Remember Me
Remember Me
summary: you cant make sense of where you are or even how you ended up in this cell, hells, you're not even sure of who you are at this point; any memories of your past are a blur. its all the more confusing when a group of adventurers come rescue you, and a particularly worried pale elf takes it upon himself to help you remember who you are.
rating: E
word count: 7k
pairing: astarion x you (fem!reader, reader is tav)
cw: 18+. angst, act 3 spoilers related to astarion's side quest, mentions of kidnaping and torture, memory loss, blood feeding, vampire bites, smut, oral (f!receiving), p in v, The Leg Thing followed by mating press, sweet love making, love confession. full list on ao3
a/n: loosely based on this audio (18+) from OGY.
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Pain.
It’s the first thing that hit you when your consciousness came back to you.
How much everything fucking hurt.
Your entire body felt as if it had gone through the nine Hells, all at once; you could barely find the strength in yourself to get to your feet, let alone push yourself off the ground.
Then it was the disarray when you couldn’t place what had happened for you to feel so awful.
It was as if you had woken up from a long sleep; distant voices in your head, blurry faces merging together when you closed your eyes, and an awful feeling of emptiness, as if you had forgotten something extremely important but you couldn’t put your finger on it, no matter how much you thought about it.
Nothing but endless darkness.
As much as you tried to remember your life, anything before this moment, you were met with a dark fog clouding your vision. Your family, your friends — if you even had any — had all vanished from your memory. You think you remember yourself, for the most part, but even that was a stretch; you couldn’t even remember your own bloody name.
You look around you, realising for the first time that you were in a prison cell. The course of events after waking up in this dark cell hadn’t helped; the sudden cold inhabiting you, followed by this man — this monster — barging in without as much as a warning before pushing you face first against the ground and ripping open your shirt, to then torture you as he carved your back with his knife, only to leave as suddenly as he had appeared. Barely a few words exchanged, aside from some mumbling about teaching “him” a lesson, whoever that was, and you were alone once again.
Alone, with nothing but this seething pain in your back from the butchery you had gone through, the hunger digging into your belly, and your blood leaking from your shivering form, pooling around you on the cold, hard floor.
You barely had the time to gather your thoughts when the same man came back barely minutes later to carry you out of your cell and into a larger room — keeping you restrained with some magic that visibly came from his staff — where more people waited.
By the looks of it, you had been right on one thing: this was indeed a dungeon, and you were located in the deepest part of them; this room contained only a round, rock platform, located above an endless, foggy pit.
In the state you were in, you couldn’t catch everything he said as he went on a monologue. Something about powers, freedom; whatever it was, they needed you to achieve it, that was the only thing that was clear from his speech. You couldn’t understand how any of them would follow a maniac like him, but in their eyes you noticed how they listened to his words with as much fear as awe.
Your form was shivering from the cold; you wanted to cover up your top which had been previously ripped off from your body, but it was all in vain: the restraints of his magic kept you in place, and right after his speech, you were sent flying over a designated spot floating above the ground, just like all the six other people that had surrounded you previously.
Your arms remained bound to your sides by whatever spell this monster had cast on you, leaving your chest exposed to the damp, cool air of this dungeon, and your fresh wound stinging evermore at your back.
You remember the panic tightening in your chest when you realised you couldn't escape. You remember the brief relief, hope even, at the sight of a group of adventurers approaching — one of the figures shouting at the man in the middle of the room — followed by explosions and screams. Then the fear settled in when you saw them execute one of the other unfortunate souls magically held floating around this room, one new truth forming in your mind.
They weren’t here to save you.
You would be next. They would kill you. You would die here.
The pressure in your chest grew tighter as you closed your eyes and mourned your life, one you didn’t even remember experiencing, one that — you hope — had been full of adventures, of acquaintances… of love.
This last one must’ve been true. You remember being loved — more so how it felt, even if the feeling seemed so far and long ago. You remember the butterflies in your belly, the fluster in your heart, the heat between your legs; you remember just enough to know that if you died today, at least, you would’ve died as someone who had been loved.
You didn’t expect your feet to touch the cold hard ground once more. You remember falling to your knees, your body exhausted by the abuse it had gone through in just the last few hours. You remember your dry throat when you noticed the butchered corpse in the middle of the room, barely recognizable anymore.
“Gods… what has he done to you?”
But you couldn’t seem to place the face of your saviour. The bloodied, silver curled elf who had rushed to kneel next to you after defeating your captor, who approached you and held your face so carefully.
How those crimson eyes of his had widened in horror when you flinched at his touch and backed away.
Him and his group had killed one of you who stood in this circle, who’s to say he wasn’t here to finish the job? Lure you in with a sweet touch only to snap your head off; you knew better than to let yourself fall for the first man to approach you.
“Darling, it’s over now.” He had said with his voice low, getting back on his feet to approach you as if you were an injured beast, “Just take my hand, we’re getting out of here.”
You didn’t know whether to feel insulted or reassured by his assertiveness, but you remained frozen in place, your eyes switching from the hand extended out to you and his severe look that you reciprocated with a frown to hide your terror.
“Look,” he sneered, “you can either take my hand, come with me out of this hellhole, or rot away in this godsforsaken—”
From behind him, someone from his group called out a name which stopped him mid-sentence just as his tone was rising.
“Astarion.”
A name that felt oddly familiar, despite the void in your memories. It danced beautifully as it echoed across the room and around your mind; there was something about it that just sounded right.
Astarion. A name worthy of being written in the stars, you find yourself thinking, the sound of it bringing you a familiar sense of peace, of security.
Astarion. Maybe if you repeated it enough in your head, something clearer would come up. Maybe, just maybe, then you would remember.
He took a deep breath and continued, which brought you back from your reverie, “I’m quite certain you went through the Hells and back, but for now, I’ll have to ask you to trust me, just as you’ve done in the past. Can you do that for me?”
He extended out his hand once more, this time a request rather than a command, his voice carrying out his concerns, “Can you trust me?”
“Why would I trust someone I’ve just met?” You wanted to ask, but something about the way he asked struck a chord, as if you did know him. As if you knew he spoke true when he said you used to trust him, and you finally accepted the hand he held out to you.
A hand that pulled you to your feet, and guided you out of this dreadful place.
You were given a cloak to cover your shivering form, and you walked along with them back to their camp. Back to this intriguing, yet charming man’s tent, where they all agreed you should rest for the night.
The first thing that hit you when you stepped in was the smell.
You didn’t know what it was exactly, you couldn’t recognize it, but it was intoxicating; it only made your stomach churn more. As the adrenaline of the previous hour settled down, you fell to your knees, grabbing onto your waist as the pain that had been muted came back screaming through your guts.
“Shit—” He rushed down to check on you, with one hand down your back, holding onto you, “Darling, talk to me, what’s wrong?”
“What isn’t wrong?! I was tortured, starved off, almost sacrificed for all I know, and I can’t even remember who I fucking am!” Is what you wanted to say, but all you could manage out is a groan in the middle of your sobs.
When you lifted your head, your eyes fell onto the set of messily arranged bottles from where the strong smell came from, and a quick exchange of glances told him everything he needed to know.
“Of course, you’re hungry,” He sighed heavily, "Look, I’ll gladly offer you some from my own reserves — after I’ve taken a look at your wounds.”
You had almost forgotten about them.
You averted your eyes from his gaze, your mind now racing as you expected the worst. You had no way to see what had been done to your back, but the pain you had gone through was a good indicator of how bad it would look.
Met with your silence, he continued, “I need… to see what he’s done to you. Please.”
Your eyes went back and forth between him and the dark bottles briefly considering pouncing on them to get a taste as your mouth watered in anticipation, but you reluctantly turned your back to him as you sat with your legs pressed back into your stomach, barely helping mitigate the pain in your stomach.
As you let the cloak fall from your shoulders, you heard nothing but a shaky, deflated sigh behind you. Seconds of silence passed before you considered turning around, but a part of you was terrified of the look you would find on his face.
You finally found the strength to utter your first words.
“Is it… that bad?” Your voice was rough from neglect, as the last time you had used it had been to scream when you received this torture.
You heard him take a deep breath, shaking away the shock that had previously rendered him speechless, “You must’ve already known what he carved away in your back. Hells, I knew before even looking, but seeing it…” he pauses, his tone quieting, “seeing it is another story completely.”
“I… I don’t know,” you muster with a weak voice. It's true, you had no idea, he had carved your damn back, you had no way to see the extent of his torture.
He took a deep breath, shaking away the feelings that had sneaked their way into his voice, “It’s no matter, it’s over now; Cazador is dead. He won’t hurt—” he paused, as if processing the information himself, “Anyone, ever again.”
You turned around to face him this time, “Who’s Cazador?”
He huffed, “I’m glad it was that easy for you to forget about him, but when you’ve suffered under his hand for nearly two centuries, the memories tend to linger.”
You remained silent as you stared at him, just as shocked as you were confused by his words. When he noticed your stare, his face twisted in concern, “Oh shit, you’re serious.”
You nodded silently.
He continued, tentatively, “He was my master, he’s the one we killed back in the dungeons — the one who abducted you, who did this to you. Do you not remember any of this?”
You shook your head slightly, never leaving his gaze.
“Oh dear.” His voice dropped as his eyebrows raised and his eyes widened all at once, “Do you remember anything at all — the absolute, our adventure… Do you remember… me?”
His eyes went back and forth between yours, as if he was searching them for any sign of recognition, looking for you, whoever you were behind those confused, teary eyes. You gave him another shy shake of your head, followed by a single tear coming down your cheek, a tear you weren’t sure why it was shed; whether it was from the loss of yourself, or the mourning of something you didn’t even remember having.
“Gods…” He breathed out heavily as his sight left you, his mind visibly ruminating. “He can’t… He couldn’t have… He…”
His tone suddenly changed as he growled, “That monster.”
He closed his eyes and shook his head before looking back at you, “You were with us just yesterday. You were — are this group’s leader. If… If you have no memories of your mortal life then it means…” he looked away, frowning, “He rushed your transformation to replace me in the ritual.”
None of the words he had said made any sense to you, “Transformation?”
He turned back to you to be met with your visible confusion, and he explained further, “Normally, when you’re turned, you need to be drained of your blood and buried six feet underground, before you can crawl out of your tomb to be reborn. This process takes a day, usually, and when you awaken, you are still you, but immortal and bound to your master,” he spat out the last word like it left a bitter aftertaste on his tongue.
“Now you,” he continues, “you were turned within twelve hours, which would explain why your eyes are only half red, why your fangs haven’t come out yet, and…” his voice quieted down, “why you have no memories of your past. As if the rushed transformation had actually killed this part of you along with your humanity.”
You remained focused on the first thing he had said: your eyes had changed colour?
You hadn’t had the chance to look at yourself since your awakening and if not remembering your name wasn’t anxiety inducing enough, you realised you couldn’t even recall what you looked like.
All of a sudden, panic rushed its way into your heart; you needed to see yourself. You frantically looked around the tent to find anything that could send back your reflection and practically jumped on the pocket mirror when you spotted it nearby Astarion.
Only the mirror was broken. It must’ve been; it reflected nothing.
“If that wasn’t obvious by now, this should’ve clarified things a bit,” he said.
He lowered the mirror you still held in front of you, expecting your image to be reflected eventually, maybe at a different angle, maybe with more light. Maybe another one would, maybe you were just delirious from everything that had happened only today.
“You’re a vampire now. No matter the angle, you’ll never see your reflection come out of this mirror. Believe me, I’ve tried.”
Vampire.
The word didn’t make sense; nothing made sense.
Yet, when you parted your lips to let your tongue run against your teeth; you found your canines the same size they were, that they should’ve been, but they were much sharper than what would be considered normal and you almost pierced your tongue from the gesture.
