t think it would’ve been possible for you to kill me. Does that help cure your worries?” He asked, letting the question hang in the air, leaning against the table again. You let out a slow breath and nodded, but you didn’t reply, you just let the intensity of the argument die down. The jazz music faded in again now, filling the silence for a few beats until you absentmindedly replied to him.

“You’re 106?” His lips pressed into a firm line, thrown off by the abrupt shift in conversation.

“That’s all you got from that speech I just gave you? Really?” You shrugged.

“I mean…You carry yourself pretty well, you don’t look a day over 100.” You said, tilting your head to the side to feign consideration “Mmm, actually maybe I would even go as far as saying you could pass for 90.” He shook his head at you, but you could see he was fighting a smile from appearing on his lips, as he reached up to rub the stubble on his face.

“Absolutely ridiculous.” He wasn’t annoyed, nor frustrated, it sounded like he was relieved, because neither of you wanted to admit it, but you didn’t like where the conversation was going, the both of you didn’t want to fight over something like that, you were supposed to be partners. The weight of the argument was settled, and you both were thankful for that. You let some time pass, just to allow each other to come down from the adrenaline until you cleared your throat.

“I’m sorry by the way.” You said quietly, earning a soft sigh from him, he opened his mouth to interrupt, but you held up your hand to stop him, “I didn’t mean to shut you out. You had every right to be angry with me, and I shouldn’t have fought you, I should’ve just allowed you to help me.” Bucky nodded, his blue eyes locking onto yours again.

“I’m sorry too. I didn’t mean to yell at you, I lost my temper…And I didn’t mean to scare you. I wasn’t mad, I was just-.” He paused for a moment, inhaling deeply “I just didn’t like seeing you like that.” Your fingers tightened around the blanket at his admission, but you nodded as well to acknowledge you heard him. You let the moment breathe, still feeling the lingering guilt of how angry he had been just a few minutes prior, but what sat in your chest was how bothered he was by your pain because it wasn’t about the outburst itself, it was about what it meant. The way he snapped was his way of trying to convey that your well-being was important to him, and even the thought of that made something in you seize up. So much for keeping the partnership strictly mission-based I guess, you thought as you shifted on the mattress, only to be reminded of the searing pain coming from your legs.

“Now that we’re done arguing…Do you mind taking the glass out of my knees now?” You asked, cringing at the sharp burning sensation that radiated throughout your kneecaps with each slight movement you made to try and get yourself in a better position to attempt to ease the pain, to no avail.

“Oh Jesus, yeah of course. Sorry.” He replied sheepishly as if he had forgotten about what he had said at the beginning of the argument. Bucky worked with a quiet urgency, collecting the first aid kit, and a basin to put the shards of glass in, stopping for a moment at the table to pause the music on his phone before picking up your stabilizer from where he had been sitting. When he had turned back to you he could see the look of surprise on your face, as your eyes trailed over it, seeing the familiar blue glow that indicated it was fixed.

“I figured it wouldn’t hurt to attempt to work on it while you were passed out,” He explained, looking down at the curved titanium while he made his way over to the bed, “Don’t really know if I actually fixed the thing, but it’s not glowing red or anything so I’m assuming I made a bit of progress.” He shrugged, as he sat down in front of you, settling the first aid kit down before handing the stabilizer over to you, feeling your fingers brush against his gently, watching you take it from him with a small smile on your face. You looked at it closely, your fingertips buzzing in anticipation, the cool weight of the titanium almost bringing you a wave of relief. You felt around for the familiar latch at the back of the stabilizer, clicking it open with a gentle hiss, your eyes glancing up to meet Bucky’s blue irises.

“It’s looking promising.” You joked, seeing his lips turn up slightly, before tilting your head back to expose your neck, brushing your hair aside. Carefully you aligned the stabilizer against your throat, settling it into place as the soft hum of the hydraulics pulled the device together, allowing it to lock around your neck. You rested your hands against the edges of it, waiting for a moment, allowing it to calibrate. Bucky watched you, trying to see if there was any sign that he had messed up somehow, thinking about the wires he cut and shifted when he began his attempt on fixing the thing, hoping to god it wasn’t something important. A beat of silence passed over the both of you quickly, being quenched with a soft exhale.

“Seems like you actually did it.” You informed, turning your head from side to side to ensure everything was properly secured.

“You sound surprised,” Bucky replied, feigning offence.

“Hmm. Tony made this thing idiot-proof, so I’m a bit taken aback by your…Skills.” His eyebrows raised at you, shaking his head as he flipped open the first aid kit.

“It’s not like I have an arm that’s state-of-the-art technology or something like that.” He shot back, sarcasm dripping from every word he spoke while he collected a few alcohol pads, tweezers, and gauze from the inside of the container. “Now…Ready to play Operation?” He asked jokingly.

“Just what I need, Bucky Barnes playing surgeon.” You replied, adjusting your position so that your knees were bent between the both of you, pulling the blanket off carefully just in case any of the glass had accidentally caught on any of the fibres. When the damage came into your line of sight you could practically feel your stomach twist and turn into knots. The blood was dry and streaked in the crevices of your knees. Tiny shards of glass embedded themselves like fractured stars in the thin flesh that lined the bone, glinting under the soft light. Some pieces were deep, surrounded by angry red welts where your body had begun trying to reject them. Others sat more superficially, barely hanging on but all of it looked raw, swollen, and painful. You could feel yourself get lightheaded just by looking at it.

“I think I’m gonna be sick.” You announced, throwing yourself down onto the mattress, the back of your head hitting the pillow, “I can’t look at it.”

“You’re telling me out of all the things you’ve seen, this is the thing that does you in?” He commented, “Now that’s disappointing.” You groaned, putting your arm over your face.

“It’s different when it’s my blood.” He let out a small laugh, the bed shifting under his weight as he adjusted, positioning his vibranium hand between the bend of your left knee to keep it still, the coolness causing you to tense up.

“Alright, I’ll go slow. Ready?” You nodded, keeping your face covered, attempting to hide the blush that began to rise on your cheeks, feeling him pull out one of the smaller pieces of glass, starting easy. He dropped it into the steel bowl, dabbing the blood off your skin with gauze, as he continued his feat, getting close enough that his breath fanned over the wound. You shut your eyes tightly, another sharp jolt of pain shooting up your leg, your other hand digging into the comforter beneath you.

“God damn it Bucky.” You hissed, your knee jerking involuntarily, his grip keeping you steady.

“Almost got it, just hold still.” His voice was soft, focused on grabbing onto the tip of the glass that he had been pulling out seconds before, the slow meticulous movements bringing you to the brink of screaming

“Okay. I need you to talk or something. Distract me before I start destroying the place please.”

“What do you want to talk about?” Bucky asked with hesitation, another piece of glass clanging against the steel bowl.

“Tell me something you liked…Before everything. Something you miss maybe.” He hummed, going for another shard of glass.

“Music…And dancing too I guess.” You took your arm away from your face, pushing yourself up onto your elbows, looking at him with your eyebrows raised.

“You? Dancing?” For a brief moment, he glanced up at you with a smirk plastered on his lips.

“What? You don’t believe me?” You shrugged.

“I just can’t picture Bucky Barnes on the dance floor, were you like John Travolta in Saturday Night Fever?” His brow furrowed for a moment, confused at what you were referring to.

“Saturday Night what?” You let out a breathy laugh.

“You’ve never seen that movie?” He gave you a flat look, returning his eyes to your knees, taking out another piece of glass and wiping the droplets of blood that slid down your skin.

“I’ve been frozen in ice, brainwashed, and playing assassin for half a century. You think I’ve had time to watch movies?” You leaned back a little, resting your weight on your elbows.

“Fair point, but it’s a classic Bucky. The disco music, the bell bottoms, the gyrating.” You reminisced, watching as his lips pressed tightly together.

“Pretty sure I was not gyrating on the dancefloor.” He commented back, another piece of glass joining the pile as he moved to your other knee, his hand leaving your skin briefly before mirroring the same position with the other leg.

“So what kind of dancing did you do then?” A smirk appeared on his lips, his eyes crinkling, showing off what little wrinkles he had.

“Ballroom, Swing if I was feeling fancy.” You grinned.

“Very nice.” You could see his cheeks dusting red slightly, as he dropped another piece of glass into the bowl, wiping your knee.

“What can I say…I had the moves.”

“Had?” He glanced up at you, his teeth showing slightly now, a genuine smile appearing on his face, something you had not seen before from him.

“Careful, it sounds like you want to find out.” The way his voice dropped made a satisfying shiver shoot up your spine, but you kept your expression neutral, lifting an eyebrow at him.

“Oh yeah? You offering to take me out dancing Bucky?” He shrugged, shifting in his spot to get a bit more comfortable, latching onto another piece of glass.

“Maybe.” Glancing up to see your reaction, noticing that you were blushing as well. You shook your head at him.

“Please, if we ever went out dancing you’d throw me around like a ragdoll and I’d end up concussed.” He laughed deeply, returning his eyes to your knees.

“Nah...You’d be good, I can tell.” You squinted at him.

”Oh yeah? And how exactly did you come to that conclusion?” Bucky smirked, his hand shifting to adjust your leg, the tweezers grabbing on to another glass shard.

”You move well. Quick on your feet, and you can keep up with me.” You scoffed at his comment, your body tensing as the pain from your knee was slowly building up again.

”You make it sound like fighting and dancing are the same thing.” He hummed, distracted from the conversation for a brief moment. You glanced at him, noticing that he was holding his breath as he pulled the large shard of glass out, bringing the cracked and bloodied piece up to your sight, a satisfied smile on his face.

“Well, they’re not all that different. Both are about timing. About knowing your partner.” Bucky replied, his voice low and smooth. Another clang echoed throughout the room while he grabbed a fresh gauze pad to press down onto the weeping wound. You swallowed, shifting against the mattress, trying to ignore the warmth that crept up your back.

