You were supposed to be interviewing the Howling Commandos as part of a documentary on the war and Captain America, however, one Commando in particular was proving to be hard to interview. Not because he wasn't chatty or grumpy, but rather the opposite; he couldn't stop flirting with you.

James 'Bucky' Buchanan Barnes had had his eyes glued to you ever since you sat down in the director chair opposite him. It was off-putting to say the least, moreso with his flirtatious comments that had you going red in the face and shifting every so often. His eyes follow your hands to your skirt - straight cut pencil skirt that was just a tad too tight for your liking - and watched you smooth out an imaginary crease. Your eyes meet as you raise your head again and he smiles, all teeth and charm, making you stammer out your next question.

"Erm, um, h-how have you managed, um, to uh - keep yourself entert-tained?"

You inwardly curse as you watch his eyes light up.

"Thinkin' of pretty dames like you, doll." Bucky replies with a wink. "Can't keep my mind from… wandering."

His gaze drops to your skirt again on the last word and you immediately cut the tape. You dont know how much of this interview would be usable but you're too flustered to care.

"I think that's enough for today. Thank you Sargeant Barnes." You try to manage a friendly smile but you can feel your cheeks burning.

Bucky is up quickly, offering you a hand out of your chair. It's silly considering how he'd just been undressing you with his eyes and shamelessly flirting with you for nearly an hour and now is acting the gentleman. Yet it still almost makes your knees buckle as you get pulled flush against him.

"Anytime, doll." He purrs, another charming smile inching onto his face. He still hasn't let go of your hand and you swallow thickly. "How's about we find a quiet place where I can tell you some things off-record?"

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"Fuck - do you know how pretty you looked gettin' all flustered for me?" Bucky grunts, rutting into you from behind.

His idea of "someplace quiet" was a little further out from the camp than you'd expected but away from prying eyes and sharp ears that would have heard you moaning like a whore in his cot quite easily. At least further out, you could be a little louder.

You claw at the bark of the tree you had half hidden behind, barely holding yourself up with the force Bucky was fucking you with. The metal clinks of his dog tags rang in your ears, matching each thrust and you whine out a half sob as your cunt grips his cock nice and tight.

"S-Sarge!"

"You gonna cum, sweetheart?" Bucky pants, gripping your hips tighter for two more deep thrusts that you already know will leave you aching tomorrow before pulling out, spinning you around, hoisting your legs under his arms and burying himself to the hilt again. His blue eyes fixate on yours, sweat shining on his face as he manages - somehow - another dashing smile.

"Let me see that pretty face cum."

Cursing his name, you comply to his request. You pant and huff as he chases his own high, your body acting of its own accord as you pull him by the dog tags for a messy kiss as you cum again. It's not long after that though, that Bucky's hips stutter and his thrusts slow, cock twitching as he pulls out of your soaked cunt and cums along your thighs.

However, Bucky trails open kisses along your face and neck, trapping you against him as you both come back down from your respective peaks. You feel his spend inch down your thighs and onto your stockings and let loose a shaky sigh.

"We should probably head back before people realise we're gone." You say shyly, biting your lip to hide a smile, cheeks still flush.

"Or," Bucky grins down at you. "We stay out in the woods and fuck like animals all night?"

"Bucky!" You squeal and attempt to hide your face in his chest but he doesn't let you, forcing you to look at him every time you try to look away by mirroring the movement of your face.

"Ah, ah, ah doll. Don't go all shy on me now." He teases with a kiss to your nose. "Show me all those pretty faces you make."

Somehow, Bucky's powers of persuasion manage to convince you to stay out until dusk; and you barely manage to sneak him into your tent without waking anyone else.

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END

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"Come on, I can show you how to do it. I'm a great teacher."

It was the third time you'd skated backwards past Bucky and each time it irritated him more and more. He felt like Bambi; his legs splaying uncontrollably beneath him as he gripped the railing like his life depended on it. The railing creaked under his metal hand, threatening to give way as he slid down the barrier, glaring at you with the most adorably grumpy look plastered on his face.

Your hands were folded behind your back as you drifted past, almost smugly. Almost.

Bucky had to admit, even begrudgingly, that you looked elegant - beautiful, even. Your legs criss-crossing easily behind you, stupidly long, ugly scarf wrapping around you; but the best thing you wore was your smile. Big, bright and blissfully warm, your smile had melted the Winter Soldier's icy closed off heart into a puddle and you didn't even know it.

"Trust me," you urge, holding out your hand to him. Bucky harrumphs and his cheeks start to glow pink and he tries to tell himself it's from the cold.