“Maybe…” he carried on, lost in thought, “there’s even a chance that the tadpole has been messing around with more of the changes your body is going through.”
“Tadpole?” You interjected, your head shaking of its own in disbelief. “What?”
He huffed in astonishment, “So you really do remember nothing.”
You sighed, “I— I don’t… As much as I try, I’m met with a void of memories. The only thing remotely familiar since I woke up has been… you.” His eyes had gone soft and bright with hope, but also melancholy. “I don’t know who you were to me, and I don’t know why, but some part of me knew I could trust you.”
He chuckled, a sad smile finding its way over his lips, “Even with your memories gone, it seems I can’t leave your mind, can I?”
You gave him a smile of your own, “Would you mind… reminding me of my life? Of us?”
“Gods, where to start, darling. Would you believe me if I told you our story began with me holding a knife to your throat?”
You found yourself smiling unconsciously, “With everything that's happened to me in the last few hours, I find that easy to believe.”
“And strangely enough it's probably the least odd part of our story.” He tilted his head, giving you a genuine smile before carrying on.
“It’s all tedious, really, but… There’s one memory I want to tell you about: The night of the tiefling party. Ugh, it was dreadful for the most part; the wine tasted like vinegar, the music was too loud, and there were too many of those bloody tieflings at our camp, to be quite sincere— “
“Not a people’s person I take it?”
“My dear, after years of being forced on and by people, the last thing you want is to be surrounded by more of them.” The sight of you parting your lips and raising your eyebrows told him you had also forgotten about this and he quickly caught onto it, changing the direction of the discussion back to the topic at hand. “But, there was one good thing that came out from this night: when we met in the woods. I had high hopes of you joining me there — although no doubts, of course — I was the most suitable option among our group after all.”
“Most suitable? Someone else wanted to spend the night with… me?”
“Darling, the whole world and their mother wanted a special moment with you. But only one of us got that honour. A chance to steal away with everyone’s new favourite leader.”
The faint sounds of the party fading: music echoing through the forest, people laughing, the cool air of a summer’s night breezing through, and good company throughout the night.
“I have been waiting for you. Waiting since the moment I first saw you. Waiting… to have you.”
You blinked, “You… were waiting for me in the woods, I’m— I’m remembering.”
“I did put a lot of effort into my entrance, I would be upset if you didn't remember it quite honestly.” You laughed softly. “Do you remember what happened afterwards?”
Your eyes roamed as you pushed the memory further, before you lifted your head to meet his gaze, “You… kissed me.”
“After you had the audacity to say I didn't have you yet while you had come to me of your own volition, yes, and then?”
You chuckled, but your smile quickly faded as your memory unlocked the next part of this puzzle. He looked at you with a knowing glint in his eyes; he was simply waiting for you to say it yourself.
“We made love.”
He sighed dramatically, “Love is such a big word for what happened back then, but…” his tongue clicked, accentuating the end of the word, “That was certainly the start of it. The start of a series of feelings that came and complicated everything. It’s what pushed me, soon after, to confess to you that it was all part of a silly plan I had to keep you in my favour. I was terrified, honestly, especially considering it was all because I initially manipulated you to fall for me…”
He paused, searching your expression before carrying on, and continued when he found nothing but soft eyes looking back. “But then — despite everything — there you were, holding me tight.”
He let go of a deep breath.
“For so long I had nothing — no one. And all of a sudden, there’s you, who held onto me, who cared so much more than anyone ever did. And I found myself not wanting to let go. I couldn't.”
He frowned, turning his gaze away, “And Cazador used that against me. As soon as he had word of my whereabouts in Baldur’s Gate and the crowd I was hanging out with, he jumped at the first chance to torture me once more. He probably thought I was unaffected by any physical pain he could impose on me by now, so he did the next worst thing: take it out on the one person I cared about in this wretched world.” He shook his head, “If we hadn’t gotten there in time—”
“But you did.” You interrupt. “You saved me and yourself in the process. This ritual wouldn’t have given you the freedom you think it carried.”
His eyes lit up, “You talk as if you knew what it entailed.”
You nodded, “It’s coming back to me, bit by bit. I remember what you told me about him. I remember the purpose of the ritual, and your plan to replace him and take his power instead.”
He sighed, “Gale thought brilliant to kill one of my brothers to stop Cazador from carrying on with the ritual. Bloody wizard didn’t realise it meant I couldn’t continue it myself then.
“Maybe he did.” His gaze flickered back to you in confusion before you continued, “You don’t need satanic powers to carry on, Astarion. You’re free now.”
He huffed, “And all it cost was my life in the sun.”
“Well,” you tilted your head, “It did cost me mine too. Once the tadpoles are gone, we’ll both be banished to the shadows once again. But we’ll be together, and that’s something at least.”
He rolled his eyes before landing them on you, “At least the transformation didn’t take away from your heartbleeding optimism, dear.”
You chuckled, “Thank the Gods for that— ugh!”
You clutched at your stomach, your body tilting forward in pain, and Astarion instantly knew the cause of your suffering; it’s something he recognized all too well.
“Hells, you must be starving. Gods know Cazador wouldn’t waste a single drop on a lowly spawn — no offence, dear.”
“None taken,” you forced a humourless laugh. “I shouldn’t have expected much considering I was to be cattle for a satanic ritual.”
He turned around and you kept a close eye on him as he handled the bottles beside him, pulling out a silver cup out of his bag of holding to pour you a portion.
“Here,” he sat back down, parting his legs open, extending one arm to you, “Come on love, sit back against me, would you?”
You stared unsure for a few seconds but obliged him. You scooted back until your back was fully resting against his chest, leaving no space lost between the two of you.
When he brought the cup forward you reached for it but he pulled back, clicking his tongue, “Oh no, my sweet, I will be the one to feed you tonight. This is your first time, we wouldn't want your primal instincts to take over now, would we?”
You turned around to stare at him for some time with incertitude and he simply tilted his head, with a sly smile, “Humour me, darling. You’ll be glad you did, hm?”
You pressed your lips together almost pouting, but acquiesced as you nestled yourself between his legs, your tense body laying against his chest once again.
He brought the cup to your mouth at long last, while his other hand held onto your chin. You gasped at his touch — while not unwelcome, it was a surprise — and you parted your lips to welcome your drink.
His hands were rough against your skin, yet there was a softness to it that made you melt under his touch. Made you want to push further into his hand to know how it would feel around your throat. It was almost enough to make you forget about the drink against your lips. Almost.
While the mere closeness of it had been invigorating, drinking it was ecstatic. It felt like your first meal in weeks, and it might as well have been with the pit that had replaced your stomach.
You took big gulps of the delectable nectar, barely pausing for air as you rushed to empty the cup’s content, eager to have your fill with this delicious substance.
“Slowly now darling,” he pulled the cup away from your lips and you gasped at the loss of your feeding source, “This is your first time feeding; I wouldn’t rush things.”
You frowned, but complied; even if you were starving, he had over two hundred years of experience with this form — you barely had a few hours. Your mind wasn’t all there yet either, and it's true that you couldn’t trust those new primal instincts to be civil enough to drink responsibly.
You held onto the one truth you knew, one that was clear ever since the start: you trust him.
You eased back into him, letting him hold you and guide you throughout your meal. The cup rested at a slightly down angle against your lips to allow you good mouthfuls of blood without overfeeding you all at once.
“There, good girl,” he purred. “You are doing so well for me, love. Small sips now, let your body recuperate from the shock.”
There was something about his voice that soothed you, brought you a peace of mind, a calm after this storm that had been your last few hours.
A shiver down your spine, that travelled all the way down between your legs.
You finished the content of the cup at a slower pace than you had started, soothed by his soft approach and the new blood filling your stomach, and he took this chance to explain more about your condition while pouring you another serving.
“Considering this is your first feeding, you’ll need a bit more to carry on until your next meal. Mind you, it’s normal if you don’t feel full; this is a curse, after all. The real challenge is to learn to live with your hunger.” He cleared his throat as he brought the cup back up to your lips, full again, “Alright now, open up, love.”
You hungrily parted your bloodied lips to welcome another serving.
“There, there, just like that.” A soft whimper left your throat between sips, and he caressed your cheek with his thumb, “Shhh, you're okay, you're doing just fine.” He leaned next to your head to whisper, “You’re perfect, my sweet.”
For a moment, you could swear you felt your heart beat anew.
You drank with his help until you finished one full bottle from his reserve, and with the pain in your stomach settling down, you allowed your body to relax against him. That’s when you felt something poking against your back, something you wanted to taste as much as the blood that had blessed your tongue just moments ago.
And he must’ve known, too.
“So, as you must’ve realised, your hunger was a side effect of the transformation. But what you’re feeling now, which I can very much smell on you, is a result of your feeding.”
If any of the blood you had ingested had made it in your veins by now, they must’ve all rushed to your cheeks at this very moment.
“Blood,” he continued, “Brings us back alive temporarily; it warms us, allows our hearts a few shy beating of their own, but it also reawakens other mortal pleasures. The first time it can be… a tad overwhelming.”
“It’s…” You hadn’t realised how quiet your heart had been until it started beating away once more in your chest; your cheeks felt warm, your breathing had accelerated, and your core was aching. You breathed out your reply, “It really is.”
As you turned your head aside, resting against his shoulder, and your eyes lingered over his lips, another primal urge awoke in you to devour him, in every way possible. You needed to taste him, his mouth, his blood, his come—
Until you were blessed with another sudden memory, and you turned away from his lips, gazing anywhere that wasn’t on him to stop yourself from acting irrationally.
“Wait, no, I’m sorry—”
He grabbed your chin and turned you back to him in one fluid movement. “You have nothing to be sorry for, darling, and I would be more than happy to entertain these carnal thoughts I saw in those eyes of yours. Unless you’d rather spend the night with someone else?” he teased.
You held your breath as he brought you closer to him, his hand lingering over your cheek. If you just closed the distance now, you could—
“No, Astarion, I won't force—”
“Stop that right now.” He cut you off without skipping a beat, stunning you once more. “You are not forcing yourself onto me or forcing me. This, right now, right here, is my decision.”
His other hand came up to cup your face, drawing you closer to him, your lips but a whisper apart.
“I want this,” he murmured against your lips, his voice lustful and heavy with need. “I want… you.”
Your eyes locked and the second after, his lips were pressed against yours and you let yourself get lost into this kiss. How his hands held on to your face, how his tongue tasted the blood on your lips, how he whimpered into your mouth at the contact of your own tongue; this memory of love you had remembered earlier, it had been a memory of this.
His kiss, his touch, his voice, him.
Your kiss was engulfing, springing your heart back to life in a sudden rush as you met every of his kisses with the same passion, and soon enough, you were laying back against his bedroll, with him over you and stealing your breath away; one — you didn’t realise yet — you didn't need anymore.
His hands rested next to your head and you allowed yourself to reach up to hold his face, trace the lines of his age over his cheeks and down his neck, and trailing along the opening of his shirt before he broke apart from your lips.
“I’ve been thinking about this for many nights now.”
“What would I be like as a vampire?” You asked semi-jokingly.
“No, silly — Although, the question did flit into my mind once or twice, but no. I was thinking of how I would have you, the next time I would bed you. I’ve touched myself at the thought of having you again, the sounds you would make, how your cunt would feel wrapped around my cock instead of my hand—”
He took your hand from where it was resting and guided it down between his legs, and a short gasp escaped you when you felt how hard he was.
“ —but tonight, after spending a lifetime looking for it, I finally know what I want.” His half-lidded eyes seemed darker than they had been, and you lost yourself in them, "And Gods help me if I can't have you—”
“I’m yours,” you answered back in a heartbeat, your voice but a whisper, “I’ve always been, and I’ll always be, for as long as you’ll have me.”