”So what, you’re saying we’d make a good dancing pair?” You could feel the way his fingers flexed at the question, his cold vibranium thumb running over the bottom of your knee. He didn’t look up right away, still applying pressure on the wound that continued to slowly bleed.

”I think we already do.” He murmured, lifting his gaze to meet yours. You could see the way his eyes scanned over yours, the way that his jaw clenched just for a split second. An unwavering heat crept up the back of your neck, flushing your chest and the surrounding area of skin red.

“Yeah? What makes you so sure?” His eyes never left yours as he adjusted his grip again, letting his fingers freely brush against your skin, as if he didn’t realize what he was doing.

”I know how you move, and you never have problems following instructions when you’re given them.” Your fingers twitched against the sheets, the words sinking into you. He wasn’t wrong, not one bit, but it was the way he said it, and the way his breath hit your skin, the sensations were crowding you at that point that it was starting to become increasingly difficult to keep yourself cool.

”Sounds a bit cocky if you’d ask me.” He dropped the tweezers into the bowl, throwing the saturated gauze on top of it, as he wet his bottom lip with his tongue.

”Not cocky, just observant, that's all.” His voice was low, sultry, you didn’t know if he meant for it to come out so soft, but it still made you feel motion sickness. Before you could even stop to think about what you were going to do, you reached down, your fingers holding the back of his bicep, gripping onto the cool vibranium through the sleeve of his shirt as you pulled yourself up.

The second you entered his space, his eyes were locked onto yours, wide and searching, like he was surprised you decided to pull that little move. You could feel the warmth radiating off of him now, and you were hyper-aware of how his chest rose and fell now that you were closer to him, the shallowness of his breaths coming to your attention almost immediately.

“What are you doing?” He asked, looking over at your hand sliding up, gliding over the curve of his shoulder. His hand remained behind your knee, as the other one gripped the mattress beside him, unsure if he should reach out to bring you closer. You tilted your head forward, your lips dangerously close to his, as the both of you exchanged breaths.

”Getting comfortable.” You whispered, watching his jaw tense at your words, his fingers twitching against your skin. He tilted his head back slightly, letting out a sigh.

”You don’t want this, Y/N.” Your brows furrowed at the hesitancy in his voice, but before you could protest he continued, “It’s been a long time…Since I’ve…” He paused, looking back at you, “I just don’t want to disappoint you.” You could hear the vulnerability in his voice mixing with embarrassment, as he avoided your eyes still. Slowly, you slid your hands down the front of his shirt, feeling his chest tense up beneath your touch as your fingers gripped the fabric gently.

“You won’t disappoint me Bucky,” His hands flexed at your words like he was battling with himself as he returned his eyes to yours, allowing the both of you to really look at each other. You had never noticed the way his eyes glistened in the light or the way his pupils ate away at the blueness of his irises.

You shifted onto your knees, being mindful of the ache, but ignoring it in favour of attempting to bring yourself closer to him, as you slid your fingers upward, tracing the outline of his collarbone. Carefully, you moved, sliding yourself into his lap, feeling his body stiffen beneath you, his hands coming up to hold your waist out of instinct. Your fingers curled around the chain of his dog tags, feeling the cool metal in your hands, as you leaned in, letting your lips ghost over the rough stubble along his jaw.

”It’s been a long time for me too.” You admitted softly, your breath warm against his skin, his fingers gripping you just a little tighter, feeling your lips press a gentle kiss on his neck. His breath left him slowly, his vibranium hand coming up to cup the side of your face.

”Yeah?” His voice filled with uncertainty, as you pulled back to look down at him, nodding, threading your fingers into his damp hair.

”I also don’t know what I’m doing half the time either,” You replied, tilting yourself forward, bringing your lips close to his, “But I know I want this…And I know I want you.” You admitted, closing the space between the both of you, your lips meeting his. Bucky let out a sound that was a cross between a sharp inhale and a groan, as his arm slid around your waist wrapping around you so your body was flush against his chest. His thumb traced along your cheek as he leaned up, trying to basically crawl into you.

The kiss was tentative at first, slow and meticulous, like he was memorizing the feeling of your lips against his, the way you pulled on his hair, and the small moans that escaped into the air as he kept you pressed against his chest. A soft hum vibrated from your throat when his lips parted just enough to deepen the kiss, your tongue meeting his in a battle for dominance.

Bucky was the first one to break the kiss, overwhelmed by all the sensations that were hitting him at the same time. He rested his forehead against yours, catching his breath, as his arm tightened around you, trying to steady himself. You opened your eyes, your hands coming up to hold his face, pulling back to look at him, seeing the softness in his stare, like he was in a daze.

”You sure it’s been a while since you’ve done this?” He let out a laugh, shaking his head.

”Yeah, I’m positive.” He replied, his eyes scanning over your swollen lips, “It’s muscle memory I guess.” You smirked at him, your thumbs dragging over the stubble on his face.

“I think you just know what you’re doing.” You whispered, your compliment causing him to blush.

”You flatter me…” Before you could respond, Bucky shifted, his arm tightening around your waist as he moved forward. In one fluid motion, he eased you down onto the mattress, his body following closely behind, blanketing you in his warmth, anticipation thrumming beneath your skin, your legs wrapping around his hips. He braced his weight against his vibranium hand, as his eyes traced over every detail of your face. Your fingers curled over the neckline of his shirt, pulling him closer to you so that he could capture your lips with his again, his body pressing against yours in a way that sent a pool of heat into your lower stomach. He savoured every moment, feeling the way your legs tightened around him, pulling him even closer to you, the heat of your body surrounding him like a shield of sorts. It was intoxicating to the point where it made his head spin. You arched into him instinctively, dragging your hands down to the hem of his shirt, slipping them beneath the covering so that your fingers could dance across the muscles of his stomach, feeling them twitch against your touch. He let out a stuttered breath as he broke the kiss, leaning back so that he could pull his shirt off for you, throwing it to the side in one smooth motion.

The dim lighting of the room casted shadows over the hard planes of his chest, accentuating every defined ridge of muscle he had. Your eyes drifted to where flesh met metal, to the seam where his vibranium arm connected to his shoulder. The skin around it was littered with thick scarred tissue, jagged and slightly raised. You couldn’t imagine how many procedures he had been put through to get him to this point, but all you could think about was the pain he must’ve gone through. You continued to look him over, his dog tags catching your eyes for a moment, your hand reaching up to grab it gently.

”You’re staring,” He commented, his hand wrapping around your wrist, feeling your pulse bounding against his fingertips.

”It’s the first time I’m seeing you like this…Give me a little grace.” You joked, running your thumb over his name on the dog tag. He allowed you to take your time with him, knowing that he would probably do something similar when the roles became reversed.

“I didn’t take you for the sentimental type.” He murmured, his voice quieter than before, reserved for such an intimate moment.

”I’m just trying to memorize all of it.” You replied, letting your hand fan out over his chest, the steady rhythm of his heart pulsing against your palm. His lips parted for a moment, almost in disbelief that you liked what you were seeing, as he brought your hand up to his mouth, gently kissing the back of it, keeping his eyes on yours. His vibranium fingers raced absentminded circles along the skin of your exposed hip, his thumb brushing along the hem of your tank top, hesitating to make his next move. You sat up slightly, giving him the go-ahead to pull the shirt off of you, feeling the cool metal graze against the sensitive flesh of your ribs, as you raised your arms above your head allowing him to remove the top with ease, watching him throw it off the side of the bed. His gaze dropped to your body, roaming over every expanse of skin he could see, as you laid back down on the mattress, putting yourself under the spotlight this time.

Just like Bucky, you had your own set of war wounds, only they were caused by your own hands. The marks on your skin were not ordinary bruises, Bucky had never seen anything like them before, and the level of concern behind his eyes made you speak up.

“They’re Lichtenberg figures…People get them when they’re struck by lightning, and well…You can connect the dots as to why I have them of course.” They branched across your torso in breathtaking patterns, thin fractals of darkened reds stretching from the center of your chest and curling down your ribs, sprawling out like frozen lightning, captured in the canvas of your body. Some of the marks ran deeper, more defined, where the energy had burned through your skin with more force. Others faded into the natural warmth of your body, barely there but still visible under the dim light of the room. His eyes roamed over them, committing the patterns to memory, as he reached out with his right hand, hesitating for a moment.

“Do they hurt?” You looked up at him, shaking your head.

“No. There’s so much scarred tissue at this point that the area is pretty much numb.” You explained, feeling his calloused fingers trailing over the patterns on your torso while his vibranium hand remained on your hip, holding you still. He hummed, leaning forward to place a gentle kiss against your collarbone.

“They’re beautiful.” He whispered, his breath hitting the shell of your ear, your heart immediately swelling at his words, feeling his lips pecking along your shoulder, as his hand continued to trace along the etched fractals, moving up towards your breasts. He pulled back for a moment, breathing against the little wet marks he had left on your skin, cooling them down before returning to his exploration, kissing over the swell of your breast, his lips parting against the sensitive flesh, sucking just enough to leave faint red marks behind. You tensed beneath his touch, arching your back towards him, his fingers digging into your hip, pushing you back down against the mattress, his lips turning up into a smile against your skin.

“Stay still.” His voice vibrated against you, feeling his fingers trailing down the side of your rib cage, his lips gently making their descent down your sternum, his teeth grazing down the pathway, sending a shiver up your spine, your fingers finding their way to his hair, carding them through the damp strands.

“You’re making this hard Bucky.” He glanced up at you, his blue eyes darkened with lust.