He reaches out, struggling to stay upright but finally manages to stand stock still. Bucky's breath catches when he realises he's gripping your hand tightly and suddenly releases your hand to a looser grip. However, your rainbow-mitten clad hand clamps down and you gently tug him towards you.

"Bend your knees a little - that's it," You watch his legs bend awkwardly, biting back a chuckle. The big ol' grump Bucky couldn't handle the ice.

You offer your other hand, coaxing his left hand away from the railing. He wobbles a moment but ultimately stays standing. You stand hand in hand facing eachother for a few moments, two puffs of breath visible between you. Both of you are rosy cheeked now, and you're both gripping eachother's hands tightly.

"Slide your feet diagonally." You say gently, moving your own feet into position.

"Doll," Bucky says worriedly, grimacing as he wobbles again.

"You're okay. Baby steps."

Bucky bites his lip, holding back a groan of embarassment as he struggles to move his legs without doing the splits. Yet he persevered.

Slowly, very slowly, but surely; Bucky began to glide across the ice. With a wide grin and a chuckle (maybe even a tiny wobble or two), Bucky let go of your right hand.

"Woohoo!" You cheer, turning easily to fall into pace beside him, still holding his right hand. "You're doing great, Buck."

"Don't let go!" He blurts suddenly, slipping forward before quickly regaining his balance. A scarlet flush creeps up his neck from below his scarf and he stammers. "Let's um...let's grab some hot chocolate after this. My treat."

You giggle sweetly and Bucky smiles nervously, his heart beating faster when you squeeze his hand.

"Alright, alright." You grin back. "I'll stay right here by your side. Then hot chocolate."

You both travel around the ice, clinging to one another, laughing and smiling; trying to ignore the fluttering in your chests or the pink dusting your cheeks.

You had just barely managed to avoid the advances of your husband for the last few weeks. Too busy with the politics between realms to fully focus on you; and you were grateful for it. Your husband was ruthless, cruel and cold. That last adjective quote literally. The prince of Jotunheim was not to be trifled with; as your brother and father had found out rather perilously. Your father had sought to trick Loki and whilst his back was figuratively turned, your brother  was sent to kill him.  

Loki returned your brother’s mangled corpse back to your home, with a letter promising war unless your father’s prized possession – you – was given as penalty. Marriage with the prince of Jotunheim meant two realms were unified, which was far more prosperous  than war.  However, that meant being ripped away from your home, your family, your friends, your fiancé and everything you had ever known and being thrust into the cold, unforgiving hands of a barbaric frost giant.  You had begged, cried and pleaded with your father but nothing had changed his mind. It was set in stone.

Your new husband took joy in tormenting you on your wedding say, reminding you time and time again that you were lucky to be a negotiation prize rather than one of his spoils of war. The thought had made you shudder with terror and, thankfully, his attentions were lured away to another realm, another battle, another day spent far away from you.

You quickly learned that many of the female frost giants were unimpressed with you as a tiny little thing in comparison to their race as a whole. Your body almost entirely unequipped for Jotunheim weather. Your ladies-in-waiting were no different.  They had spoken in their native tongue in front of you, clearly, discussing you and how you probably didnt meet their standards nor their prince’s. You’d stayed quiet and fiddled with your hands, unsure of how to approach them or speak to them. Everything you knew about frost giants was from your culture; which labelled them as blood-thirsty barbarians. Though, the ice fortress you resided in was immaculate and strictly designed – different from your home in Asgard yet no less civilised.  That was a good starting point.

over the course of the week’s your husband’s absence, you focused on befriending your ladies-in-waiting. You asked about their culture, their lives and the language they spoke. If you were going to be here until the end of your days, you may as well know what is being said behind your back and, well, to your face.

You picked up words quickly, studying in the silence of the enormous bed chamber. You had borrowed a few children’s books from the library, and one or two on the flora and fauna of Jotunheim, though you could only appreciate the pictures thus far.

The bed chamber was far too big   for you, perfect size for your husband, you supposed. Large wooden bookcases adorned the far wall, and there was a small (well small for a giant) fireplace adorned with a fur rug from a creature you couldn’t name, but it was soft. The bed itself was so huge you practically drowned in the covers. It was cosy but you agreed with yourself it was probably cosy because your husband was not there with you.

Yet.

One morning, after waking up  relatively late, your ladies-in-waiting were busying about the bedroom.  

“What’s going on?” you ask nervously, already anticipating the answer.

Gertrud, the more social of the two giantess’, gave you a smile as she paused her dusting of the bookshelf. “Prince Loki is returning from battle today.”

You suppress a shiver and try to smile, but you’re not confident you look entirely happy. “Wonderful.”