Your words broke the remaining chains of control Astarion had over himself, as he pulled your pants off from you and removed his own shirt while your hands fumbled with his trousers. A moment later, you both laid against one another, as bare as you were on your first days on this plane of existence, your lips back on each other.
“Mmh, I wonder…” Astarion let his kisses trail down from your mouth to your jaw, then your neck.
“Hm?”
“Now that you’re a vampire,” he left small kisses alongside your neck and down your shoulder, “your blood will taste different.”
“You’ll still drink from me?”
“Well of course, dear,” he lingered in the crook of your neck, before licking his way up to your ear where he whispered, “And I can’t wait to know how you taste after you’ve tasted me.”
You shivered against his breath, fully expecting him to bite you following those words, and when he didn’t you were almost disappointed. He, on the other hand, seemed extremely satisfied with himself.
“Eager already? And here I thought I was the most depraved between the two of us.” You sighed heavily as he came back up to face you, “Maybe I will be tasting you tonight, after all. Is this something that you want?”
You smiled softly, your hand finding his cheek again, “Yes.”
When your lips met this time, it was soft, pure, communicating words you hadn’t exchanged yet despite your longing for one another. It only made you want him more.
“Speaking of tasting you,” he said against your lips, “I wonder if something else has changed.”
You barely had time to process what he had said when he made his way down your chest, briefly sucking on one of your nipples.
“Mh,” he released it with a pop, “this one still tastes the same.”
He moved to your other breast to give it the same attention, teasing it with his teeth and earning him a moan from you before releasing it, “This one as well.”
He left a path of kisses as he trailed down your navel, until he was resting between your legs with a hungry look in his eyes, “Now, for the main course—”
You weren’t prepared for his fangs to dig in the inside of your thighs, making you scream in surprise as your hands grabbed onto the sheet of his bedroll. The pain quickly turned into pleasure as he nibbled and kissed the softness of your thigh, before making his way to your wet slit, which begged for attention.
The smell of you invaded his senses and you could feel his breath over your core as he breathed you in, his arms now wrapped under your thighs as he laid on his stomach and between your legs, “Darling, you smell divine.”
A soft whimper escaped your lips as his tongue pressed against your entrance and he slowly licked all the way up to your clit, “And you taste— Gods, you taste even better than before.” He smiled up to you, his mouth covered by a cocktail of your blood and juices. “I didn’t think it could be possible.”
You were past words by now, but even if you had come up with something, you don’t think you would’ve been able to utter anything with the way his tongue worked between your legs, devouring you of your essence.
“I would forsake blood for the rest of my days if it meant I could nourish myself only of your essence, my love,” he said between licks of you. “The Gods truly made you to ruin me; I could never move on from your taste, even if I wanted to.”
His hands surrounding your thighs and his nails digging in your flesh kept you in place as he continued to worship you, and no matter how much you wiggled, his hold on you held on, as if you were the first meal he was having in days and he wouldn’t let you go until he was sated.
Astarion recognized the signs of your unbecoming as your breathing started shaking and your legs tensed around his head, pushing him to tease you further.
“Are you gonna come for me now?” He smiled between your legs, “Come on, love. Come for me. Come on my tongue.”
The vibration of his humming as he continued to savour you only added to the feeling of his tongue, lapping at your entrance and sucking over your sensitive bud, and his nails digging deeper into your thighs added a delicious hint of pain. After weeks without any sex, you were sensitive to the slightest touch, and now there he was: tasting you, devouring you, wanting you; it was all too much.
“Ah… Astarion!”
Your head fell back against the rough floor of his tent as your back arched and stars clouded your vision. You knew how ironic it was to think so, but you had never felt more alive than you did at this very moment, with your devoted lover worshipping you like the goddess who had finally answered his prayers from all those years ago.
Your legs collapsed as he let go of them to move back up to face you, and he took this chance to hook your leg with his, pushing it upwards to create the perfect angle for him to place himself against your entrance.
Your half-lidded eyes met his, delirious with lust, and you wanted to express the feeling that had been weighing on you for too long now, but when his lips collided with yours and you tasted yourself, all those words got lost on his tongue exploring your mouth.
“I’ve waited so long to finally have you,” he said breathlessly against your lips. “I kept pushing back, thinking it was never the right time.”
He licked his lips, wiping off the string of saliva that connected your mouths. “When you disappeared… I thought I had lost my only chance. I’m done waiting around.”
He slowly pushed himself into you with a low groan as he felt your slickness wrap around him, and you threw your arms around his neck as you moaned into his ear.
“Fuck, you’re so wet. So tight and warm, all for me. I would stay here inside of you for a decade if I could. You feel exquisite, my love.”
He retracted himself slowly, and plunged back in with the same agonising pace, taking in the feeling of your inside. “I’ll enjoy taking my time with you; discovering what makes you tick, tease every one of your sensitive spots. But tonight — I just want this: feeling you wrapped around me and to know that I’m the reason for your unbecoming.”
His pace accelerated, each thrust of his hips brushing against your clit as your bodies almost fused as one, pushing you closer to another edge already.
A particularly well placed thrust had you dig your nails into his back and he hissed into your ear, “Darling,” he panted, “Remind me to trim your nails when we’re done.”
You quickly realised what he meant when a poignant smell, stronger than the bergamot, brandy, and rosemary you smelled on him previously, invaded your nostrils and your mouth watered in response. What you didn’t realise was how you ended up breathing down his neck, just against the popping vein conveniently displayed for you to bite down on. Just one bite away from ecstasy.
“Still hungry, little love?”
You were snapped out from your daze by his voice purring into your ear, pulling away from his neck and blinking as you gained back control of your thoughts.
“I’m— It’s just— Your blood smells really, really good.”
He chuckled, “I tend to have that effect on people. Would you like a taste?”
You forced yourself to look into his eyes, “I… Are you sure?”
He smiled, “There’s nothing I’d like more, my love.”
His gaze reflected sincerity and you gulped as you found your way back in the crook of his neck, your lips brushing against his sensitive skin. You licked the vein you had sensed earlier but didn’t push further. That’s when you felt the vibration of his chuckle, “Go on, darling. I can take it, I promise.”
With his permission, you pushed your small fangs right over the vein in his neck, relishing in the sudden flood of his crimson in your mouth.
Whatever you drank a few minutes ago was nothing compared to his blood. He was the source in a desert you had been roaming for days, one you couldn’t believe wasn't an illusion, and you drank, and drank, losing yourself in his neck, in his taste, the very essence that fueled him.
You couldn’t tell how much you had drank or how much time had passed when he growled and pinned your arms next to your head. His hips thrusting once, deeper into you and hitting your cervix is what makes you unlatch from his neck with a moan.
“I believe that’s enough, love. Now, let me taste you.”
His lips collided with yours hungrily as he increased his pace between your legs, and he groaned at the taste of himself on your lips, running his tongue across your small fangs.
“Fuck, I need you, I need to make you mine. I need—”
Something snapped within him, a side of him you couldn’t recall ever seeing — one that he could finally let go as he pushed your legs up, pinning them down across your chest and pounded deeper into you.
He growled into your ear as he desperately rutted into you, nearing the edge of his climax at the same time as yours, “I want you, I want you for the rest of our lives, please be mine, be mine, be mine!”
“I’m yours, I'm yours, I— I love you!”
You screamed as you came, his own orgasm following closely after yours, the wave of emotions clashing with the sparks of pleasure coursing throughout your body, and for a moment, you think you died and came back to life within the same minute. It was stronger than anything you remember feeling — even with your memories still scattered, you think you’d remember something as powerful.
It’s only when you came back to your senses and was met with Astarion’s soft, dumbfounded expression, that you realised what you had just said. Panic slowly made its way into your heart and you struggled to find the right words to correct yourself.
“I’m sorry— I—”
He didn’t allow you to finish that sentence, kissing you once more to steal away those thoughts of regret that faded instantly as he pulled back to speak.
“I love you too, darling.”
Your future was paved with incertitude; your memory wasn’t all there yet, but you remembered what was important for now, and if forgetting your past was the price to create new memories with him, it was a price you were willing to pay.
Thank you for reading! Comments, reblogs, and likes are very much appreciated <3
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More Posts from Twotablelamps and Others
Just Another Typical Day
Fandom: Marvel
Pairing: Bucky Barnes x F!Reader
Summary: It's just another typical day living and working with the Thunderbolts* and also dating Bucky Barnes.
WARNING: THUNDERBOLTS* SPOILERS UNDER THE CUT!
"Wakey wakey! Time to start the day!" Alexei enters your shared room with Bucky at the New Avengers Tower. His loud Russian accent echoing throughout the room, "Up and at 'em, as you Americans like to say, eh?" The Red Guardian leaves as quick as he comes in.
You pull the blankets over you and Bucky and curl into his side, "I thought he'd tire of that by now," you grumble, nuzzling your face into his neck.
Bucky sleepily chuckles, "Same, we greatly underestimated him."
"Yup," you lean in to kiss him, but there's a knock at the door this time and you hear Yelena say, "You two better come out soon. You know how Alexei gets when it comes to breakfast."
Bucky groans, "Maybe I should've kept my place in Brooklyn."
"Yeah, maybe," you giggle and kick off the blanket and sheets. You and Bucky made sure to start sleeping with clothes on after Alexei had barged into your room while you two were naked far too many times.
You two quickly dress and step out into the hall, the same time Bob steps out of his room. You bump shoulders with him, "Mornin', Robby."
He shyly smiles and nods, "Y/N, Bucky. Morning." Despite knowing and living with the guy for a little over a year, he's still very shy with you and the rest of the New Avengers.
You all meet in the kitchen where everyone is spread out doing their own task of cooking breakfast.
Today, John is at the stove cooking the bacon, Ava is making omelets, Bob and Yelena are working together to make French toast.
"Just in time! Bucky and Y/N, you'll cut the fruit for the fruit salad!" Alexei gestures to the section on the large kitchen island where an array of fruits are spread out.
Alexei considers breakfast and dinner time as family time. Therefore, he makes sure everyone cooks and eats together like a family. Everyone except for him because, despite his good intentions, he's not very good at cooking. Therefore, the Red Guardian sits back and lets everyone else do the work while he scrolls on his phone.
You and Bucky stand beside each other, cutting your respective fruits and tossing them into the large bowl. Bucky hums to the music softly playing in the background and you sway to the music.
You also hear Ava and John arguing at the stove, "I just don't understand how you don't like scrambled eggs?" Ava says in disbelief.
"I just don't like the texture!"
"Most people usually say that about sunny side eggs."
"Well I'm not most people!"
You tune them out because arguments and bantering is very typical with this group. You weren't there when the group was first formed, but you take everyone's word for it when they say that they all tried to kill each other in the beginning.
Honestly sometimes it still seems like they're trying to kill each other.
You clear your throat and speak up, "So, John, you excited for visitation in a few days?"
John's wife, Olivia, had filed for divorce and got full custody of their son. Bucky smirks at you, you often played mediator when members of the group began to argue.
John clears his throat, "Yeah. I'm meeting them at the park again. He-He's getting used to me again, which is nice."
You nod, "One step at a time. Just gotta continue to show that you still love and care for him. You got this."
"Thanks," John murmurs.
"Dang it," you hear Bob say and you look to the other side of the kitchen island. He has egg all over his hand.
Yelena chuckles, "It's okay. At least you got it in the bowl this time."
"You good, Robby?" you ask him with a smile.
Bob sighs, "I've been watching a lot of cooking shows recently so I wanted to try cracking an egg with one hand."
You chuckle, "Not everyone gets it on the first try. Bucky sucks at cracking eggs. Gets shell bits in 'em every single time." You look at your boyfriend with a teasing smirk.
Bucky groans, "Must you always-"
"Yes, because it's funny and adorable," you kiss his cheek and it makes Yelena gag.
"You two are cute and disgusting. I hate you guys."