“That’s the whole point.” He replied, continuing to trail down your stomach, his stubble scraping down your skin, before kissing right above your navel, “I want to take my time with you.” He whispered, bringing his right hand down to hold onto your thigh against him, the rough callouses causing goosebumps to rise beneath his touch. You tugged on his hair, feeling him move even lower so his lips were right just above the waistband of your shorts, his head tilting up to look at you. You held his gaze, your chest rising and falling with each uneven breath you took. A smirk played on his lips, and without breaking eye contact, he pressed a slow, deliberate kiss just above the fabric, his stubble scraping against your skin in a way that sent a delicious ache spreading through you.

“Can I take these off?” He asked gently, his fingers playing lightly with the waistband, teasing you when his thumb dipped below it for a fraction of a second before returning to its spot.

“Yes…Please.” Your voice sounded so desperate, choked up with tension, feeling him hook his fingers around the fabric before slowly pulling them down your hips, then down your thighs, only moving away from you to remove the shorts from your body completely, letting it join the increasing pile of clothes that began to form on the floor. His jaw clenched at the sight of you in front of him, your body laid out beneath his, completely bare except for your underwear. His hands moved slowly, as he grasped the back of your thighs, his thumbs pressing gently into your skin. You reached for him, your fingers tracing up his forearms, craving for him to return to where he had been just moments ago, the anticipation winding tight in your stomach. He leaned back down towards you, bringing your legs up over his broad shoulders, pulling you closer to him as he settled between your thighs, pressing an open-mouthed kiss to the inside of your knee, the warmth of his breath sending a shudder through you. His grip on your thighs was firm but careful, as his mouth moved up towards your underwear, his stubble scraping lightly against your skin, leaving a whisper of friction that only added to the tension that coiled deep in the core of your stomach. Your fingers tangled into his hair again, pulling gently, wordlessly begging him to continue. You could feel him smile against the skin of your inner thighs, enjoying how desperate you were becoming.

“Bucky.” You whispered, your voice breaking with such need that it almost burned through your body. He looked up at you, his darkened eyes gazing into your soul, reading you like you were an open book. His lips parted slightly as his right hand left the top of your thigh, skimming his fingers over the damped fabric of your underwear.

“So impatient.” He murmured, trying to keep his voice from wavering, attempting to keep the dominance in his tone, even though it was becoming harder and harder with every shaky breath you took. His lips brushed over the fabric, breathing out against your arousal as your thighs tightened on his neck, a soft moan escaping your throat.

“Bucky, please…” You begged, your fingers pulling on his hair, the teasing pushing you over the edge. A smirk ghosted across his lips at your pleas, and then with an agonizing slowness he hooked his fingers into the fabric of your underwear, dragging it gently to the side, baring you to him completely. His eyes flicked up to yours, his pupils blown out enough to where you were almost unable to see the ring of blue that surrounded it, and in that moment, you could see that he was as desperate as you were. Then finally, he pressed his mouth against you.

The first touch was barely there, a soft kiss placed deliberately beside where you needed him the most, to tease you, before his lips parted and his tongue dragged up your slit, not wanting to hinder himself any longer. Your head fell back against the pillow, a choked gasp escaping your lips at the sensation and warmth of his mouth wrapping around your clit, humming at the way your thighs flexed against his face, rubbing against his stubble. His tongue continued to circle against the bundle of nerves, his eyes burning into your skin, watching as you arched your back, grinding yourself on his mouth, wordlessly begging that you wanted more. His right hand slid up to your core, coating his fingers in your arousal before slipping two of them in with ease, looking at the way your mouth dropped open as he curled them inside you, finding a pace that matched the way his tongue worked against your clit.

Your fingers continued to tangle deeper into his hair, but before you could pull, his vibranium hand wrapped around one of your wrists, pulling it away gently, feeling him pin your arm down against the mattress beside you, sliding his fingers down to intertwine with yours. The contrast of the heat that was pooling in your stomach and the cold of his hand sent a shiver through you, heightening every moment, every touch, and every movement he made against you, unraveling you piece by piece.

Your heartbeat pounded in your ears, the pressure in your lower stomach growing unbearable, his increasing pace pushing you closer and closer to the edge. He could feel the way you clenched around his fingers, and how you trembled beneath him, rocking against his mouth.

”Bucky-“ His name left your lips in a strangled breath, your gaze returning to his, realizing that he had been watching you this entire time, enamoured by your body and the way it reacted to him. His grip on your hand tightened, grounding you to the moment, your legs clenching around his head again just as his tongue flattened against you and his fingers curled a little more inside you, picking up the pace. For a split second he took his mouth off you.

“Let go for me sweetheart.” He instructed, his voice laced with such need and devotion that you could feel your entire body tense up, feeling his mouth returning to your clit once again, his tongue working against you with such purpose that all the air in your lungs ceased to exist. Your thighs twitched against the sides of his head, his lips wrapping around your clit with a slow and deliberate pull, which caused the tension in your stomach to snap.

A sharp moan tore through you, as he pressed his face against you even more, allowing himself to feel the way you shuddered beneath him. The air crackled faintly, as static danced along your skin, noticing the way Bucky’s arm plates flickered a light blue for a brief moment. His grip on your hand tightened, and his movements didn’t falter, allowing himself to slow down just enough to guide you through the aftershocks of your orgasm, until your body finally relaxed against the mattress, utterly spent.

Gently he pulled away from your soaked core, pressing a wet kiss to the inside of your thigh, before removing his glistening fingers from you and sitting up slightly. His lips were slick with your arousal, and the expression on his face was something between pride and awe, as he crawled back on top of you, caging your body in his warmth.

“You were incredible.” He whispered, pressing a soft kiss to your lips, the sweet reminance of you being tasted on his tongue, “You did so good.” He added, bringing his fingers to your mouth, watching as you sucked the rest of your arousal off of them, your tongue carefully flicking against them.

“Christ.” Was all he could manage to say, as he slowly pulled his fingers from your mouth, letting them drag down your swollen lower lip, watching the saliva glisten over the reddened skin where you had been biting. The hard outline of him pressed against your thigh as he shifted above you, bringing his mouth to yours again, wanting to savour every kiss you gave him. His dog tags grazed the middle of your chest, cooling your overheated skin which now had a faint film of sweat forming on it, as you let out a soft moan when he rolled his hips against your aching heat, pressing hard so you could feel him. Bucky pulled away from the kiss, almost with a disappointed look on his face, a moment of realization shining in his eyes.

”Shit…Y/N I don’t have condoms.” He whispered, putting his forehead onto your collarbone, breathing heavily, trying to steady himself. You smirked at his despair, as you laced your fingers into his hair and tugged it so he could look at you.

”I have an implant, Bucky.” You informed, watching the relief wash over his face, a long sigh escaping his lips.

”Thank god.” Was all he could say before sitting back onto his knees, moving quickly to rid you of your underwear and himself of his cargo pants and boxers. You couldn’t help but giggle at his eagerness as he shifted his weight to take everything off all at once, and also just enough to knock the first aid kit and the metal bowl of glass right off the bed.

The sharp clang causes the both of you to freeze, as Bucky’s eyes flicker over to the mess before returning to you, waiting for your reaction, watching your hand come up to cover your mouth to stop a laugh from escaping it.

“Real smooth.” You teased, hearing him let out a breathless chuckle.

”Not my best moment.” He admitted with a crooked grin, rubbing the back of his neck, bringing his hand over to touch your thigh. You reached up to wrap your hand around his forearm, before pulling him towards you.

”I find it kind of endearing that you’re all nervous and flustered.” He let out a quiet laugh, as he settled between your legs once again.

“You make it hard to keep my composure.” Your fingers skimmed up his arm, feeling his bicep twitching beneath your touch, while he adjusted himself against you, bringing his vibranium hand up to your throat to hold it gently, tilting your head up to meet his eyes before his mouth captured yours again in a hunger filled kiss, feeling your hips raising to meet his, in a silent plea. A low groan escaped him as his length grinded against your wet heat, attempting to hold himself back for just a few moments before he got lost in you. He pulls away from your lips again, leaning back so he can line himself up with you. Your eyes trail down to his cock, seeing that it’s already glistening with precum, the tip a light red, practically begging to be seated inside you. He’s way above average, and the way he pumps himself in his hand almost makes you come right then and there. He could see the lust in your eyes, the way your mouth opened just a little at the sight in front of you.

“You sure you can take me sweetheart? You’re already shaking.” He pointed out, a teasing smile coming up on his wet lips.

“I need you Bucky…Please…” The words fell from you in a whimper, as his vibranium hand slid from your throat to cup the side of your face.

“Okay, okay, I won’t tease you anymore…Relax for me.” He whispered, as he aligned himself with your entrance, coating himself in your arousal. You could feel yourself clench around nothing in anticipation for him, feeling as he gently pushed into you, the delicious stretch was just enough to make you gasp, and tighten around him, your eyes closing to take all the sensations in at once. Bucky leaned onto you, his lips brushing against yours.

”Look at me,” He ordered softly, “I want to see those pretty eyes while I’m inside you.” You moaned at his comment, bringing your half-lidded, pleasure hazed gaze up to meet his, as your jaw went slack, feeling him pushing deeper, inch by inch.

“That’s it,” He praised, “You’re taking me in so well, and you’re so fucking tight…All for me.” He was breathless, continuing to move slowly, his pelvis finally meeting yours when he bottomed out. He gave you a gentle kiss, like he was rewarding you for listening to him, a soft moan escaping your throat. Your walls fluttered around him as he drew back a bit before thrusting forward, hitting a spot inside you that made your vision blur.

”Oh my god Bucky…” You whimpered, his hand coming up to hold just above your stabilizer, a smile coming up on his lips as he repeated the same motion, pulling the same reaction from you.

“There you go,” He coaxed, “That’s the spot, isn’t it?” You could only nod, your nails digging into his shoulders, dragging them down his back.

”Say it, sweetheart…Tell me how good it feels.” He whispers, his breath hitting your lips as he continues to move, pulling out just a little more, bringing his hips to yours again just a little harder, eliciting another gasp from throat.