Gertrud continues regardless, her face contorting to an excited, doe eyed look.  “He’s sent you a gift ahead of his arrival, my lady.”

“Oh,” you say, trying to sound chipper. In the very short time you had spent in Jotunheim, Loki had only ever taunted you, albeit briefly. A gift was... new. And you didn’t like it one bit.  “How thoughtful of him.”

“He left instruction for you to wear it on his return.” Gertrud says wistfully, as if it’s the most romantic thing she could dream of.

“Wear?” You speak before you can process what’s been said, the shock in your tone evident. Your mouth goes dry and heat burns its way to your cheeks. You weren’t stupid. Wearing something for his return only meant one thing. Your stomach becomes a pit and you have to scream at yourself internally to stop from swaying.

Gertrud mistakes the your shock and flushed face as a sign of excitement, not of worry and fear.  “I must say the garment – whatever it is – is not from Jotunheim. Your husband  must have acquired it for you, my lady.” Gertrud pauses to smile over at you. “I think our prince is quite taken with his bride.”

You flush a deeper shade of pink and clear your throat. “So it would seem.” You murmur carefully. “Where is the garment? What is it?”

Gertrud places the duster down and heads to a dresser on the otherside of the room, picking up a package and handing it over to you. You delicately take the package from her, shivering at the coolness of her skin, and begin to unwrap it. To your surprise, and utter embarrassment, it’s a corset with matching underwear. Gertrud’s eyebrows raise and she gives you a knowing smirk. You bury your face in your hands.

“I do not need to know what that thing is to know it’s intent,” She says smugly. “As I said, our prince is taken with his bride.”

You peek out from your fingers, eyeing the corset.  It’s blue – frost giant blue to be exact – with white lace detail across the bust and back, and white ribbon zigzagging up the back. If this was your husband’s idea of a sick joke, it worked. You still couldn’t decide if you were going to vomit from nervousness.

Gertrud pats your shoulder gently, again misreading your embarassment as bashfulness.

“I will run your bath, my lady. I do not know how to help you into that... thing.” She eyed the corset suspiciously. “But I will ensure that you are ready for your husband’s return.”

You only nod, anxiety twisting your stomach into knots. You should have known this would be inevitable.

You pace fretfully around the large bedroom. You’d wrapped yourself in a robe, hiding your corset and matching underwear, feeling too exposed even for the man who was your husband. You’d attempted to study again, books and notes strewn across the fur rug in front of the crackling fireplace, but the nervousness of your first night with your husband had you too worried to think.

You’d shooed Gertrud away as quickly as you could, after being bathed in the nicest oils and scents imaginable, softening your skin to butter. You’d fiddled with your corset, tightening it possibly too tight, and after one look in the mirror making heat rise where it definitely shouldn’t you’d throat on your robe.

You’d been pacing for an hour, or thereabouts. Word of Loki’s return to Jotunheim had spread like wildfire  within the fortress, yet  he still hadn’t come to see you. Any other time you would have been grateful but you knew that he was tormenting you; keeping you on edge until he decided to visit. You even contemplated running and hiding but you knew the risk; Loki had whispered as much to you at your wedding banquet, reminding you that if you ran away all out war would ensue. Starting with your father’s head on a spike.  You also knew that hiding would only deny the inevitable; you would eventually have to share a bed with your husband and as a wife, you were expected to bear his children. You shuddered again.

The door to the chambers opened. Your head whipped up, hands clutching at your robe tightly without thought, as you watched Loki enter.  He towered above you, easily twelve feet high maybe more, but he must have came from one of the bathrooms because his blue skin trickled with water droplets from his long raven’s wing hair, and he held a towel around his waist.  You averted your gaze to the fire, face flushing. Despite it all, he was still attractive.

Loki’s chuckle echoes throughout the chamber and the door shuts behind him.

“What? No welcome for your husband?”  He sneers. You don’t have to look to know his lips are curled into that cruel smile you’ve grown accustomed to. “And I see you’re not wearing your gift.”

You look over at him as he approaches, too scared to move. “I-I am.” You  murmur, regretting the words as they leave your mouth.

Loki sits on the rug in front of you, on leg up the other flush against the rug, the towel leaving little to the imagination. His red eyes stay on you as he smirks, eyebrows rising in surprise.

“Well,” He gestures at your robe. “Let your husband see.”

Your face burns, your palms are sweaty against your robe, and you pause. You look at your feet, clearing your throat.

“a-aren’t you going to tell me about your battle?” your attempt for stalling is dismissed immediately.

“Later. Show me. Before I remove it for you.”