You throw her a wink, "Love you too, Lena."
The rest of breakfast prep continues with more banter and a few burnt bacon strips, but, overall, a success.
Everything is plated on the table that you're all sat around. Bucky serves you your food first then grabs his own food. You all eat and chat with each other, enjoying the normal morning you have before the business of work and saving the day hits you all.
You look around the table with a grateful gleam in your eyes. You're happy you joined this band of misfits turned heroes.
(A/N: AVENGERS TOWER FICS ARE SOOOOO BACK!)
hi, girly girl ♡♡♡
i’m re-reading your grumpy!bucky x sunshine!reader series (bc of course i am) and i was wondering, if you’re taking requests, what your thoughts are about:
💭 something happening to sunshine!reader, during a mission or something else, and she’s emotional (maybe hurt) and frantically asking for bucky. cue extra-protective!grumpy!bucky.
k love u bye
hi, babe :))
it started out as thoughts and I worked it into a lil something something
love you more <3
You came? You called.
Pairing: Avenger! Bucky Barnes x Avenger! Fem! Reader (Grumpy x Sunshine)
Summary: The team’s brightest light shatters after a mission gone wrong, and only one person can put her back together.
Bucky Barnes :)
Word Count: Roughly 900 words
Warnings: Fluff, hurt/comfort, mild injuries mentioned (barely), mentions of blood, overprotective and soft Bucky, physical and emotional distress, a lil bit of angst (but just a pinch)
Author’s Note: I don't know where I was going with this, but I tried :(
Navigation
Divider by: @strangergraphics
You’re not supposed to cry.
You're supposed to sparkle.
You're supposed to laugh like you’ve never tasted bitterness, bounce off the walls like gravity never quite applied to you, and leave glitter bombs and rainbow cupcakes in your wake.
You're the sunshine of the team, the chaos incarnate with fingers covered in icing from baking every other day, held together by too much energy and not enough fear.
But right now, you’re sobbing, shaking so hard it rattles your bones.
The safe house is too quiet.
Too sterile.
You hate the quiet.
Your world is made of giggles and explosions and yelling at Tony for calling you “a walking serotonin factory,” like it’s not the biggest compliment ever.
Steve’s kneeling next to you, his voice is soft, words calm and even, like a warm blanket.
Nat’s crouched just behind him, her clothes smeared with blood that’s not hers. You know what that means. She already got them, the ones who hurt you.
But none of that matters.
You want him.
“Bucky,” you whisper softly, the name tumbling out between hiccups.
Steve tries to soothe you. “He’s coming, sunshine. He’s on his way.”
But that only makes it worse. It hurts, how badly you need him. The tight, aching space in your chest pulses with panic.
You try to push yourself off the couch even though your leg won't work right. The pain flares, sharp and hot, but not as bad as the panic clawing through your ribs. “I need him now. Please. I want Bucky.”
Your voice breaks, shatters into something raw and desperate.
Steve looks helpless. Even Captain America doesn’t know how to hold back the sun when it starts to implode.
Nat lays a hand on your shoulder. Her touch is light but firm. “He’s coming,” she says quietly. “He’s already ripping apart the walls to get to you.”
That sounds like him.
It helps, but not enough.
The tears keep coming, stupid and hot, blurring everything. Your fingers grip the blanket around you, but it’s not what you want.
You want metal and leather and the calloused hands that catch you midair when you launch off rooftops without a second thought. You want the gruff voice that mutters complaints when you bounce in front of him, bright and too close, but never pulls away.
You want Bucky.
And then he’s there.
Steve barely gets out of the way before Bucky’s next to you, metal hand cupping your cheek like you’re made of something too precious to break.
“There you are,” he breathes. “Sunshine, what did they do to you?”
Your hands reach out to grab him, clutching at his jacket, his shoulder, his neck, anything that’s him.
You curl into him like a sunflower searching for sunlight, burying your face in his chest and gasping like you can’t breathe without him.
He smells safe.
Like home.
“I thought you weren’t coming,” you sob into him. “I was so scared. I thought…”
He’s already wrapping around you, his flesh hand holding the back of your head, metal arm tucking you into him, so close there’s no space between your body and his. “Shh. I’m here, baby. You’re safe now. I got you. Nobody’s touching you ever again.”
You nod, even as the tears soak through his shirt. His lips press to your temple, your cheek, the corner of your mouth. Like, if he kisses you enough, he can erase what happened.
“You’re late,” you whisper, your voice trembling and watery.
“I know, dollface,” he murmurs, his voice cracking at the edges. “I should’ve been faster.”
Steve clears his throat, somewhere behind you. “Maybe give her a second to breathe, Buck.”
“I am breathing,” you mutter into Bucky’s neck, your voice muffled but stubborn.
Bucky glares at Steve. “She wants me, she gets me. End of story.”
Nat smirks from the corner, arms crossed. “She was begging for you like the world was ending.”
“She’s my world,” Bucky shoots back without hesitation.
He tilts your chin up gently, and when your glassy eyes meet his, he winces. “Look at what they did to my baby,” he whispers. “Your face. Your leg...” He trails off, breathing hard, like he might go find the bastards and rip them apart again just for good measure.
“Nat already got them,” you say, sniffling, managing a tiny smile. “Bet she looked really cool doing it, too.”
“I wanted to be the one to end them,” he mutters darkly.
You tug on his sleeve. “You’re here now. That’s better, the best thing ever. Promise.”
He melts at that, just enough. His forehead presses to yours. “You scared me, you little menace.”
“I scare everyone,” you mumble, eyes drooping as the exhaustion catches up with you. “But you always come back.”
“Always, sunshine.” He kisses the tip of your nose, holding you like you’re breakable. “You’re my favorite chaos.”
You hum, smiling sleepily at him, and he has to look away so he doesn’t fold. “I like when you call me that.”
“I’d like it even more if you didn’t almost get yourself killed,” he mutters. “No more solo missions. No more running ahead without backup. No more playing bait.”
“But I’m good bait,” you protest, nuzzling into his chest.
“I don’t care. No more.” His voice is final. His grip is absolute. “You’re sticking with me.”
And maybe that sounds like a means of control to anyone else.
But you? You just smile.
Because you’re safe.
Because he’s here.
Even the brightest light needs a shadow to guard it.
And Bucky Barnes is your favorite one.
Thank you so much for reading! I hope you enjoyed!
If you'd like to be added to my taglist
Much love x
- Maeve
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pieces of me
See my full list of works here!
Part of the 500 Follower Celebration Requested by: Anonymous
Summary: While staying over at Loki's place, you get woken up with violently painful period cramps, having you apologizing to him in a panic when your mind starts flashing back to a night almost exactly like this from a previous relationship
Pairing: Loki x Reader
Word Count: 2.8k
Warning/s: blood; Reader going through her period; mentions of a previously abusive relationship; language (nope not sorry, Rogers) [let me know if i missed anything!]
Things to be aware of: start of steamy moments at the end; precious green flag bf Loki hours
The timer went off with four beeps, and you turned down the brightness of your laptop, rubbing your eyes as you leaned back on the seat of the couch. You groaned into the dark quiet of the living room, stretching your arms and letting your eyes rest for a few minutes before you had to go back in and work on the post-mission report again.
"Darling, what did I tell you about working in such a horrendous position?" You barely had time to react to the sound of Loki's voice, or the gentle yet admonishing tone of his voice, before he scooped you up in his arms and cradled you against him as he sat on the couch.
"You should come to bed," he told you, a soft chuckle escaping him when you instantly relaxed in his hold. He pressed a kiss to the top of your head. "Your mission report can wait until the morning, little mortal, you need your rest."
"'M fine…" you mumbled your protest, words muffled when you nuzzled your face into the crook of the god's neck. "M'almost done…just fifteen more minutes."
He let out a long sigh before tilting your chin up to face him, placing a soft kiss to your lips before moving you off of his lap and reaching for your timer, setting another fifteen minutes to it. "Alright, Y/N. But after this I'm taking you to bed." The way your eyes lit up had him breaking out into an amused grin, reaching over to hold your hand and kiss your knuckles. "To sleep, darling. I prefer you awake and alert when it comes to our lovemaking."
Your boyfriend sat quietly next to you as you resumed work on the report, waiting patiently for the four beeps to go off again. Unfortunately there were still a few fields left to fill out right as the timer went off. He wrapped his hand around yours, placing your laptop down on the coffee table before easily scooping you up in his arms again, this time carrying you to his bedroom.
"You know…I can just go back to my place," you offered. "I know this wasn't exactly what you had in mind when I said I'd sleep over for the night so maybe I can come by tomorrow--?"
"Do you truly think that that is all I want you for, precious mortal?" He sat you down on the edge of his bed before crouching down, his face now level with yours. "I cherish any time I get to spend with you, regardless of what we do." He held the side of your face, weaving his fingers through your hair before closing the distance and capturing your lips in a tender kiss. "Lay down, my darling. Tonight I am more than content simply holding you while we sleep."
Sleep took you as soon as he settled down on the bed beside you and he laid on his side to drape his arm over you. It honestly surprised you how quickly you could drift off ever since you and Loki started seeing each other. Back when you were single you practically slept with one eye open, always ready to spring into action, a fully loaded gun in your nightstand, just in case someone ever made the mistake of going into your apartment and trying something with you.
And it wasn't any better in your previous relationship. Spending the night with your ex mostly consisted of making sure you slept at the very edge of the bed to make sure that his arm didn't accidentally land on you while he flailed about. God help you if it did, it was an hour long tirade about how you "messed up his sleep experience for the night", and he outright demanded that you would "make it up to him" by giving him head.
That was what had you feeling so…foreign in this new relationship with the Asgardian. When he asked you earlier tonight if you wanted to stay with him after coming back from a mission that separated you from each other for the last week, you immediately assumed that it meant part of the night would have been spent naked in bed and most definitely not sleeping.
Not like you would have complained, of course. To say the sex was otherworldly was an understatement.
So having him prioritizing your rest, holding you close at the center of the bed while still wearing the lounge set he laid out for you when you entered his apartment nearly ten hours ago, was entirely uncharted territory. In just a few short months, the god had crafted a blissful little bubble for you that had you so thoroughly and stupidly content. That had you feeling so…safe.
If only the figurative needle that burst that bubble hadn't come tonight in the form of a sharp ache in your lower stomach that had you waking up with a violent start. You lurched away from Loki, clutching your abdomen in pain and pressing your face into the mattress to muffle your groans.
No no no, you thought to yourself in a panic, recognizing the violent clenching as period cramps. This wasn't supposed to be for another week.
The sound of your boyfriend mumbling your name had you scrambling out of bed, mortification and dread flooding you when soft warm light washed over the room and you saw the tiny patch of blood on the mattress. "Darling, what's happened? What's wrong?" He followed your gaze to the spot on the bed. "Oh, my dear heart…"
"I-I'm sorry," you stammered, already reaching for the sheets and starting to work them off of the mattress. "I'll--I'll get the spot out and get these back to you." The words started to spill out from you, as if you couldn't get them out fast enough. "I'm so sorry Loki please don't be mad--"
The feel of his hand gently wrapping around your arm had you jumping to stand up straight and turn to face him. But instead of the ire you'd braced yourself for when your eyes met his, instead you found concern. Tenderness, even. "You will do no such thing, darling," he told you, his tone the gentlest you'd ever heard from him. "You will stay right here and I'll be back in a moment."
When he guided you to sit back down on the bed, you began to protest. "But the blood--"
"Is just blood," he insisted, pressing a kiss between your brows. "Nothing we need worry about." He sat you down on the bed, lightly touching your chin before he disappeared from the bedroom in a flash of green.
Barely two minutes later he returned. In one hand was a change of clothes from your closet. In the other was the little acrylic basket you kept in your bathroom cupboard decorated with shark stickers. He set the clothes down on top of his dresser and held his hand out towards you to take.