”You feel s-so good.” Your words caught on the sheer pleasure of the way he filled you, your fingers digging into the muscles of his back.

”That’s my girl…You were made for this weren’t you?” He asked, grinning from ear to ear, savouring the way you writhed beneath him, reacting to his movements and words. He pressed another kiss to your lips, pulling his hand from your neck, and sliding it down between the both of you to press just above your pubic bone. The added pressure made every movement of his hips feel like explosions throughout your body.

“You feel that hmm? How deep I am inside of you?” Your walls clenched around him, as your eyes closed again, another strangled moan escaping into the room, your nails dragging across his skin again.

”Bucky, o-oh my god.” Was all you could manage to say, your legs locking around his waist, your abdomen tensing beneath his touch. He began to pick up the pace, the both of you exchanging breaths and gasps into each other's mouths, as he nipped at your bottom lip gently.

”You’re so fucking perfect.” He praised, feeling your fingers curl into his hair, trying to ground yourself against the overwhelming heat of his body grinding into yours. His lips traveled along your jawline, pressing open-mouthed kisses along the column of your throat, sucking the sensitive skin, putting a mark on a spot that would be visible to everyone, snapping his hips against yours, earning another cry from your lips.

“I love fucking hearing you.” He whispered, devouring every reaction you gave him, your walls clenching around him, throwing off his rhythm for a moment as he brought his face back up to yours. “You’re so fucking close, aren’t you?” He asked, watching you nod frantically, unable to focus on the task at forming words. He removed the pressure he was placing above your pubic bone, only to bring his fingers to your swollen clit, pressing against it. Your body arched against his, as he began to draw tight, slow circles around the bundle of nerves.

”Come for me Y/N…Let me feel it.” His voice cracked, his breath ragged. Before your brain could even register his words the pleasure ripped through you, as your body shook beneath his, your nails now digging into his flesh, causing him to gasp at the sharp sting. Your vision was blurred, and you could’ve sworn you felt a few tears fall out of the corners of your eyes as you clenched down harder on his cock, another static pulse igniting from you, wrapping around Bucky’s arm and fading out quickly. He kissed you again, consuming you completely, bringing his hand back up to your neck just to hold it, feeling your pulse beneath his fingertips, picking up the speed of his thrusts, the pace becoming rougher and more desperate. You grabbed onto his vibranium hand, gasping for air.

”I’m gonna fill you up so much that I’m gonna be dripping out of you for days.” He growled, tightening his grip on your hand, as the burning tension in him finally snapped, the hand on your neck tightening for a brief moment, his body stiffening above you. He let out a long groan against your lips as he spilled into you, bucking his hips towards yours to push the warmth of him deeper inside, fulfilling his promise. The weight of him sank against you as his head dropped to the crook of your neck, kissing any portion of skin that he could reach.

A minute passed, maybe more, as the both of you laid there, catching your breath, while he softened inside you. He kept his hand at your neck, his thumb idly tracing over your pulse, while his vibranium fingers remained intertwined with yours, not wanting to pull away just yet. You tilted your head back against the pillow, as you let out a breathless laugh, breaking the silence that had settled between you. Bucky lifted his head slightly, eyebrows raised, his lips twitching at the corners.

”What’s funny?” He asked, as you turned your head to look at him, amusement dancing within your tired eyes.

”That tone you were using was so fucking hot.” You could see he was amused by your admission.

”Really?” He asked, his smirk growing wider and wider.

”Yeah…I mean I knew you could be confident, but that? Holy shit Bucky.” He laughed at the way you were rambling.

”I didn’t know you liked being talked through it like that, I was just kind of filling the silence.” He responded, watching as your eyebrows raised.

”THAT was filling the silence?!” He shrugged.

”Just got creative. It was really easy too, cause you looked so pretty under me.” He complimented, pressing a kiss against your lips, you hummed.

”Well consider me very appreciative of your sudden creativity.” You murmured.

”I guess I’ll have to add it to my sex repertoire for next time.” You raised your eyebrows at him.

”You want there to be a next time?” He laughed at your shock, as his hand tightened around yours.

”Oh Y/N, if you give me a few minutes to recover that next time will come really quickly.” He commented, earning a loud laugh from you.

#bucky barnes #bucky barnes x reader #bucky barnes smut #winter solider x reader #sebastian stan #marvel fanfiction #james buchanan barnes #bucky barnes x y/n #bucky barnes x you #bucky barnes x female reader #bucky smut #angst #angst with a happy ending #sebastian stan characters #james barnes x reader #bucky barnes fanfiction #Spotify

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starryeyed-apple · 6 days ago

Text

wonderstruck

summary: To take the throne, you must also take a husband. When you meet the knight to have your hand, he is faceless, nameless. He hardly ever speaks, and never removes his armor. Every attempt to get to know him is to no avail. Frustration continues to take hold of you at your marriage to this stranger, until the tension reaches a breaking point on your wedding night.

★pairing: knight!xavier x queen!reader ★wc: 9.5k ★content: arranged marriage au. knight in armor xavier who doesn't take his helmet off. tension that comes with marrying a stranger. fluff & mild angst. smut, faceless sex, oral (f receiving), fingering, piv, loss of virginity. he guides you through it and frequently checks in. brief misunderstanding that's quickly cleared up. talk of marital duties and if you want an heir. slow romance. xavier has scars. ★a/n: I disappeared for a bit because writing this consumed me. also shoutout to @asiatic-apple for encouraging me to do this idea hehe ty ivy!! ★masterlist

You were barely past twenty two summers when your elder sister died, thus declaring you the next queen of your kingdom.

As the only other descendant of your family line, you had been prepared for the possibility of taking the throne since childhood. But while other prospective heirs across kingdoms longed for the day their own flesh and blood may meet an early end, you mourned for the loss of your kin.

Though you were not left to mourn for long. You wore the colors of it, but soon enough you were rushed through preemptive royal proceedings, readying you for a future that you had never quite believed could truly be yours.

Now that you were to be queen, there were things you must have. An overhaul of your entire wardrobe, for one. Gowns, jewels and perfumes must be custom tailored for your image alone, befitting your grace and power, and all the hope you embodied for a kingdom.

You must have ladies in court to accompany you and offer counsel, carefully interviewed and hand-selected to support you. You must have protection at all times, ready to die for you at any given moment.

And a queen must have a spouse, a stalwart partner to support her and all her decisions in a long, blessed life.

You had expected a prince, beloved by his people and low enough in the inheritance line of his own kingdom to allow him to wed you. Or perhaps a duke, well-liked with his handsome features and intellect. You would've even taken a general, an irreplaceable asset in talks of strategy.

What you had never anticipated was for your intended spouse to be a silent knight.

"He is to be my husband? Truly?" you ask your lead lady-in-waiting as she assists you in undressing your extravagant engagement gown. "Him?"

"The court has deemed him as such," Tara says as the velvety fabric the color of rich wine pools at your feet, moving to unlace the ties of your corset at your back. "Why? Is he truly so terrible?"

"I would not know," you say, laughing humorlessly as you think back to how still and stoic he had been. "He spoke naught for the entire engagement talks. He hardly moved, nor did he even remove his helmet."

Tara's fingers pause. "Truly? Even in the presence of his queen?"

"Not a soul made a comment on it," you huff, taking in a lungful of air when relief rushes into the release of your bosom from the corset's restraints. "And I am not queen until the ceremony which makes me his."

"It will make him yours, milady," Tara corrects gently, removing the undergarments from your weary form. "You will rule this kingdom. He is just a formality."

"He's a suit of armor," you scoff, irritation blooming into anger as you lower yourself into the steaming bath basin brought in after the long day. "I could not pick him out from any of the ones that line our halls."

"Then he is a decoration," Tara corrects as she rests her head on her elbows on the edge of the basin. "Hopefully a pretty one!"

She knows how you prefer to bathe yourself, and stays for conversation, even as you scrub at your own skin in jerky, annoyed movements.

"Only the gods know," you mutter, head tilting back as you sink further into the heated water. Your brows furrow as you stare up at the ceiling, tracing the intricate, swirling patterns there with your gaze. "Is he to always keep the armor on? Am I to marry him like that? What of our wedding night?!"

Tara coughs, cheeks an adorable pink at your blunt words, and you stifle an affectionate snort.

"Maybe he will draw the curtains?" she suggests, giggling at the thought, and you can't hold in your own laughter now at the ridiculous mental image. "And tell you not to look?"

You groan, holding your breath as you submerge yourself in the bath in favor of facing your daunting future of being married to a man hidden away from you in metal.

There is a very brief engagement period, more for show than anything else.

You suspect it also gives ample time for the court as they rush through preparations for the wedding itself. They were eager to put you on the throne as soon as possible, unwilling to leave the kingdom wanting of a ruler for much longer.

And being courted by your chosen fiancé is…well.

Courting is hardly a suitable term.

Sitting across from each other as you sipped at your tea, and he refused to lift his visor to partake in his own? Making idle comments on the weather, the color of your wedding dress, what flowers were being arranged, only to be met with stone cold silence from your husband to be?

Lovely.

You are all too well aware of the attention of your court chaperones in the parlor with you. As you are also aware of any tantrum you may want to throw not being tolerated.

You were no longer just a princess to be spoiled and entertained. You were to be queen, and to be married to a taciturn knight, who seemed to hold no possible interest or regard for you.

At one point, you swear you hear snoring coming from inside that helmet, but then his head is lifting the next.

"Am I to at least have your name?" you finally ask at one point, unable to keep all the bite out of your tone when you do.

There is an echoing hum of disapproval behind you, and your eyes slide away from the silvery helmet, gazing at the wavyleaf sea lavender dancing in the breeze through the window.

"It has been decided that it would not be for the best," one of your advisors says from behind you, and you lift your fingers to your lips, hardly muffling the bitter laugh that slips through.