You nod quickly and with a shaky breath, you untie your robe and let the garment pool at your feet. You would attempt to cover yourself but you aren’t even naked, which somehow makes it worse as you feel Loki’s crimson eyes rake over you.  Your chest his flushed and heaves  in the corset, ribbon straining with each breath. Your breasts look like they might spill over at any given moment and   You feel a little light headed from the entire situation. 

“Come closer, wife.” Loki curls a finger at you and you take a few tentative steps closer until you’re stood between his knees, still staring at your feet. His finger tilts your chin up to look at him. The coolness of his finger makes you shiver but when you meet his eyes, there’s a softness you don’t expect to see. “You look beautiful.”

You don’t quite gasp, but your mouth makes a small ‘o’ in shock. You hadn’t expected something so sincere, let alone nice and it makes heat surge between your thighs.

“Thank you, Loki.” You say softly. Loki shifts his legs, eyes not leaving yours as his lips twitch upwards into a smirk. His gaze flits behind you to your notes and his smirk widens into a grin.

“Ah, my wife has been busy whilst I’ve been gone.” He comments, gaze flicking back to you.  “Come into my arms and tell me what you’re working on, smár einn.”

The foreign words tickle at your memory but you can only recognise the word one. You take another few steps forward, squeaking with surprise when Loki’s cold forearm  wraps around your waist, guiding you to straddle a large, muscular thigh. The icyness of his skin against the warmth between your thighs makes you audibly gasp, and Loki chuckles.  

“Happy I’m home?” He teases, your back meeting his torso as he cages you in around his thigh. Wisps of his hair tickle at your shoulders, and a cool kiss is placed at your nape makes you startle. “Because I’m happy to be back. I thought you wouldn’t wear this for me.”

Your blushing isn’t missed by Loki nor is the throb of your cunt on his thigh. When you don’t answer, Loki’s nose runs along your nape, making you shiver again. You’re breathing harder, your breasts bobbing with each breath, as you try to get as much air into your lungs as possible. You feel like you’re suffocating, even though Loki’s grip loose on your waist.

Loki doesn’t seem to notice, or perhaps he doesn’t care, he’s too busy being smug about your excitement for him, and continues to tease you about your corset; how you look like the perfect Jotun bride now. You mumble thanks at his teases, trying not to look at him and trying not to think of anything, but Loki start to trail icy kisses up your neck that burn your skin in their wake. You mewl quietly and shift your legs causing more friction against your cunt which in turn makes you squeeze your thighs around his gigantic thigh and you notice that the same raised lines on the tough blue skin of his arms and face are on his legs too. Loki nips gently at you shoulder, eliciting a strangled yelp from you.

“That’s it, warm me up, smăr einn.” He taunts, licking the skin he’d bitten with a luke-warm tongue. “Rutting against me like a bitch in heat, no instruction needed.”

Shame floods you at his taunt but so does a throb of excitement. Loki kisses at your neck a little more hungrily in response, earning another few short gasps from you.

“Go on,” He urges in a low, mocking tone. “You want to – I can feel that you want to.”

You whimper pathetically, rolling your hips forward for more friction. Your lip quivers and you bit down – hard – you’ll be dammed if you let him think he wins by seeing you cry. But your giant husband only sneers down at you. Your clit brushes against one of the raised ridges of his skin; electricity crashing through you as you gasp loudly, falling forward onto your palms. Your nails dig into his tough skin when you hear him chuckle, face flushing with anger as you glare in his direction. Loki only mocks you further, holding a hand up in faux-surrender.

“I’m sorry, wife.” He says smugly, watching your reaction. “Please, continue fucking yourself on my thigh.”

You fluster again, but the light-headedness you felt earlier returns. This time, though, instead of struggling to breathe you feel faint and you sway and swoon atop Loki’s thigh. Loki raises an eyebrow, vexed at your actions, before realising that you aren’t faking. Something akin to concern crosses his face and he gets to his feet, holding you close as he takes you to his large bed.

He places you down somewhat gently, your breathing laboured, the constriction from the corset aching at your ribs. You can’t seem to get enough air into your lungs at they scream at your for it. When you look at your husband you wonder briefly if he’ll leave you to die like this and when he pulls a knife from his bedside table, you think he will be the one to take your life instead. The blade is cold against the heat of your skin. Loki doesn’t rush. He trails the tip of the blade down your sternum, between your breasts, to the lacy frill of your corset.

“I can remove this if you so wish,” he says coolly, pressing the blade into your skin, but not hard enough to draw blood. “But I need to hear you beg.”

You want to kick him for the heat that pools between your legs. He knows you’re struggling to breathe with this God forsaken corset on and somehow he manages to find a way to please himself.