He led you to his bathroom, placing the basket on the countertop. "Get yourself cleaned and sorted, darling. I'll take care of the bedsheets," he told you before pressing a soft kiss to your forehead.
"You really don't need to I'll be done in a few minutes--"
The frantic tone in your voice stopped him from closing the door. "Y/N, what paltry excuse of a partner would I be if I didn't do what I could to alleviate what stresses your body is forced to suffer?"
Loki's response, especially the sincerity that came through with every word, had you floored. He said it like it was the simplest, most basic thing in the world. Like it didn't even need a modicum of common sense to come to that conclusion.
And yet your history was more than enough proof that the answer to his question would have been 'the kind that I've always had'. He must have seen the words forming all from the glazed over look in your eyes as you thought back on former boyfriends, and he let out a sigh, crossing the distance between you again and framing your face in his large hands.
"Darling, I may not completely understand Midgardian anatomy quite yet, an issue I will see to it that I remedy after tonight. But this? Ensuring that you need not add to the stress that you must already bear? This I can do. How could I allow myself to simply sit back and not offer my aid where it could benefit the woman I love?"
Both of you froze, stunned silent, at the words that came from the god. Love. It was a word you didn't dare to use even in the solace of your own thoughts. Sure, the last few months that you'd been with him were nothing short of a wonderful dream that you wish you'd never wake up from. Of course you loved him. Even before your first date, you already had it bad for him.
"You love me?" you blurted out, your words barely louder than a whisper.
"I do," he sighed, pressing his lips to yours in a tender kiss. "I have for a long while, my darling." He ghosted his lips up the bridge of your nose before pressing another kiss between your brows. "Get yourself cleaned," he repeated, murmuring the words into your skin. "I'll have tea waiting for you when you finish."
Once you were clean and you'd changed into the clothes Loki brought over for you, you stepped out of the bathroom, your heart warming at the sight of the god having placed a tray with a tea set on the storage bench in front of the bed. He shifted he way he sat at the edge of the bed, stretching his arm out toward you to invite you to sit on his thigh.
"Do you feel better, sweetheart?" He wrapped his arm around you, securing you against him as his hand worked its way under the hem of your shirt, thumb softly stroking at your skin. You only nodded your response before leaning over and giving him a kiss. He hummed contentedly against your lips, playfully nipping at your bottom lip before he pulled away. "What was that for?"
"I love you, too," you told him. "I realized while I was in the shower that I didn't say the words back. Like an idiot. But I do…love you. I don't think I even remember a time that I wasn't--"
He quieted the rest of your words when he pulled you into another kiss, weaving his fingers through your hair and holding you in place. "My precious little mortal," he sighed against your lips before he stole another kiss. "Why did you think I would be angry with you over something so…paltry?" You shifted to move off of his thigh, which made him hold you tighter. "You need not hide from me, my love. I need you to know this."
"It's just…" Your voice grew faint as you tried to find the right starting point to even start telling the god about the scars that had stayed with you from the ghosts of your past relationships. "I don't know how to even start finding the words," you said lamely, picking at the stitching of the hem of your top. "But maybe…maybe I can show you."
Loki's eyes widened as you placed your hand over his and brought it up to touch your temple. "Are you certain?" he asked, breathless.
"Of course," you said softly, giving him a tiny smile. "I trust you, Mischief."
You rested your forehead against his, bracing your hands on his shoulders as the memories flooded your mind, nearly knocking the wind out of you. All of the times that your last boyfriend before him mistreated you, neglected your needs and only called you over to stay the night when he wanted sex.
The time when you woke up on a night just like tonight, with painful cramps that came a week early because of the stresses of passing your SHIELD exams that were a part of your final assessment to be taken on to the Avengers team. You'd left a small patch of blood on his sheets and he had an absolute meltdown.
Even just the memory of his words had you flinching in Loki's arms.
Dammit those sheets were a graduation gift from my mom, you dumb bitch. You better clean that up and it better be fucking spotless.
Baby I'm sorry, it's just you know how important anything from my Mama is to me. I mean how would you feel if I just went and pissed on those journals your dad gave you for Christmas last year? What do you mean of course it's the same thing. But that's not what's important, pookie bear. What's important is making it up to me. I mean, you did disrupt my sleep experience.
"I've seen enough, darling," Loki snarled pulling away from you, pure fury in his eyes upon seeing that bringing those memories so vividly to the surface had made your cheeks wet with tears. "I should have his head for his abhorrent mistreatment of you."
You gave the god a half-hearted shrug. "He's someone else's problem now, thank fuck."
"He should not be anyone's problem."
"We can't just get rid of him, he's a civilian," you grumbled, already hating that you had to argue against his sentiment even though you actually agreed with him on a fundamental level. "He's not worth the legalities that we'd be facing. Trust me, I've considered it. From setting his house on fire to hacking his car to drive off a cliff. He's not worth facing the consequences."
Loki pursed his lips, wrapping his arms around you a bit tighter. "I suppose you're right, my love." He pressed a kiss to your forehead. "Then the only course of action now is taking care of you. Putting those awful memories far in the back of your mind."
He guided you to lay back down on his bed, holding you against him with your back to his chest. He splayed his hand across your lower stomach and used his seiðr to warm the area, relieving your cramps.
It didn't take long before you relaxed against one another, sleep once again sinking its hooks into you.
The next few days felt like something out of a dream, the raven-haired Asgardian going above and beyond, ensuring that you were well taken care of and that you weren't doing anything that could cause you additional undue stress. If he so much as saw you stumble or touch your head while you walked, he scooped you up in his arms and brought you back to his apartment, telling you to rest for an hour. You made a throwaway joke when he laid you down for a nap, calling him "Doctor Loki" right as you fell asleep.
On the fourth day of your period, usually the last day if you were to rely on your history, you got a text from the god telling you to meet him in his apartment for a "routine check-up". It seemed he caught on to your joke and wanted to play along.
However the last thing you expected was to walk into his bedroom and be greeted with the sight of him dressed in only dark slacks and a white doctor's coat, his eyes framed by a pair of angular square glasses. He smirked as his eyes raked over your figure, standing to his full height before making his way to you. "Hello, darling."
"What's all this, Mischief?"
"Well, the symptoms of your…condition seem to have abated," he answered, fighting back the playful smile that threatened to stretch across his face. "Aside from those pesky little headaches that seem to plague you every now and again. Luckily I have a quick and…rather enjoyable remedy for this."
He took your hand in his and started to guide you toward the bathroom.
"And what exactly is this treatment you have in mind?"
"Easy, my love," he said, casually shrugging off the white doctor coat, putting his well-defined chest and abs on display before pulling you into his arms with a gentle tug. He traced a finger down the bridge of your nose before tilting your chin up so he could lay his lips on yours, the kiss quickly becoming more and more heated with each brush of his lips. "Pleasure." With a wave of his hand your clothes and his disappeared in a flash of green and he led you into the shower. "Sweet, decadent, overwhelming pleasure."
A/N: Another request from the 500 follower celebration done! I had such a cozy lil time writing this kind of Loki where he just takes care of his bb and just makes sure that she feels safe and loved 🥹💖
I've got another 4-day weekend ahead of me starting tomorrow and hopefully I can use this time to knock out some stories from both my neverending Tumblr and non-Tumblr TBRs, getting some stories either properly planned out or actually written out, and just overall being productive 🫡
Already working on the next request from the 500 follower celebration list and…it's a Hiddles x Reader story that involves a mango ride 😈
'everything' taglist: @simplyholl @loopsisloops @imalovernotahater @coldnique @loz-3 @huntress-artemiss @salempoe @athalialaufeyson @lokiprompts @kats72 @kikster606 @asgards-princess-of-mischief @lokixryss @thomase1 @mischief2sarawr @lovingchoices14 @lunarnights95 @goblingirlsarah @iamlokisgloriouspurpose @creationsbyme @maple-seed @mjsthrillernp @ladyofthestayingpower @sititran @glitterylokislut @ozymdias @fictive-sl0th @lokidbadguy @mochie85 @silverfire475 @joyful-enchantress @elizabethmidnight2017 @holdmytesseract @smolvenger @gigglingtiggerv2 @lokidokieokie @superficialdomina @kmc1989 @november-rayne @goddessofwonderland @buttercupcookies-blog @peaky-marvel @lokiified @dryyoursaltyoceantears @herdetectivetheorist @alexakeyloveloki @lulubelle814 @jaidenhawke @km-ffluv @huntedmusicgardenn @steaa90-blog
'he would not fucking say that' maybe he would if he knew he was starring in his very own porn fic for the sole purpose of delighting some freaks on archive of our own dot org. maybe he'd play it up for the cameras. ever consider that
chill, Loki x GN!Reader
A/N: here to post a super duper quick oneshot in between my studying for finals. I couldn't resist this one, and it's very self indulgent as I deal with another bout of anxiety pains. Still, even if it's not particularly relatable to everyone, I hope it is still entertaining enough to be enjoyed <33 I hope to be back soon with more!
thank you to @cafekitsune for my usual choice of dividers! :)
(we don't get enough soft Loki smiles, okay? Loki's literally just a girl, this diva needs to smile more)
ALSO!!!
TW/CW: mentions to anxiety here!! Not a panic attack or anything, but reader is mentioned to be actively dealing with it and is dealing with anxiety related muscle tension
It was a loud thrum inside of you. You usually explained it as it being in your head, but you also felt it in the aches all over your body, your tense shoulders, in the feeling of your heart sitting heavy and uncomfortable in your chest. Every day felt like a new development. Some days, heat worked to ease the tension. Other days, it didn’t, and you had to sit there and let the uneasiness interweave itself with your being. Anxiety sucked.
For the past few days, you’d been dealing with really bad tension in the shoulders and neck. Whilst heat didn’t seem to be helping, ice was. So here you were, laying in bed on a weekend, an ice pack on the back of your neck easing the tension and the slight dizziness that came with it, your two worst companions lately.
“… What in the Norns?”
You startle at the unexpected voice of your partner, Loki. The door to your bedroom was slightly open, and as he’d been walking by, he saw you lying on your stomach, ice pack on the back of your neck. You didn’t understand his offense.
“What is it?”
“What-” He scoffs. “What is it? Is that an ice pack, dearest?”
“Yes…? Are we cross with them at the moment?”
“Well, I might be amenable to that now.” He huffs, pointedly entering the bedroom and closing the door behind himself, as if to keep this entire conversation under wraps.
“What are you doing, my love?”
“… Icing my neck.” You say dumbly. You were clearly missing something. “I’m all tense again and anxious deep inside and it’s like churning upwards-” You cut your rambling off. Sometimes it felt like no one truly could understand what it was like. Especially because it was so different from person to person, too.
He sighs, moving to sit on the edge of your bed, a hand on your lower back. You can see his lip twitch briefly when you mention how tense you are, but he schools it, opting to be mature. For now.
“I am sorry you feel that way once again, my love.” He rubs your back gently. “But I am also deeply offended by your choice of tool this time around.”
You turn your head back around to look at him curiously, eyebrow raised.
He sighs dramatically, looking up to the ceiling briefly.
“You have chosen to use a measly packet of frozen, quickly melting, gelatinous mixture to ease your pains. Have you forgotten who you share your wonderful bed with every night?” He mirrors your raised eyebrow. A challenge.
Feeling particularly tired and drained, you can’t exactly figure out what he’s criticizing now.
“… You wanted me to use the bag of peas instead…? More surface are?”
He huffs indignantly.
“No. You have a wonderful, powerful, attractive, intelligent God in your bed, my darling.” He sits up higher as he talks, looking all proud. “What’s more, is that I am a Jotun. Or did your clever, delicious mind opt to forget that piece of information for today?”