"It has been decided," you repeat slowly, balling the fabric of your gown in your lap, frustration hidden underneath the tablecloth, "that it would not be best for me to know my own husband's name?"

Silence.

"That…is correct, Your Highness."

You turn your sharp gaze onto your fiancé, a smirk tilting up behind your hand when you hear the creak of his armor when he straightens a fraction under your attention.

"And does he agree to such conditions in our marriage?"

"He does," your advisor replies.

"So he will never speak?" you intone the statement, exasperated beyond measure.

"Ah…that is up to him, Your Highness," they say, and you glance off to the side again.

"And his face?"

"Again, it is not in your best interest—"

"Then I have heard enough."

You rise from your chair, delicately smoothing out the wrinkles you'd caused in your dress.

With tight-lipped smile, you nod towards the future companion of your life as he sits motionless, faceless, nameless. A complete stranger for all your days.

To hell with no tantrums. The least you could do before bearing the weight of the crown was show a little bit of how furious you were.

"Well then," you say, grinning with thinly contained malice. "I look forward to our matrimony and life together. I am sure we will be so very happy."

You ignore the sharp cries of your advisors behind you when you leave, and force yourself to keep going even when you hear the armor creak again, the chair pushed back.

You keep walking, and refuse to take any visitors for the rest of the day.

You have not looked back towards your ever present, stoic statue for your walk through the gardens.

You do not remember at what point he had slipped in behind you. It had been a lovely day, the scent of the lavender on the breeze calming enough to lure you out of your royal chambers. And with the wedding day fast approaching, you'd take any moment of solitude you could get.

It may have not even come to your attention that he had joined you if it wasn't for that telltale creak in the armor on your third bout around the garden.

You paused, and so did he.

For a long moment, you stood there, your dress the color of a slow approaching dawn fluttering in the floral breeze. The rose and lilac shades of the skirt tighten in your grip.

"Were you sent to follow me?" you ask finally.

Another moment passes, steeped in silence.

You sigh, ready to march back within the castle walls, desperate for as much time away from him as you could manage before you were bound to him forever.

Then, you hear a gentle voice carried to you on the wind.

"No, Your Highness," the knight says, and you freeze. "I was not."

His voice is…oh.

It is much softer than you had imagined. It carries with it a calm that almost washes over you, if you weren't so irritated by his existence in the first place.

You wait for him to say something, anything else.

He doesn't.

Slowly, you begin to walk through the gardens again.

You are acutely aware of his presence now as he follows behind you.

"May I have your name?" you ask finally, unable to curb the curiosity, the uncertainty of the unknown that gnaws at your insides when it comes to him.

"You may not."

You school your expression, head held high as ever, well-practiced at hiding your frustration when you truly wanted to.

You just liked to make it be known when you could afford it.

"Will you answer any of the questions I ask?"

He does not reply.

"Why do you hide your face?"

He is quiet. When you glance back, the knight is gazing off to the side.

You're certain he will not answer you now either, and you begin to move away.

"I was instructed not to offend Your Highness."

Your brow twitches, attention snapping back to him. "Offend me?"

He nods, finally turning back to you. The helmet still renders him unreadable as he states plainly, "I am well aware of the customs of court. Typically, a member of it with a face such as mine would quickly be expelled and hidden from your sight."

"I—"

You gulped, your anger at the situation ebbing in favor of a strange sensation by the tone he uses to speak. His voice is ever soft, nonconfrontational despite what he claims, and it gives you pause in confusion.

His face?

You glance over his armor, noting he did not don a ceremonial set that day. This one did not appear ostentatious, but practical, well-crafted for durability and protection. It appeared as if it had seen battle, bearing the dents and scratches that showed of a life paved with violence, steeped in blood and victory.

It greatly contrasted the gentle way in which he spoke, and the grace with which he carried himself, even as he was six feet in armor.

Your head tilts, wondering what battle-hardened visage may be hidden underneath that helmet.

"You are scarred, then," you say aloud with the realization.

He merely nods again.

You frown.

"So I am never to see you, my intended husband, due to scars."

"It was believed the best course of action would be to hide my face from you," the knight informs calmly, not showing a hint of discomfort or annoyance in his tone as you peer so closely at him. "So as not to offend your sensibilities."

You almost laugh, the bitter sound sticking in your throat.

"Ah, yes. My delicate sensibilities."

As if you were not the one would ensure the well being of an entire kingdom, overseeing all the good and ugly it had to offer.

"And when the queen orders you to show your face?" you counter, arching an eyebrow in challenge.

"You are not yet queen," he replies bluntly, his voice still soft, ever calm as he meets your challenge readily.

You laugh, loud and sharp, sending the birds nesting in a nearby tree fluttering away.

"What a unified front we will be, my beloved," you hiss through gritted teeth before marching past him.

He catches your wrist.

You whirl around, eyes blazing at the action.

"You dare to—"

But he's letting go in an instant, and you look to your hand that he had grabbed in confusion.

In your fingers is a single, small bunch of blue-petaled flowers.

"I am aware this is not your choice," the knight says softly, and the breeze picks up, brushing between you with the gentle scent of lavender once more. "And I am sorry. If I could…"

He trails off, and after a moment of holding your breath, he bows to you.

"Your Highness," he murmurs, and you watch as he departs, disappearing back within the castle walls.

If he could what? you think all day and into the night.

You wonder it in the days to come before the ceremony, gazing at the forget-me-nots you had pressed into a favorite book of poetry.

If he could not wed me? If he could show his face? Tell me his name?

Time before the crown would be yours passes by with your unanswered questions. The nights are restless, any moment alone spent pacing.

And each morning, you wake to a small, freshly picked bouquet of baby blue flowers sitting outside your doors.

The night before your wedding, it feels hard to breathe.

You toss and turn in your bed, sleep eluding you. The knowledge of sharing it at this same time tomorrow leaves you restless, and you sit up with a sharp groan, kicking the thick blankets off.

"I just need some air," you whisper to no one, pulling your dressing gown over your shoulders and tying it tight.

You evade the guards stationed through the corridors with practiced ease, feeling a familiar rush to when you would sneak through the halls as a child with your sister, out way past your bedtimes.

The thought of her makes your chest ache, like a corset pulled impossibly tight, cutting off your ability to breathe.

Your bare feet pad across the cold floors and into the grass when you exit the castle into the gardens. You suck in a lungful of the fresh night air, breathing out a sigh of relief when the scent of lavender surrounds you.

Pacing through the flowers, you let your fingers dance along the petals, reciting the names of each species and color in your mind to calm your nerves. Your heart begins to calm in its relentless pacing.

And then pain surges through your foot.

"Argh!" you yelp, hopping back on one foot as a dull thud rings in the air from whatever you had ran into.

"Mm?"

You jump, covering your mouth to smother a surprised screech at the unexpected, distinctly human sound.

Staring down at what your poor toes had collided with, you witness the sabatons of a polished set of armor shifting.

You follow the leg into the shrubbery, pulling aside leaves and baby blue flowers to see a familiar helmet facing up towards you.

"Oh," your fiancé's soft voice emits from inside of it, and you nearly throw your hands up into the air in exasperation. "It's you."

"What are you doing?" you hiss.

You glance around you, suddenly paranoid that you would be found with him like this, just one night before when you were actually supposed to be alone.

He's quiet, and you stare down at his large frame while he awkwardly perches himself up onto his elbows in the flowers.

"Napping."

You stare at him.

And stare.

"Do you not have a bed for that?" you whisper scream.

Gods, you were going to lose your mind married to this man.

"The lavender smells nice," he replies in the most tranquil, sleepy voice you have ever heard from a man of his size and caliber, helmet turning to gaze around at the gardens. "And the sky is clear."

Your mouth opens and closes, searching desperately for a witty, scathing response.

But they all fail you when he turns back to you and asks calmly, bluntly, "Are you eloping?"

You scoff. "With who?"

His pauldrons lift and drop, metal creaking in the silliest looking shrug you have ever seen.

"A lover."

You shake your head, turning away when you mutter, "Lucky for you, I have none."

The silence that falls between you feels like an ocean separating you from one another. Once again, you are reminded that you are no better than strangers, and tomorrow…

"There is nowhere I could run," you murmur, clutching across your chest to hold your shoulders, bracing against the night's cool breeze. "I wouldn't even know where to start." You laugh humorlessly. "As if they wouldn't find me within hours anyway."

"There's a nice seaside town at the northern edge of the kingdom," he says quietly, almost sounding wistful, and you turn back to him. His armor gleams in the moonlight, his helmet tilted up towards the stars. "The people are kind, and welcoming to strangers. I think it would take them about a week to find you there."

You blink, at a loss for words once again. It's a talent that your strange fiancé seemed to have just for you, on the rare occasions he did speak.

"I can lend you my horse," he keeps speaking, the tranquility in his soft tone slowly relaxing the tension in your shoulders. "She is a kind beast. It will give you a head start."

"Do you wish to be rid of me that much?" you whisper, choosing to believe anything other than the cruel hope that you may actually have a choice for yourself.

He shakes his head, moonlight catching off the steel of his helmet.

"I made no such claims," he says, his voice steady, resolute.

This, you actually do dare to believe, and to your own bewilderment, it softens you.

"Sit with me?" your future husband asks, offering an armored hand up to you. "The stars are beautiful tonight."

You hesitate, then slip your hand into the leather. His glove beneath the gauntlet is warm with his body heat, and he helps you sit, looking away for your decency as you adjust your dressing gown to cover yourself completely before lying back.

You hate to admit it, but the strange, stoic knight is right. There is hardly a cloud in the sky, and you can see the constellations clearly, shining brightly for you in this quiet, stolen moment.

When he says nothing for a while, you assume he has fallen asleep again.

"Why do you leave me flowers?" you whisper the question that has haunted you, relying on the certainty of him not hearing.

He shifts beside you, and you nearly jump out of your skin.

"Do I need a reason?" he asks, clear and awake.