“Please.” You huff, but Loki clicks his tongue.

“No, no.” He chides. “Properly.”

His eyes meet yours, and you can feel the challenge emanating from them. You grit your teeth and take a small breath, trying to avoid crushing your ribs. In a small voice you beg him in the way he’s requested.

“Please, husband.” You mumble. “Please, help me.”

The ripping of the ribbons are swift. Your beautiful but bone-crushingly tight corset falls away and you inhale a deep breath that transforms into a gasp when Loki’s mouth finds your nipples and sucks them almost lovingly. Your hands root into his thick black hair, mind drawing a blank, as a cold hand tweaks the nipple he isn’t paying attention to with his mouth. You couldn’t push him away even if you wanted to, not with a giant’s strength. However at this moment in time, you didn’t want him far from you.

Your gasps and moans fill the chamber and Loki smirks up at you from where he’s latched to your breast. Peppering kisses to every inch of skin he can manage, Loki finally finds a supple piece of skin above your left breast that he deems the perfect space for a mark. A mark to show the world that you are his. Only his.

He bites down onto the skin, feeling the vessels burst between his teeth and growls at you when you tug at his hair with a pained yell. You writhe beneath him as he sucks and kisses the spot he marked, the gesture is almost sweet, loving, but you’re too busy feeling too turned on to care. His hands large hands move down to remove what’s left of your underwear, a long, cool finger teasing at your folds.

“Loki,” you say his name with no air left in your lungs, your body trembling under his touch. You’re no longer fighting the desire you feel, which stirs something within Loki’s icy chest. He looks down at you, head tilted faux-curiously, unable to resist teasing you.

“That’s the first time you’ve used my name.” He comments, watching your face contort in pleasure as his index finger breaches your dripping core. “I believe you deserve a reward for being such a good wife.”

His digit pumps you at a vicious pace that, after the assault on your sensitive breasts, sends you careening over the edge of ecstasy quickly. You coat his finger with your cum, chanting his name desperately, strangling his finger with your pussy as he helps you ride out your high. Your legs twitch as you watch him with half lidded gaze as he remove his finger from you with a smirk. He towers over you and before you can say a word, he’s peppering you with soft, cold kisses.

“My smăr einn,” he says softly. “You did well tonight. I look forward to seeing what tomorrow will bring.”

You don’t think about what he could mean, your brain is too foggy and you feel too wonderful to want to dampen the wonderful elation you’re feeling; something you haven’t felt in weeks. You don’t even complain when Loki curls over you, allowing him to wrap himself around you under the sheets of your bed. Nor do you move away when Loki kisses your head and wishes you goodnight; something he’s never done before.

**note: I have 3 lumbar fractures, a giant haematoma that looks like I gor a bbl on my right cheek and a 1.2cm liver laceration that THANKFULLY isn't actively bleeding. I took a break from writing for my mental health and was slowly finishing up stuff and this happened 🤠 I've not been discharged from hospital yet.. I think I must be cursed 🫠

Tags:

Steve: @stargazingfangirl18 @irishhappiness @Cieraboobear @doodooslay @steviebbboi @ledatheswann @ryubyy @maydayfigment @bottldcries @theinheriteddutchess @screachingpeanutdinosaur @vicmc624 @awkwardgiraffe726 @pandaxnienke @norseloki26 @fangfoxy xamapolax queen-honeybee-stories @leeemabean @iannepeyt @hazydespair everythingf1 @aerago583 @norseloki26 @shamrockqueen @awkwardgiraffe726 @late-to-the-party-81 @moonfairy182 @thechrysalisdiaries @lexie983 @stephstar28 @mommad @marvellover91

**note: I have 3 lumbar fractures, a giant haematoma that looks like I gor a bbl on my right cheek and a 1.2cm liver laceration that THANKFULLY isn't actively bleeding. I took a break from writing for my mental health and was slowly finishing up stuff and this happened 🤠 I've not been discharged from hospital yet.. I think I must be cursed 🫠

Tags:

Steve: @stargazingfangirl18 @irishhappiness @Cieraboobear @doodooslay @steviebbboi @ledatheswann @ryubyy @maydayfigment @bottldcries @theinheriteddutchess @screachingpeanutdinosaur @vicmc624 @awkwardgiraffe726 @pandaxnienke @norseloki26 @fangfoxy xamapolax queen-honeybee-stories @leeemabean @iannepeyt @hazydespair everythingf1 @aerago583 @norseloki26 @shamrockqueen @awkwardgiraffe726 @late-to-the-party-81 @moonfairy182 @thechrysalisdiaries @lexie983 @stephstar28 @mommad @marvellover91