As he talks, he leans over, pressing a gentle, fleeting kiss to your right shoulder blade.
“Loki… I know that. But this is a silly problem. Nothing too serious, and you always claim you’re ‘too busy’ to do stuff around the house.” You say gently, sighing with relief as you move the ice pack slightly to the left, letting it hit a new part of your neck.
He looks at the gel pack as if it has personally insulted his choice of Asgardian garb one too many times throughout his long life.
“My darling…” He croons, putting on that charming tone he likes to use when he wants to get out of something. Another kiss to your shoulder blade. “I don’t do things around the house because I am a God. And a Prince, if we must be specific. But you… I would do anything for you. What’s more, I love to do you.” He speaks slowly, the last bit evidently making him grin.
You huff, not dignifying him with a response to that salacious comment.
“That’s great, baby, but what are you offering here?”
“What am I offering? I am offering to be a mortal’s ‘ice pack’. You should be very, very honoured. Kneeling at my feet, even.” He murmurs.
“Maybe later.” You quip back dryly, turning back to rest your cheek against the pillow.
He makes an unhappy sound, and suddenly, the weight of the ice pack disappears from the back of your neck. Your hand reaches for it, trying to find it, when Loki’s suddenly finds yours.
“Do not fret, dearest. Your favourite little ice pillow is back in your freezing compartment.” He explains calmly, fingers interlacing with yours, his lips suddenly kissing your knuckles, too.
“It’s called a freezer, Loki.”
“Mm.” He hums noncommittally. “Do you still ache?”
“Yeah, but it’s not as bad.”
“Well, with the ice having abandoned you, I suppose I must rise to the challenge.” He sighs again, almost sadly, as if to express how difficult his life is.
As if he doesn’t lounge around your place like a cat every day.
“You’re the one who made the pack disappear, it’s literally your doing-”
“Shhh, shh, shh, shh.” He shushes you, petting your head like a mother would do to a fussy babe.
You feel almost offended enough to hit his chest or something. But he wouldn’t even care. In fact, he’d like it.
“Fret not, my dearest, sweetest love. You are in the hands of an expert masseur.”
“Lucky me. This won’t end in sex, though.” You warn him.
“Well… not before I’ve even started, no.” He agrees, chuckling softly at his wit.
Just as the back of your neck has started to go back to room temperature and you’ve eased your face back into the pillow, you jolt at the feeling of cold fingers on your neck.
There’s a snort from the (supposedly) very clever and sage God behind you.
“Oops… I forgot to warn you. My mistake.” He says with a tad of forced remorse.
He goes quiet for a bit, moving onto your shared bed in order to sit up against the headboard, letting his hand rest more comfortably and naturally onto your neck. There’s another brief fizz of magic, and then you hear him opening some book or other.
“You can rest now, my love.” He says tenderly, tone much more honest, now. “My hand shall stay there for as long as you need and bring you eternal relief. Unlike that ice pillow.” He mutters derisively.
“… Thank you.” Your answer comes softly, too.
He rubs a cold thumb over the back of your neck in response.
You both sit in quaint, comfortable silence for a while, the sound of book pages turning soothing you into near-sleep. As promised, his hand does not stray, move, or lift itself off your neck. Eventually, the cold of it even gets to be too much, and you move to reach for the blankets, intending to warm yourself up with them.
Loki’s side of the bed goes quiet, and his hand lifts off your neck. He tuts softly.
“What is it now, dearest? Are you cold, now?” He teases softly, leaning down to press a kiss to the cold skin of your neck. He could never resist.
“Mmhmm. Thank you for your services, babe, but I think that was enough for now.” You reply, still feeling a tad bit sleepy.
You pull the covers over yourself, and lay down with the intent of a nap. Your peace doesn’t last long at all, before Loki slides in beneath the covers with you, hands seeking you out and grasping at you. He attaches himself to you like a barnacle, and you can’t help your sleepy smile.
“I thought you were reading…?” You say lazily, words slow and tired.
“Well, yes, but I’ve read that story hundreds of times. It’s centuries old, darling. You are not.” He flirts, kissing your jaw.
“No, but you are.” You snort.
“I see how it is. I was going to offer you a massage, you know. One to warm you up, now that it’s clear just how sensitive you are to temperatures. Mortals… why was I even surprised?” He sighs. “That offer is certainly off the table now that you have called me old.”
He goes quiet again, and you nearly manage to fall back asleep. But of course, he goes back to talking all of a sudden.
“Might I remind you how very delightful I am as a bed partner, my love? Hm? Might I? We are formidable together. Truly. A true menace to your neighbors’ peace and respite. But yes… my mistake, of course. I am old.” He whispers into your ear, the quiet of it not at all enough to stifle his apparent offense.
“… Sorry.” You mumble back.
“Yes, well… I suppose that’ll do. I can’t expect mere mortals to be consistently eloquent, can I?” He murmurs, now focusing intently on kissing your neck, clearly deeming your half-assed apology satisfactory.
“You’re getting soft.” You tease. “You’re so easy to satiate nowadays.”
“Nonsense, dearest. On both counts.” He grins, biting your neck briefly.
Okay, so it's been awhile since I've visited your blog and I JUST read the fic where Steve gets Bee a drum set. It's so cute and I can totally see Bee getting damn good at them as she grows up and the flute as well. But for now it's just happy and enthusiastic noise.
Bucky would make sure she has the best instructors if she decides to keep playing. Right now it is very happy, enthusiastic noise. She thinks she sounds good—just like the musicians she sees on tv—and no one has to the heart to tell her otherwise 🥹
She is an early riser like her Papa. So some mornings they know she's awake because they can hear the loud bangs and rattles and screeches as she puts on an early morning show for Mr. Tato and his people.
"This is your fault," you grumble, snatching Bucky's pillow from under his head and putting it over yours.
He laughs. Bucky knows better than to disagree. Even though this is mostly Steve's doing, Bucky can admit he may have played a small part in all of this.
"I'll go talk to her," he reassures you, moving to the side of bed, the mattress dipping under his weight. You peak out from under the pillow just in time to catch him putting on his shirt, the blue cotton sliding down his arms. The way his tattoed back flexes under the dim glow of the nightstand lamp makes your breath hitch. He hears it. Of course he does. He glances over his shoulder and winks.
"Yeah, yeah. The last time you talked to her, you ended up in the band," you retorts, ignoring the way your cheeks are heating up. It's not your fault he looks so good. It's actually a little unfair.
Bucky laughs again. You feel the deep rumble of it when he leans over to brush a kiss on your forehead. He doesn't deny it. You both know if she decided to recruit him again, he's going to end up playing whatever instrument she puts in his hands. "Never said I was going to stop her Malyshka."
True. You roll over in bed and watch him walk stroll out. There's a brief silence. A knock on her door. Her happy "good morning Papa! You hears me playin' drums, you loves it? Here Papa, you take dis one" brings a smile to your lips. You're not shocked when you hear the clack of drumsticks. Followed by the sounds of your two favorite people making way too much too noise.
You give yourself a minute before getting up. Migjt as well see the show in person. Their matching grins when you walk in and join them are worth worth than anything in this world—even your sleep. Eh, maybe. It's close. Besides your new noise canceling headphones are on the way.
Rewrite Our Tale
Summary: I was playing around with this idea about Loki having a soulmate and her being lost to him because of his fate in the timelines and him seeing it all as the God of Stories. Canon divergent. Doesn’t follow canon at all.
Warnings: past in italics, angst, soulmate bonds, mentions of previous fate of loki’s character dy-ing
Pairing: Loki x Female Reader
A.N: tbh I’m writing after a long time and I just wanted to put something on here cause I wanted to know what people think of this idea, I may continue it but for now this is like it
Masterlist
Silence. Deafening silence. Only broken by the tightening of a branch around its story. Then silence again. Sometimes he would forget to breathe, a God not needing anything. Breath, sustenance, what even were these mortal wants?
Aurora borealis surrounds him, the hues changing every few moments, seconds or minutes? He still hasn’t decided how time would move for his immortality.
He yearns, not for power no, that was a stupid goal. No matter how his destiny was written, he suffered.
Walking around the garden sowed around his version of Yggdrasil; the God reached the flowers his mother adored. Fingertips tracing the petals, softness wrapped around him.
There were other flowers he had planted.
Not using seidr but with his bare hands. There was something about these flowers, in a vision of his variants, this flower always was encased by his palms and then gently placed into the palms of another.
Her hands always hidden away, he knew soul bonds were a thing, markings that matched exactly.
He pauses, staring down at his hands, the torsion of branches had marked him. A pattern on his forearm. Starting between his thumb’s webspace snaking its way around his wrist and forearm ending at the elbow.
The life video Mobius had shown him did harbour her. His soulmate. How he met her during the battle of New York, commanding the Chitauri. A false ruler. A mere pawn in the larger game.
The building they first hijacked had her curled away in the corner. Frightened. Her eyes shifted as they met his iced blue. For a moment the noise, the screams seized to exist.
She watched his eyes return to their original green. Her hand held out, the marks that he grew up with, mimicked on her as well.
A gasp left him, he pulled her close. Flush against his chest.
“I’m sorry.” The first words he whispered, “It—, this is not who I am, you have to—,”
“You can right your wrongs.” She had cut him off, the soul bond creeping along their bones, stitching itself into their beings to bring them together.
The video continued to show his deception to his brother and father. A duplication casting spell done.
Loki had visited the universe, then. Curiosity had gotten the best of him. Wanting to know what it was to be accepted, despite being flawed.
He realised a few things, whatever his variant had disguised with his seidr to it worked on everyone but her. He had made sure she’d have the ability to see through his magick. So she could trust him. Know his intent behind the spell.
She’s a spellbinding woman he agreed. Carrying herself so elegantly. She worked from the house most days, going to volunteer at the animal shelter. Hair her form of expression it would tell him her mood or mindset.
A simple braid indicated tiredness, resulting in his duplicate to curl up with her.
An intricate french braid, she wanted her hair out of her face for baking or going to her gym.
Two tiny buns on her head, she was happy, it made her smile wherever she caught her reflection. It was his favourite.
Her beautiful locks open, worn natural? She was every bit the divine he would kneel for willingly.
Another visit more far off in time, when his death occurred.
It was during the formative phase of Thanos’ attack. She was there tucked behind several people. She was helping the Asgardians rehabilitate. While she was working in shelters and other spaces allowing her expertise.
The to be martyred Loki’s eyes were on her, she could feel his seidr around her. Tearful eyes blurring him and then clearing the memory that would haunt her.
“Close your eyes,” She weakly ordered the travellers. The parents covered the eyes of the children. Some even screwed their own eyes shut but Thor and her watched.
“No resurrections this time.” Thanos’ words were followed by five sounds.
A crack.
A shatter.
A thump.
Footsteps receding away.
A wail.
The wail parted Asgard’s remains. She saw Loki. Crumpled. Skin no longer vibrant.
Even if he was the God of Stories now that scene is what breaks him apart.
Her crying and pleading. Telling him he can stop pretending. That they were safe. He could return to her. Return to build their future. Together.
He wanted to alter the timeline but he knew he couldn’t, not with how this branch was supposed to take root.
“The mark’s gone .” One of the people whispered. Then more joined in. Even Thor’s heart broke because that was the sign your soulmate was dead and gone.
Thor wanted to offer comfort to the woman who he’d accepted as his younger sister in law. The way she brought out a facet of Loki he had hoped would shine earlier. He didn’t know what to say to the inconsolable woman.
The journey to earth would be painful.
Loki narrows his eyes at her forearm, he could still see the mark. So what was everyone on about?
The God of Stories pauses his hands tending to the flowers. He hadn’t visited that timeline in a long period of time that had elapsed.
Why could he still see the mark? Was this a common occurrence across all his deaths?