"Well—" Words fail you, and you find yourself hating that he can manage to rob you of your gift of talk and charm, the one thing you had always relied on in your life of court politics. "I suppose not."

"Do you not like them?"

You turn your face away so he cannot see how he's flustering you.

"I made no such claims," you mutter his own words from earlier.

"So you do like them."

"Be silent," you snap, more bashful than as seriously annoyed as you have been, restlessly pulling your dressing gown tighter around yourself.

Your ears perk up when you hear the most quiet, melodic giggle.

Head snapping around, you stare at the knight, who quickly shuts his mouth.

"I said silence!" you repeat.

"My apologies, Your Highness," he replies smoothly, distinctly not following your order, and you swear you hear a smile in his voice.

You huff, throwing your head back into the flowers.

"You look ridiculous," you mutter, shifting restlessly, "by the way. Wearing your armor, lying in the garden. Napping."

"Thank you," he says serenely.

You snort, a genuine sound of amusement that slips past your lips, and you cover them with surprise.

His armor creaks when he turns to look at you.

You turn back, staring wide-eyed into the reflection of yourself in his shining helmet.

And for just a moment, you think you see a glimpse of wide eyes staring back through the visor.

You think they might look just like the starry sky above you.

Then he shifts again, and the image is gone.

You both lay your heads back once more. The atmosphere of the moment shifts, a tension different from the one haunting you for weeks making your heart flutter, your stomach lighter.

"Were you truly asleep just now?" you mumble, adjusting your dressing gown as a breeze slips past, the aroma of lavender washing over you and your faceless fiancé as you lay together in the bed of flowers.

"Mhm."

"And were you asleep when we had tea?"

"…Yes," he answers quietly, and you bite your lip to stifle a laugh at how bashful he sounds. "Just for a bit. I am sorry, truly."

A giggle escapes you, and you cover your mouth with both your hands. Still, it doesn't hide the way that you fall into a fit of laughter, all the nerves from the weeks of stress leading up to the wedding lifting from your muscles.

There's a soft, nervous chuckle echoing from inside the helmet beside you, and you turn back to your fiancé.

Who would become your husband come tomorrow.

You suck in an unsteady breath, pressing a hand to your face to hide it from him.

"Are you alright?" he whispers, shifting beside you, and you can feel the intensity of his gaze upon you even with his face completely hidden. "Are you feeling sick?"

"I am fine," you say quickly, smoothing out your dressing gown again. "Just…nervous."

Your voice gets quieter when you admit it, and you keep your face turned away. You couldn't help but feel helplessly vulnerable around him, when he could see you, and you could never read his face, could hardly ever hear emotion in his voice when he rarely spoke.

"I am too."

The whispered confession makes your heart clench, and you turn back to him.

"Truly?"

He nods, and you feel the anxiety in your chest ease, just a fraction.

"I am sorry that it's me," he murmurs, and it makes your eyes sting, something aching deep within you at how honestly apologetic he sounded.

This wasn't as fair to him as it was to you, you realize with sudden clarity. You are both the same.

You sniff, wiping at your burning eyes, and find yourself shaking your head.

"Well, you are better than some spoiled prince," you say in a choked voice, and he huffs a laughs under his breath. "I may not see your face, or even know your name, but…you have been kind to me tonight."

The warm leather of his gloves grazes across your fingers in the grass, and you hold your breath when his own fingers gently intertwine with yours.

"I only ever want to be kind to you," he whispers to you, sounding so brutally honest, the waver of his gentle words as vulnerable as you feel, and it nearly pulls a sob from your throat.

"Well," you sniff, years of training to gain control of your emotions triggering in a split second to suppress them. "If I never see you, I can pretend you look as handsome as I please."

He laughs, a gentle chuckle that has warmth rolling through your chest, and you smile.

"You should return to your rooms," he says kindly, and you see his shining armor in a new light when you let him help you sit back up, and then stand. "It will be a long day tomorrow, you need rest."

"Yes, of course," you mumble, brushing grass and stray flower petals off your dressing gown.

You gaze back up at the visor in his helmet, at the darkness within, wondering what color eyes were peering back at you.

The knight takes your hand in his once more, and you watch as he lifts it to his helmet, resting the back of it against the cool steel, where his lips would be beneath.

Your heart skips a beat, and you hold your hand close to your chest when he gently relinquishes it.

"Good night," he bids you, and you drop into a curtsy by habit.

"Good night," you whisper, "my knight."

Your wedding feels a solemn affair.

And, yes. Your groom dons armor for the event.

It is a ceremonial set, unmarred by battle. Unlike the one in the garden, when you had felt for the first time there was a human inside the armor.

His wedding armor is decorative, floral and star motifs engraved in the shining silver. There is a lovingly crafted depiction of the moon and its phases across the cuirass, and the helmet has golden wings coming out from the sides.

You must admit that it is beautiful, shimmering in the light of the chandeliers above you.

Even with the understanding you had felt the night before, you still would have preferred seeing the face of the man you were about to be bound to for the rest of your life and rule over your kingdom.

You commit to your vows, as he does his. To be wife and husband, queen and prince consort, until one of you may meet the end of your days.

The celebrations that follow are stifling. There is no parading through the streets, no addressing the masses just yet. Though the weight of the crown is now on your head, there will come another official ceremony for the people to witness. Tonight is purely for the union of the queen and her new beloved.

There are guests from other kingdoms as you wine and dine, though your husband eats nothing. He is still silent, and now present, unwavering from your side through the evening and into the night.

You only part when darkness falls, your ladies-in-waiting ushering you to your bedchambers to ready you for your wedding night. They bustle around you, speaking in hushed, excited tones, and only Tara runs over things with you directly.

"I know, my dear," you sigh, smiling at her as she tells you again where it goes, how it feels, how it may pinch or hurt but to not be afraid, it would be over quick. "I'll be fine."

You're undressed and freshened up in the tittering of excitement. The only request you dare to make is for your lavender bath oil, which you take time to rub into your skin as it thrums with a tingling, heated energy.

"I will be here first thing in the morning," Tara says as she hugs you tight, taking one last moment to fix the white lace of your delicate shift. "And remember, the candles—"

"Must be blown out, yes, I know."

You sit on the edge of your bed in the silence that follows, the first time you've caught your breath since the night before.

You think of the knight, how the glove of his hand had been warm in yours. How sweet he had sounded when he admitted to being nervous too.

Gazing at the last candlestick alight next to your bed, you lean forward to blow it out before you lose all your confidence.

Time seems to stretch on endlessly before you hear the tentative knock on your doors.

"Is it my husband?" you call out, willing your voice not to shake as much as your hands trembled where they gripped your blankets.

There is silence for a beat.

"It is," his soft voice replies, and you grip the sheets tighter.

"You may enter."

When he does, it is with no clanking of metal, no armor. Only the whispers of fabric and soft footsteps, and your heart races in your chest. You force yourself not to look towards where you feel him lingering at the door once he closes it.

It's not like it would matter. The room was dark, the curtains drawn, as you and Tara had once joked about.

Nothing seemed funny now, with the nerves nearly eating you alive.

"We don't have to do this," he whispers, and you shiver from hearing his voice so clearly without the helmet, in the intimate silence of your private rooms this late at night, knowing what was to come. "If you do not want to."

"It is my marital duty, as it is yours."

"But if you do not desire—"

"Do you not desire it?" you counter, finally pushing yourself up to sit.

The question left unspoken hangs in the still, tense air between you.

Do you not desire me?

He was kind the night before, but had always been detached before. Even if he was polite, it did not mean that he wanted this. That he wanted you.

Why do you so badly wish for his desire?

You gaze aimlessly towards your doors, where the shadow of him hovers on the precipice of confirming the last step of your marital bond, and you swear you can feel him hesitate.

"I do not want you to be uncomfortable."

"Then do not make me uncomfortable," you reply easily.

Tara's advice echoes through your mind, and you shift forward onto your hands and knees, emboldened as you crawl to the end of your large, plush bed.

"Men are supposed to enjoy it," you murmur, gripping onto one of the posts at the corner of your bed. "I see no reason why a woman cannot as well."

The knight lets out a heavy breath.

"A woman can enjoy it," he assures you, his gentle voice suddenly low. "A gentleman will ensure his wife enjoys it."

Something burns inside you with the sound of his voice, ringing so clear in the privacy of night, so dark with intent. The tension that has lingered between you goes to your head, and turns into a heat simmering low in your stomach, your thighs squeezing together.

You know now why you crave his desire.

"Then show me," you whisper.

You desire him.

And he finally moves with the sound of that desire in your voice when you call for him.

Your knightly husband approaches the bed slowly.

"Lay back," he commands you, gentle but firm, and you should be irritated by it. You were to be ruler, not him.

But something in the way this gentle knight waits patiently at the edge of your bed, stripped of the armor that protects him, has you heated with anticipation, shifting slowly to lay yourself out for him.

"You know what happens?" he breathes the question out, still hovering on the edge of something more. "In the marital act?"

"Yes."

One of your hands fists into the sheets by your head, the other in the soft fabric of your wedding shift.

"Do you know you should be readied first?" he breathes, the bed finally dipping beneath his weight.

You find it hard to breathe when you feel him climbing up the bed towards you. Your husband, faceless and nameless but yours, and gods that shouldn't excite you so much. But it has your core throbbing, thighs clenching together in search of some relief.

"Answer me, Your Majesty," he murmurs your new title, low voice dripping with sinful promise, and you jump with a gasp when his fingers graze lightly along your knee.

"No," you rush out, shaking your head even if he cannot see it in the darkness of the room. "I was not aware of that."

His hand curls around your knee, lifting your leg up slowly, easing your thighs open until they fall apart.

"Before I give you my cock," he whispers, pressing a kiss to the inner part of your knee, and you whimper quietly at the filthy words. "I use my fingers."