He dusted his hands off. Upon turning finding himself at the foot of his throne. A branch slithered towards him. Loki took it.
Every branch, each timeline. He could view the mark whereas everyone else couldn’t, he had to follow his soulmate.
Advancing through the time, he held his breath.
“Why can I still see it?” She traces the lines, “You’re out there aren’t you? You’re going to find me Loki.” Her hands move to whatever jewelled totem he had bestowed upon her.
Earrings, necklaces, bracelets. She held onto them and hope.
What the fuck had Kang done?
Was a variant of her supposed to escape into the TVA? If so why hadn’t Mobius said anything to him? It should have been similar to him. Did she not try hard enough to fight? Was her rebellion against the TVA pulverised each time? Was she lost?
For the first time since his coronation Loki feels sick to his bones. His soulmate was out there waiting for his return. Holding onto hope.
Each timeline had her, he needed to explore them all. He needed to know what became of her.
He needed to go back to see Kang.
Loki feels the branches wrap around his forearms. His sacrifice meant something. This control wouldn’t be relinquished. He had to know, he had to know her.
Protect her better.
Cherish her better.
He could conjure a second throne. They could rule together.
Selfishness ebbs at his selflessness.
Loki closes his green eyes, when he opens them. He’s back at Kang’s residence hours before Sylvie made the choice for them all.
“You’re early.” Kang tuts closing the hardbound book, turning to Loki. He hums.
Loki merely observes. It was better to allow Kang to reveal what he knew before using his own words.
“Ah, I see you’re late.” Kang smirks then, “What questions do you seek answers for, God of Stories? Have you come to ask why? Or is it something, or someone else?”
“You know what you have done.” The God perches himself on a chair.
“Yes; and look where that got you.” Kang gestures around and then to the vintage model of the milky way.
“I did not think you would play with soul bonds.” Loki comments drily.
“Just yours and maybe a few others, you were inevitable well some version of you. All this power why should you share it?” Kang resumes reading, “She has one triumphant variant as well, the way you have died and escaped, she shall too go through the same fate. However, you took over before it came into fruition.”
Fists clenched, the cuts from the branches reopening over his knucles, “You dare play games with a God?!” His voice bellows. Earlier grandeur colouring his nerves. The wounded ego aching to return with a vengeance.
“You lost her yourself, Loki. You must find her yourself. I had prepared it but you chose different. I do not control the crown that rests on your head. Tempting, however it may be.” The man chuckles, reopening the book. “Go on, there are no clues here. My death shall not be of aid either.”
Loki knew, no amount of torture, magick, time loops, and pleading with his own mind would be of aid. This was a riddle left for him to figure out.
The branches of time part, the portal softly moving the way leaves do in gentle winds. Loki stops himself, “Where was she to meet me?”
“Can’t trick a trickster, can I?” Kang sighs, “When she chooses a different path, the TVA would have brought her, you’d be the interrogator. Beyond that it would be you, her and your choices.”
Loki walks through the portal, the creaks of wood surround him. Wind whipping harshly at his cape.
He looks to her flowers as he ascends the throne.
Whoever was in charge of Bucky deciding to take off his jacket needs to get a raise.
Oka soo I dare to send in a Bucky imagine <3 Maybe one where you're dating but you're not an avenger, so you sometimes feel not good enough for him even though he always makes you feel special and he loves you more than anything. One time while he's at a mission, you're back at the compound waiting for him, but then also Sharon comes up to you being a bitch again and makes you feel even more unwanted and leave before Bucky returns. Later then he's happily waiting to see you, but frowns when he finds out you're not there. So he calls you, asking you to come over and you reluctantly agree. As you finally confront him with your doubts he immediately tries getting this thought out of you and gives you also his dog tags to prove he's yours forever and it's all cute then and also some soft smut where he tells you how much he loves you ? ♥️
Here we go! Here's our boy making everything better when the doubts creep in and we can shut it down on your own. Title: Yours to Keep
Pairing: Avenger!Bucky Barnes x SHIELD Analyst!Female Reader
Summary: You feel like your not enough, and when Sharon gets in your head it makes it so much worse. But to Bucky you’re the reason to make it home.
Word Count: 3.3k
Warnings: / Explicit Content /18+, Minors DNI, Insecurity, emotional manipulation (from Sharon because she's a mean girl), soft possessiveness, smut, unprotected sex, established relationship, oral (f- receviving), praise, dog tag kink, Angst with Fluff, Romance.
A/N: Something softer for everyone this weekend. Thank you for the ask @wintersoldierchronicles
The compound was quiet. Too quiet. The kind of quiet that seeped into your skin and clung to you like static. You sat curled into one of the deep leather chairs in the lounge, knees tucked beneath you, a tablet in your lap. The screen glowed softly, lines of mission data scrolling as you half-heartedly skimmed them, reading intel you’d collected yourself over the past few days. Every enemy movement tracked. Every building layout mapped. Every communication protocol updated and tested.
All to help keep the Avengers safe. To keep him safe.
You should’ve felt accomplished. Proud. Instead, you felt like a ghost in your own home.
No one had said anything, not directly. But they didn’t have to. The looks, the nods you didn’t get in the hallway, the way everyone seemed to talk around you instead of to you. It all added up. They were Avengers. Legends. Gods. And you were… what? Just the analyst who happened to be dating one of them. An ordinary woman in love with an extraordinary man.
And somehow, no matter how often Bucky looked at you like you hung the stars in the sky, the thought kept crawling back up your throat like bile: You’re not good enough for him.
You bit the inside of your cheek and tried to focus, tried to chase away the fog settling over your mind. But it was no use. The feeling had been a quiet whisper in the dark for months now, and lately… it was starting to scream.
You had seen the way people looked at Bucky- like he was a living monument to strength and survival. A relic of history wrapped in modern muscle and trauma, wearing his past like armour. People admired him. Revered him. And yet, he came home to you. You, who shuffled files and ran analyses. Who flinched when the training team sparred too close to your desk. Who once got winded jogging down the corridor when your badge lanyard snagged on a doorknob.
What could he possibly see in you that someone like Sharon, like Natasha, couldn’t offer in a more fitting package?
Footsteps echoed lightly down the corridor, the sharp click of designer boots hitting the polished floor like a countdown. You didn’t even need to lift your eyes. That cadence was familiar, the kind that always made your stomach twist with a mixture of dread and forced politeness.
Then came the voice. Smooth. Sweet. Laced with superiority.
“Still here?” Sharon Carter stepped into view, her tone dipped in passive-aggressive honey. She was perfectly made-up, of course, with not a single hair out of place, her sleek suit hugging her figure in all the ways that made people notice when she walked into a room.
She looked you up and down like you were something out of place, something small, insignificant. “Thought they kept the admin staff in the basement.”
It was a joke, probably. One of those faux-friendly jabs that everyone was supposed to laugh at. Except she wasn’t smiling. Not really.
You fought to keep your expression neutral, fingers tightening slightly around the tablet in your lap. You weren’t going to let her see how deep that cut went, not when she was already poised to twist the knife.
You gave her a polite nod, trying not to let your discomfort show. “Just going over the post-mission data. They’re due back in an hour.”
"Must be hard. Being with someone like Bucky." Sharon's smile was the kind that never quite reached her eyes.
“What do you mean?” You stiffened, your fingers tightening slightly around the edge of the tablet.
She stepped closer, arms folded casually like this was just idle chatter.
"I mean- he’s one of us. Field-ready. Weapon-trained. A living legend. And you… well, you make great coffee."
You swallowed hard. "I do more than-"
"I know," she said quickly, with that same dismissive tilt of her head. "You’re smart. Very behind-the-scenes. Essential in your own way, I suppose. But let’s be honest…Bucky’s built for war. He needs someone who understands that. Who can keep up. Who can be more than just a comfort waiting at home."
Your heart pounded painfully in your chest, each word driving in like a nail. It was everything you'd feared, laid out in someone else’s voice. Someone who was supposed to be on your side.
"He probably misses someone who can actually stand beside him out there," Sharon added with a shrug. "You know… someone who belongs."
The tablet in your hands blurred as tears threatened. You blinked hard and forced yourself to breathe through your nose.
You didn’t answer. Couldn’t. Because if you opened your mouth, you weren’t sure whether you’d scream or sob.
So you just stood, quickly and quietly, and walked away- shoulders stiff, throat tight, eyes stinging. You had to get out of there before someone saw you fall apart.
You left the compound entirely, slipping out the back entrance and taking the long way home. Your mind ran in circles the whole walk. What if Sharon was right? What if everyone had just been too polite to say it out loud? What if the only reason Bucky was with you was because you were safe? Easy? A soft landing after years of running and pain?
~#~#~#~#~#~
Bucky came back two hours later, bruised and sweaty but grinning. The mission had been long, much longer than expected. But successful at least. He was covered in dirt and grime, dried blood flecked across one temple, the strap of his weapons bag cutting into his shoulder. His muscles ached, and the adrenaline had long since worn off, but one thing kept him upright, kept him moving: you. The thought of you waiting at the compound, probably curled up with your tablet and a warm drink, maybe looking up every time the door slid open- yeah, that thought had gotten him through worse days than this.
He slung his weapons bag over one shoulder, still covered in dirt and dust from the mission, and scanned the lounge immediately.
“Hey, Sam,” he called. “She around?”
Sam looked up from his protein bar, brow furrowing slightly. “She left a while ago. Didn’t say much. Looked kinda off, though.”
Bucky’s shoulders stiffened. “Off how?”
Sam stood, tossing the wrapper aside. “I dunno, man. Quiet. Real quiet. Didn’t even look me in the eye. Thought maybe she was just tired, but now…” He trailed off, reading the worry blooming on Bucky’s face.
“You think something happened?” Bucky asked.
Sam gave a slow nod. “Could be nothing. But you know her better than anyone. If it’s not nothing- you’ll fix it.”
Bucky’s heart dropped. Something was wrong. You always met him after missions. Always.
Without another word, he turned and pulled his phone out of his pocket, hand still a little bloodied. ~#~#~#~#~#~
You pulled your car over to the side of the road, the quiet hum of the engine the only sound breaking through your spiralling thoughts. You hadn’t made it home. It felt too far. Too final. The space inside your car was tight, suffocating, but it was still safer than walking through the front door like nothing was wrong.
The phone vibrated in your hand again, lighting up with his name.
You stared down at the caller ID like it was a bomb about to go off. You didn’t answer right away. How could you? How could you speak to him when all you wanted to do was disappear?
You were a coward. That much was clear. Running off like that, not even saying goodbye. You should’ve stayed. Faced it. Faced her. But the words Sharon had said... they hadn’t been new. They were just the same cruel thoughts you’d had about yourself, dressed up in someone else’s voice.
You weren’t right for someone like Bucky.
You were just an analyst. A desk jockey. A tagalong to the world of gods and heroes.
And he was... everything.
He was strength and legend and pain and hope, all wrapped up in that scarred, steady way he looked at you like you were worth the whole damn universe. And you? You couldn’t even look yourself in the mirror right now.
The phone buzzed again.
Guilt stabbed through your chest.
He’d just come off a mission. He was probably still aching, tired, maybe even hurt—and here you were, making it all about you. Selfish. So unlike him. He always made you feel like the only girl in the room. One look from him and the world melted away.
You swallowed hard, blinking back the sting in your eyes, and finally picked up.
“Hey,” you said, voice too quiet.
“Doll, where are you?” he asked, voice already softening. “You okay?”
“I’m fine. Just… needed some air.”
There was a pause.
“You lying to me, sweetheart?” he said gently.
You closed your eyes. He knew you.
“No.”
Another pause. “Come back to the compound. Please. I need to see you. You're scaring me.”
Your chest cracked open. He sounded so… real. So Bucky. You found yourself nodding, even though he couldn’t see it.
“Okay,” you whispered.
~#~#~#~#~#~
He was already waiting by the elevator when you arrived, walking slow, tense loops with his hands clenched into fists at his sides. His jaw was tight, lips pressed into a thin line, the lines around his eyes carved deeper than usual. Every few seconds, his gaze darted toward the entrance, like he couldn’t help but check again, hoping- needing- you to appear.
The moment his eyes landed on you, he stopped dead. Everything in him just stilled. Relief hit him like a wave, shoulders dropping, hands unclenching—but his expression didn’t ease completely. No, his eyes stayed cautious, flickering across your face like he was afraid one wrong move might send you running. Like you were something breakable he didn’t dare press too hard.
He didn’t speak. Just opened his arms.
You tried to fake a smile, to smooth the cracks in your mask. But it was shaky, barely there, and he saw right through it. You saw the flicker of sadness in his eyes at the attempt.
You stepped into his embrace slowly, almost shyly, as if uncertain you still deserved it. The moment your body met his, the dam inside you cracked.
You buried your face in his chest, exhaling like you’d been holding your breath since you left the compound.
“Hey,” he murmured into your hair, voice rough with emotion. “There’s my girl.”
You clung to him, fingers twisting in his shirt like you were afraid he’d vanish, afraid this was all a dream that would dissolve when you let go.
“Do you wanna tell me what’s going on?” he asked eventually, drawing back just enough to look into your face. His thumb brushed the corner of your mouth, like he wanted to catch the remnants of that broken smile.
You looked up at him, eyes glassy and aching. “You’re Bucky Barnes. You’re an Avenger. A war hero. And I… I sit at a desk.”
“Stop,” he said instantly, thumb now tracing your cheekbone like he could wipe the pain away.
“I don’t fight aliens. I don’t have powers. I’m just… support staff.” Your voice wavered, trembling like your heart might break in two right there in front of him. “Sharon said you’d get bored of me. That you’ll want someone who can stand beside you in the field.”
His jaw tensed like he’d been struck. A flicker of something dark and cold passed through his expression, steel sharp and silent. His entire body went still.
“She said what?” he asked, voice low and dangerous, but even as the fury gathered behind his eyes, he didn’t let it take hold. He inhaled slowly, grounding himself. Because right now, you were what mattered.
You looked down, ashamed. “Doesn’t matter. She’s not wrong.”
There was a pause. Not long. Just the space of a heartbeat and then the weight of metal settled into your palm with a soft metallic clink.
“Look at me,” he said, voice low but unwavering.
You looked up, surprised by the intensity in his gaze.
“You see these?”
You nodded.
“These?” he said again, his voice thick with meaning as the tags clinked quietly between you. “These don’t just mean soldier. They mean survivor. They mean second chances. They mean you, okay? I don’t give these to anyone. I want you to have them.”
You stared at them, too stunned to speak, too overwhelmed to breathe. They were warm from his skin. Heavy with meaning.
He cupped your face gently, both hands trembling slightly now.
“You’re not support staff. You’re the person I come home to. My person. You keep me grounded. You’re the one thing that’s real.”
Your lips trembled, voice caught in your throat. “Bucky…”
He leaned down, voice husky and sure. “Put them on. Right now.”
You slipped the dog tags around your neck, hands shaking, heart pounding so loud you could hear it in your ears.
“There,” he said, eyes gleaming- not with pride, but with something softer. Fierce, unyielding love. “Now everyone knows. You’re mine. Forever.”
~#~#~#~#~#~
In the hallway, without a word, he scooped you up into his arms. Not rushed. Just worshipful, like you were something sacred he’d been aching to hold all day. You wrapped your arms around his neck, face tucked into the crook of his shoulder as he carried you, his footsteps steady and full of purpose, all the way to his room. Every step was careful, intentional, his hold firm but gentle, like he wanted to shield you from everything that had hurt you today.
He kissed your forehead as he laid you back on the bed, then your cheeks, your jaw, each press of his lips like a vow.
“So beautiful… so smart…” he murmured with each kiss. “Couldn’t do any of this without you.”
His soft kisses pressing into your cheeks, the corners of your mouth.
“You’re everything to me,” he said, pulling your shirt over your head. “Every breath, every second.”
His mouth moved to your collarbone, your chest, trailing down your stomach , while his hand eased you out of your pants.
“You think I don’t need you?” he said between kisses, each one a soft promise against your skin. “Baby, I fall apart without you.”
His mouth moved lower, worshipful and unhurried, kissing every inch of you like he was reacquainting himself with something sacred. By the time his tongue slid between your thighs, you were already trembling.
He groaned when you gasped, the sound low and reverent. Not just desire but devotion. His tongue moved with slow, deliberate precision, savouring every soft, slick response he pulled from you. He licked a long, teasing stripe up your centre, then circled your clit with a maddening tenderness, his hands gripping your thighs just firm enough to keep you open and trembling beneath him.
He moaned into you, like the taste of you was salvation, like he’d starved for this and finally had permission to feast. One hand slid up your stomach, grounding you as your hips bucked gently, chasing every press of his mouth.
“So sweet,” he murmured against you, voice thick with love, his lips brushing your most sensitive skin. “Taste like heaven. My heaven.”
He didn’t stop. Not yet. Not when you were trembling so perfectly for him. His tongue moved in slow circles, each pass deliberate and precise, coaxing you higher with gentle persistence. His grip on your thighs tightened slightly as your breath caught, his mouth parting you with reverence.
He flicked his tongue softly, then flattened it, letting the heat of him soak into every nerve ending, every gasp. He alternated pressure and pace, reading every twitch of your body like scripture. When he sucked your clit into his mouth and moaned, the vibration made your entire body arch into him.
“You’re not allowed to think you’re not wanted,” he rasped between strokes, his voice wrecked with affection and need. “Not when I love you.”
You cupped his face as he kissed up your body again, pausing to nuzzle the dog tags now lying warm between your breasts. “You feel like home,” you whispered, eyes glassy, voice raw with truth.
When he finally pressed inside you, it wasn’t fast or greedy. It was achingly slow, like he was trying to carve a place for himself inside you, not just in body but deeper. He let out a low, unsteady breath as he sank in, his forehead dropping to yours, his hand tightening around yours like he couldn’t bear to let go.
He didn’t thrust. Not right away. He stayed there for a beat, deep and still, forehead resting against yours as his breath caught in his throat. His hand stayed tangled in yours, his vibranium one anchored at your hip, grounding you both. “I need this,” he whispered. “Need you. Like this. Just us. You make everything quiet.” Bucky needed you to feel every inch, every part of him that belonged to you.
And then he moved like a tide rolling in to soothe what had been broken, to wash away everything that hurt. His hips rolled back with unhurried grace, then pressed forward again in a smooth, reverent stroke, making sure to drag himself along your velvet walls with each motion, slow and devastatingly deep. The way he filled you, the way he moved inside you. Like he was writing his name into your soul with every breathless thrust, imprinting himself where no one else had ever reached. Every motion was a promise: that he was here, that he was yours, that you were loved in the most complete, carnal, and emotional sense of the word.
Every slow push and pull was deliberate, reverent, the kind of lovemaking that felt like a conversation without words. He kissed your cheek, your jaw, your temple, murmuring softly between each breath.
“I love you,” he whispered, voice cracking as you trembled beneath him. “So damn much it hurts. You make me feel like a man. You see me.”
You cupped his cheek, tears sliding down your temples. “You see me.”
He let out a soft, shaky breath and kissed you again, Bucky pouring everything he had into it.
His rhythm stayed slow but insistent, hips pressing into yours with aching tenderness, like he wanted to be memorized, like he never wanted to be forgotten. The friction, the closeness, the way he looked at you like you were the only thing that had ever made him feel whole—it all built into something consuming, something soft and sacred.
When you came, your soft cries muffled into the curve of his neck, he held you tighter, like anchoring himself to you, like if he let go, the whole world would tilt. He whispered your name over and over again like a prayer, like a lifeline, like a vow, following close behind you with a quiet, broken groan into your skin.
And you knew, in that moment, that this wasn’t just sex.
It was coming home.
~#~#~#~#~#~
Afterward, he wrapped the blanket around you both, tucking you into his chest like he was trying to shield you from the rest of the world. His metal fingers traced soft, soothing circles against your spine, grounding you in the silence that settled warmly between you.
“You ever doubt your place again,” he murmured, lips pressed to your hair, voice rough with sleep and sincerity, “I want you to remember tonight. Remember how I touched you. How I looked at you. Remember this.”
You nodded against his chest, overwhelmed, your cheek pressed to the steady rhythm of his heartbeat. Your fingers curled around the dog tags still resting over your heart, the weight of them a quiet promise.
“I’m yours,” you whispered, the words small but certain.
He smiled, eyes closed as his arm tightened around you, pulling you impossibly closer.
“You always were,” he said, so softly it was nearly a breath, but you felt it more than heard it, like a vow etched beneath your skin.
Charge My Card
Fandom: Marvel (Actor AU)
Pairing: Joaquin Torres x F!Reader
Summary: You see a TikTok of a woman who pays for DoorDash instead of her boyfriend and her boyfriend gets upset about because he usually pays for it. So you try the same thing with Joaquin…
A/N: Inspired by this TikTok.
You're happy that Joaquin is filming in LA because that means he doesn't need to be far from home. He spends a majority of his day filming and then comes home to you. It's all so domestic.
You thought moving in together would come with some difficulties, but Joaquin is very on top of everything. He's tidy, does chores without being told, and basically makes sure you don't have to lift a finger.
You must have done something good in your past life to end up with someone like him.
You and Joaquin are currently sitting on the couch together, scrolling through Yelp to see what you could order.
"Oh! That Korean place we went to with Kate delivers! Should we get that?"
"Oh hell yes. I've been thinking about their fried chicken for weeks!"
You nod and put in the order of food you wanted as well as the fried chicken Joaquin requested.
Joaquin gets up to grab his wallet from his work bag. He's rifling through his things until you speak up, "Okay, so it'll be here in about thirty minutes."
That's when Joaquin pauses, "Wait," he turns around to face you, "did you pay already?"
You nod, looking up from your phone, "Yeah. It'll be here in thirty minutes."
Joaquin holds up one of his credit cards, "Which card did you use?"
"Mine," you respond with a confused look.
He shakes his head, "Cancel the order."
"What? Why?"
"Because you're supposed to use my card," he reaches for your phone and pull it away from him.
"Says who?!" you ask as you slap his hand away.
"Says me! I always pay for our takeout!" You two begin to wrestle for your phone.
You can't help but laugh, "Joaquin, it's fine! I want to pay!" you try your best to keep your phone away from him.
He grunts as his arms wrap around you as he tries to grab for your phone. You continue to laugh. Throughout your relationship, Joaquin has very much always been more of the provider. He loves the idea of taking care of you, making sure you have everything you want and need.
Although you work and even pay half the rent of your shared home, he doesn't allow you to pay for anything else.
Slightly exasperated, he holds himself above you and pouts, "Baby, please cancel the order."
"No," you respond with a smirk and peck his lips, "I wanna pay every once in a while. I don't like feeling like I'm mooching off you."
He sighs and plops onto the couch beside you, "You're not mooching off me. You pay in half the rent and in your love and affection. You're smooching, not mooching"
You snort, "You're so dumb," you lightly slap his arm.
He grins at you, "You know a lot of people would love the idea of never having to pay for anything."
You shrug, "I know, I'm stubborn like that."
"Don't I know it," he wraps his arms around you and pulls you in his arms. He pats behind you for your phone and his brows furrow, "Where'd you put your phone?"
You mischievously grin at him, "In my pants."
He chuckles and smirks, "As if that would stop me," he pulls away and begins to at your jeans, causing you to squeal in laughter.
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Mel • 18 • 1# loki defender
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