The knight brushes his lips a bit higher, then stops.

"Do you permit this, my queen?"

You blink rapidly, surprise melting way to a warm feeling of awe that he's asking for permission, and how he uses your title with reverence. It gives you a moment to think as he waits patiently for your honest answer, and the tension through your muscles begins to ease.

"Yes," you admit in a hushed whisper, the truth a breath from your lips. Then you confirm, louder, "Yes, I do. I…want it."

His hand is bare on you, large and warm, and you feel the slick on your thighs when you rub them together subconsciously.

You suck in a breath, and correct yourself quieter, a confession, "I want you."

He lets out a shaky exhale, grip tightening on you. Your knight nods against your thigh, and slowly kisses up it.

"Have you done any of this before, my queen?"

"No," you breathe out, gripping your shift for purchase when he slips the fabric up over your stomach so you are bare to him. "I—well, I have touched myself, out of curiosity."

Your voice trails off with the admission, and you cover your face with your arm.

"Have you felt a climax?" he asks, unashamed.

You bite your lip, flustered. "Once or twice, yes," you whisper, and he hums in approval against your inner thigh.

He kisses it softly, rubbing circles into your other thigh with his fingertips. You can feel the callouses on each one, and you wonder how he looks when he wields a sword.

Does he fight with a shield, or in a dueling stance? A longsword or a greatsword? Is he graceful and elegant, or aggressive and relentless?

When he kisses your skin again, he whispers against it, "Would you give me the honor of touching you now?"

You nod, then remember he can't see you either, and say, "Yes." In a quieter voice, you add in a whimper, "Please."

Seconds pass while you hold your breath, watching for his touch where you need it most.

Then, your breath escapes you in a long whine when his rough fingertips barely graze against your slit.

"Oh!" you gasp in surprise at the sensitivity from him touching you intimately in the darkness, even if just barely.

Your hips twitch and jerk up, and his palm finds your thigh, pressing it down by instinct.

The way he wields control is graceful, heady and addicting to be under, and you decide his fighting style must be elegant. Precise, measured.

Is he just an esteemed knight, or a general? Or perhaps of royal blood, a bastard of some far kingdom thrown into military service? How long has he trained? Where has he lived? Who has he fought?

"Do you want me to keep going, Your Majesty?"

Your lashes flutter, and you nod rapidly. "Yes, please."

His fingers press against you again, confident and gentle. They trace along your slit again, collecting your slick, all the way up to where you have found you are most sensitive.

"You are already wet," the knight murmurs, sounding surprised and…pleased?

It makes your sex clench, and you whine, wiggling your hips impatiently.

He presses down on your thigh more firmly, keeping you parted for him to collect more of the slick dripping from your entrance.

Then his touch trails up, pressing firm, slow, tight circles into that bundle of nerves and oh.

"There you are," he whispers, pressing kisses into your inner thigh as you moan quietly, hips rolling up into his touch. "How does it feel?"

"It feels like—" you break off with a choked gasp when his thumb flicks across it, then rubs it faster, making your mind go blank for a moment. "Hot. Tight. Good. Like pleasure."

He kisses your thigh again, and you swear you feel his lips tilting up against your skin.

Is he…smiling?

"I can use my mouth as well," he informs you, his voice calm, almost innocent, and your eyes widen at the thought. "Would you like me to try?"

You bite your lip as you try and imagine what he would look like with his face pressed to your sex, if only you could see it. What colors eyes would be peering up at you as he tasted you?

But somehow, the thought of him still being invisible to you as he kisses the most intimate part of you has excitement coursing through your veins.

"Do it," you murmur, the nature to command coming as easily to you as it does to him.

He needs no further instruction.

His hot tongue licks a long, flat stripe up your core, and you gasp, hips bucking up.

"Oh gods—"

His lips close around where his fingers were just driving you mad, and he sucks the bundle of nerves into his mouth, tongue circling it as he plays you like a beloved instrument, like he was a talented musician as well as a soldier.

It has you whining, thighs closing around his head as the pleasure grows hotter, sharper. It builds up quickly in the pit of your stomach, and you try and get impossibly closer.

When he pulls back, you whine in disappointment, and his answering chuckle has you trembling.

"I need to prepare you," he whispers, the tips of his fingers prodding at your entrance, and you stiffen by reflex. His other hand strokes gently at your thigh, easing your legs back open. "Relax for me. I want you to feel that climax you've felt before. Do you want that too?"

You suck in a deep breath.

"Yes, I do."

The knight slowly dips the tip of one of his fingers inside you, and you bite your lip.

But he pulls back out, testing just his fingertip a few times, before sinking it in further.

You hiss in a breath at the unfamiliar sensation, and he pauses.

"Do you not like it?"

"It's—" you steady your breath, adjusting to the feeling of his thick finger a few inches deep in you. "It's different."

"Do you want me to continue?"

You roll your hips in a test, and you both gasp when your cunt sucks him in further, clenching around him by reflex.

The knight groans quietly into your thigh, and you answer, "Yes. Keep going."

He carefully thrusts his finger in until he's completely inside you and, gods, it's long. The calloused tip strokes at your tight walls, and you moan, parting your legs further for him.

"You're so warm," he breathes against your skin, brushing his lips down to your sex again to attach them back to that pleasure spot.

It has you gasping, thrashing gently when he circles his tongue around it, his finger slowly pumping into you.

"Oh gods that—"

He hums against your core, and your lips fall open in a soundless cry from the added pleasure of the vibration of his soft voice there.

"Pleasurable?"

"Very," you moan, bucking your hips into his face when he slowly prods another finger into your tight hole.

The longer he thrusts his fingers into you, the less tense you feel. Your body relaxes, accepting him, sucking him back in whenever he began to draw back for another thrust of his fingers.

And when he begins to curl them, and brushes those calluses against somewhere that makes pleasure spark hot down your spine, you cry out softly.

"There," he mumbles to himself, and strokes that spot again.

"Y-you—"

Words escape you for the first time in your life, and you reach down by reflex, your restless fingers tangling into his hair.

You gasp softly at the same time he moans, his fingers thrusting into you with fervor. Your eyes roll back as you stroke our own fingers through his hair, impossibly soft, longer than you had imagined.

Was it brown? Blond? Perhaps a more fantastical color that hid under his helmet?

The wet sounds of his hand smacking against your skin with each thrust of his fingers into your soaked cunt is obscene, and has your toes curling, grabbing onto his hair tighter. Hot pleasure keeps growing in your gut until you feel yourself about to burst with it.

He moans again when you subconsciously yank at his hair. He's still stroking that spot each time you suck him back in, his tongue rubbing against you, and you climax against your knight's face with a nameless moan for him.

It's a high pitched cry, loud, restless, and mellows out with quieter groans as he works you gently through each wave of pleasure.

His soft kiss against your overstimulated nerves makes you twitch, and he smiles against your stomach.

"You should be ready now," he murmurs, and your mind spins at the thought of more. "If you still…?"

"I still want to," you confirm breathlessly, tugging at his hair, and the answering grunt is delicious, sparking more desire in your soaked cunt, a longing to be filled by him completely.

He pulls himself up over you, and you hear the rustle of fabric, then him grunting quietly, wet slaps echoing, before you feel it.

You jump as the head of him slips through your slick. It's curved, bigger than his fingers, and you clench in anticipation of taking it all.

It catches on your entrance, and you whimper when he begins to slip in.

"Tell me if it's too much," he whispers, his voice suddenly shaky as he lowers himself onto his arms over you. "My queen?"

"Yes," you breathe, trembling as he begins to sink into you.

He does it in short thrusts, rolling his hips to almost slip out of you before slowly easing himself back in, giving you time to adjust.

And gods, he is big. Impossibly long and thick, throbbing deliciously as your body welcomes him in.

A part of you can't help but be glad that you can't see it, knowing you'd be overwhelmed by both seeing the size of him, and being under his sharp gaze as you squirm beneath him.

When he bottoms out, his hips flush against yours, you both sigh in unison.

Your knight gives you another moment to adjust. His hand finds your thigh, stroking gentle circles into it with his thumb, and you wonder if he even realizes he's doing it.

Then he thrusts into you once, filling you completely, and your eyes flutter shut.

When he does it again, a whimper escapes from your throat, and he promptly stops.

"Does it hurt?" he asks, hushed in the darkness.

You fingers flex and clench into the sheets above your head multiple times, trying to find the words he'd stolen from you along with the breath from your lungs.

"…No," you answer honestly after a tense moment. Even if you cannot see his eyes in the night, you still find yourself gazing off towards the side in shyness. "It…feels good."

Your knight—no, your husband—pauses above you.

Then, ever so slowly, he rolls his hips, grinding his pelvis into that spot above your folds that makes your toes curl.

"And this?" he whispers, dark and intense, and you bite your lip.

"G-good," you stutter out, breath hitching loudly when he bucks into you once with an obscene sucking sound, and then does it again.

"This?"

"Good," you gasp, grabbing at your pillows, head thrashing to the side when he keeps bucking into you.

Your skin slaps together with each deep thrust, loud and wet, the sound filling up your large chambers along with the scent of sweat and musk. He's impossibly deep, picking up speed, making it hard to think clearly.

"Very good," you breathe, voice shaky with mounting pleasure.

"Truly?" he breathes right next to your ear, his lips grazing it.

You whine loudly, your hand flying up to try and find purchase on his back.

But his skin is bare, no hinges of metal to hang onto. It's soft, smooth, only for your fingers to run across the occasional raised skin across his shoulders, down the span of his broad back.

Scars, you think, and wonder what each one looks like as you blindly trace them.

Your mind spins with the knowledge of him, this strong and silent man, being exposed to you at last, only for you not to see one bit of him.

But he's all around you, deep inside of you, utterly consuming you with every thrust and grind of his hips against yours. Your fingers curl against his back a few times, desperate to ground yourself.

When your nails scrape against him, and he lets out a quiet grunt, your scattered thoughts fizzle out.

Do it again, is all you can think when your mind comes back to you, even as you can't find the words to tell him. Make that sound again.

You eagerly dig your nails into his back, and he spasms above you, pulling out almost entirely only to thrust back into sopping cunt, bottoming out and bucking up into you rapidly.

"O-oh," you moan breathlessly, both hands coming up to grab at him.

You dig your grip into him at every spot you grab, leaving marks you'd never see. Your back arches off the bed each time he grunts and moans quietly into your ear from the sensation.

He feels good, you think distantly, more drunk off the knowledge than the finest of wines you'd consumed on your wedding night. All the opulence and celebration pales in comparison to this moment, when you and your husband were one—faceless and nameless as he is, he is yours. You're making him feel good.

His chest presses to yours as he leans his weight into you, his arms wrapping around your torso to hold you tight to him. He breathes against your ear, quick and shallow, as he makes soft, broken sounds.

Too distracted by the deep grind of his hips into yours, stimulating you right where you need it, you don't realize for a few moments that the broken sounds he makes are the syllables of your name.

You come apart for him with a sharp cry that breaks halfway, mouth open in soundless pleasure while your cunt spasms around his cock, drenching him in your sweet release.

"You—" he gasps, dull nails digging into your hips as they lazily thrust up to meet his own, riding out the waves of your climax. "Did you—"

He breaks off with a strangled moan, and gives a few last, deep thrusts before he's suddenly gone.

You whine at the loss of him when he slips out and away so easily. Your eyelashes flutter as you force your eyes open, transfixed by the dark shape of him over you as his hips jerk, hand moving quickly while grunting quietly, and your thighs are coated in something warm and wet.

"What…?" you breathe, your mind slowly playing catch-up, blinking rapidly. "Why did you…?"

Your thighs twitch when he runs his fingers across them, collecting his release with yours, and smearing them onto the sheets below you.

"Your maids will deliver it to your court advisors in the morning." How he still manages to sound so calm while catching his breath, you have no idea, and it makes something dark and ugly twist where pleasure just bloomed in your gut. "For proof of the marital duty being fulfilled."

"But you didn't—" you breathe heavily, pushing yourself up onto your arms as he shifts off the bed. "You were supposed to finish inside of me. There is no fulfillment unless you do so."

"It is close enough. They cannot tell the difference."

You watch his shadowy figure move, hearing the rustle of fabric.

"And now you are leaving?" you snap. "Just like that?"

"Not yet," he answers, his hushed, unbothered tone only infuriating you further.

He moves through the dark, towards the direction of your vanity, and you turn to stare at the wall. Anger stews in you, your body tense despite the lingering pleasure, knuckles tight in the sheets as you hear the pitcher of water being poured.

You don't want to look towards him.

You don't.

But you give into that inexplicable temptation anyway, that curiosity that lingers for any impossible glimpse of him, only for your breath to catch in your throat.

While you had been expecting the same tall figure drenched in shadows, you were graced with a sliver of moonlight peeking through your curtains to fall across his back, still turned to you.

His skin is pale and smooth, with a dusting of a pink flush across his broad shoulders. There is a long, faded scar across the back of the right one, nearly covered up by the hair that falls past them. The soft strands appear white, perhaps silver. Or maybe it's just the pale moonlight that makes it appear so.

When your husband begins to turn back towards you, you quickly look away, eyes readjusting to the darkness once more while he approaches.

I should have kept looking, you think when you feel the edge of the bed dip under his weight. What color are his eyes, I wonder? How sharp or soft is his brow? Are his lips full? Thin? Is his nose—

You jump at the cool cloth that presses between your thighs, a sharp hiss escaping through your teeth.

"Sorry," he whispers as he gently wipes away the evidence of your coupling from your sensitive flesh. "I tried to warm it between my hands."

You soften slowly, the tension held tightly throughout your body melting away as he cares for you. The act has something warm curling up inside your chest, your eyes suddenly hot and heavy.

"Why didn't you do it?" you whisper, still gazing off to the side, even when you feel his gaze upon you in the dark. "Why did you not fill me?"

His hand slows in wiping down your thigh. Instead, his thumb swipes across it, and you shiver at the light, calloused touch.

"Do you want children?"

"I am expected to have an heir," you answer quickly, automatically, the duty of it instilled in you.

"But do you want one?" he presses. His insistence is gentle, yet unwavering. "And do you want it now? Right as you have become queen of a kingdom that needs your guidance?"

You turn fully onto your back, gazing at where he hides from you in the shadows.

But even though his face is unknown, his name still a mystery, his voice is a comfort. It is a warm balm to your soul, when you didn't even know it was aching under the pressure of your new position.

"I was never given the choice," you whisper, unsure.

"I am giving you the choice now," he answers, strong and gentle at once.

You swallow thickly, allowing yourself the precious moment he had given to you. A wedding gift greater than any other, to be able to think and dream only for yourself.

"Not yet," you admit, quiet and intimate, for his ears alone.

"Then I will not fill you," he confirms, rubbing his thumb in gentle circles into the sore muscles of your thigh, and your eyes flutter shut with a sigh. "Not yet. Not until you ask me for it, if you ever do."

You push yourself up onto your arms.

"Then you will do what I ask of you?" you breathe, a hope inside of you suddenly blooming.

"You are my queen." It is a repetition of his oath, only for you to hear now. His soft voice is a caress to your senses, as much as his hands that find your waist, stroking lightly up your sides.

It's quieter still, intimate with devotion you hadn't dreamed of receiving from him when he adds, "And you are my wife. I will do as you command me."

You shake your head.

"What I ask of you," you insist in correction, feeling the need to give to him what he had given to you. The same grace, equal footing to stand on. "As your wife, I merely ask it of you."

He moves closer, leaning over you, the bed dipping further under your combined weight when you lay back again.

"Then what do you ask of me?" he whispers, blindly feeling for your hand in the sheets.

When he brings it to his mouth, he presses a lingering kiss to the heel of your palm, and your heart skips a beat.

His voice is unbelievably tender, the moment reminiscent of a stolen secret, just like the night before, when he adds softly, "My wife?"

You let out a shuddering breath, reaching for him. Your hands palm up his chest and down his stomach, feeling it's soft but toned, the muscles jumping under your touch.

"Let me see you?"

You feel him stiffen above you at your hushed request, and you reach blindly for his face.

"Please?" you ask, your fingers meeting his skin, gingerly tracing a few inches of his jaw before you pull them back.

You lose your breath when he catches your hand in his.

Slowly, he brings it back up to his face. His long fingers direct your palm open, and you let him guide it to his cheek. A soft, keening noise leaves your throat when you feel him sink into your touch.

"Do you truly wish to see me?" he asks, breathless and unsure. "You may not be pleased."

"Yes," you answer instantly. Swallowing thickly, you add, "I wish to see my husband on my wedding night."

He drops your hand, and you almost feel disappointment before he's leaning over and past you.

Then, a moment and a match flaring to life later, your room is suddenly awash in the warm, gentle glow of candlelight.

You blink rapidly, gazing across his chest once your vision adjusts.

Scars litter across otherwise unblemished skin, and your fingertips dance across each one, down to the soft roundness of his stomach that was hidden underneath that heavy armor.

Your heart is lodged somewhere in your throat when he slowly leans back, letting you see all of him.

And, gods above, he is beautiful.

You suck in an unsteady breath, glancing over his face. You're overwhelmed by all of him all at once, more so than when he had been inside of you in the dark, in awe of how ethereal he was in the lone flickering candlelight.

Your husband's eyes are blue, bright like a spring's sky, calm as the surface of a lazily running river. His brow is both soft and sharp, his nose handsome. His cheeks are soft and flushed when his gaze shies way from your scrutiny, and his lips so full, so pink.

And his hair was long, a color of which you'd never seen the likes of before. You had thought it was white, perhaps silver-toned in the moonlight, until the candlelight cast it golden, creating a glowing halo effect around his head.

"I know," he murmurs, and you blink out of your daze. "The scars are unsightly. I am sorry, I shouldn't have—"

"No," you say quickly, cupping his face eagerly, and his eyes widen, shooting back towards your own.

Glancing over them now, you can't imagine why anybody would call his scars such. The faded red of the raised skin did nothing to eradicate the ethereal beauty of his face. To keep such a handsome, angelic visage hidden away forever seemed more than a shame, it felt like a crime.

You trace the pattern of the first scar, how it splits into two through his eye. First, you graze your touch up into his light brow, where the light hair won't grow back from the healed skin. Then you follow the line down across his elegant cheekbone, to the edge of his jaw.

Moving gently, your thumb brushes up along the raised edge of the next scar jutting from his bottom lip, and you feel his breath stutter on a shaky exhale right against your skin.

"You are beautiful," you whisper, breathless with honesty, caressing the corner of his lips with your thumb.

You watch with held breath when you graze it along his bottom lip, dizzy with how he willingly parts it for you.

Your hands come up to cup his face, and you peer up into his eyes.

The blue is impossible to see now, swallowed up by his dilated pupils. Even so, there is an emotion that wavers in them, in how his eyes flicker across your face, the thinnest shred of restraint held in the tension of his arms resting on the bed around you.

"And you are my husband," you breathe against his lips.

You recognize the emotion when he looks down at your own lips, his calloused thumb brushing up under your chin, grazing along your jaw.

Longing.

"Will you give me your name?" you breathe, fingers trailing down his nose, tracing the shape of his lips, addicted to mapping out the sight of him, in case you never got the chance again. "My husband?"

He exhales, the sound shaky as you feel the warmth of it against your fingers. His eyes are so deep and blue just in the candlelight, and you find you cannot wait to see them in the light of day.

"Xavier," your knight without his armor whispers, and you feel warm with an indescribable hope when he leans in. "My name is Xavier."

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