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little-peril-stories · 1 year ago

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Whumptober 2023, Day 8: "I've got soul, but I'm not a soldier."

Whumptober 2023 Masterlist

Read at your own risk! They're only snippets of a larger story, with no resolution that will be posted online anytime soon; they are being posted out of order; and the characters don't have names. Enjoy!

Contents: angst, death, murder, arrest, vicious rumours/false accusations

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Word count: 1250 || Approx reading time: 5 mins

"I've got soul, but I'm not a soldier."

Teaser: And to be safe, she needed to be free—far from the man who’d taken her away because he believed he could, that his royal blood made him all-powerful, that he deserved to have his fists curled tightly around anything or anyone he pleased. He’ll never let go, she’d said. He’ll never give up.

"I'll never be a hero who all the citizens adore / But if I hide to save my life, what has my life been for?"

The scholar watched her go.

He watched her vanish, watched her wide eyes shimmer with tears as she made her escape.

Met her gaze when, for the most agonizingly beautiful instant, she looked back.

And then was gone.

“I’ll distract him,” he promised. Breath stuttering in his chest, he wrapped his arms around her and wondered if she could feel how his heart thundered against her shivering form.

“Come with me,” she whispered. “Please. But we have to go. Now.”

We have to go. Away from here, away from the castle, away from the place that had turned her visit from a holiday into hell.

He wanted to. Oh, how he wanted to say yes, to let her cling to him—and to let himself cling back—for all of eternity, to let centuries pass them by in perfect harmony and happiness. He wanted to. He wanted her.

“I don’t want to go without you,” she said, squeezing more tightly.

He needed her.

He needed her safe.

And to be safe, she needed to be free—far from the man who’d taken her away because he believed he could, that his royal blood made him all-powerful, that he deserved to have his fists curled tightly around anything or anyone he pleased. He’ll never let go, she’d said. He’ll never give up.

That she had escaped his grasp on her own was a miracle.

If he finds me again, he’ll never let me leave.

So the scholar pulled away, clasping her hands as their bodies peeled apart, loath to put any cruel, miserable distance between them, yet knowing he had no choice. He made his promise again. “I’ll distract him.”

Of course, she knew; she must have; she knew him inside and out; she knew his very soul. He was no soldier, no fighter. “What—what are you going to do?” Her fingers tightened, still tangled in his. “They think you’re the one who—”

“I know.”

“They think you killed me.”

“I know.”

She shook her head, those fragile bird’s-wing bones trembling against his. “Please don’t—You can’t—”

“I’ll just distract him long enough for you to run,” he said. Tugged his hand free. Brushed a lock of hair from her dirt-streaked cheek, relishing the silken smoothness of her skin for what was sure to be the very last time. “Then I’ll—I’ll run. I’ll find you.”

Empty words, a hollow promise, a vow of nothing.

“But they think you did it,” she said again, echoing the rumours, the warnings that had been circling him for days, the words that would haunt his memory for the rest of his life. “They’ll arrest you. They’ll kill—”

“They won’t.” He did not know if that was true. “I can’t let him hurt you again. I won’t.” Overcome with too many thoughts, too many fears, too many jabs of paralyzing terror that would conquer him if he allowed it, he drew her close again. One final embrace.

Against him, she shuddered.

“I will find you,” he whispered, despising himself for the lie. He wrapped his coat around her to hide her stained and ripped dress, almost unrecognizable from its former loveliness. Why hadn’t he thought to give it before? “Now. Run. Please.”

“Don’t get hurt,” she said. There were tears on her cheeks. Why? He wished she wouldn’t weep for him. He was a liar and a coward, a fool who’d spent an entire lifetime quailing at conflict and lying to himself. To the end, he knew, those things were what he would remain, even as he did this, this preposterous thing, this stupid but courageous but illogical but selfless thing.

Nothing but a coward.

I love you, he was supposed to say, sealed with a kiss that contained everything that swelled inside him but which he could not put into words. Instead, he said, “Run.”

The scholar watched her go.

***

He was no fighter, but he was a magicwielder, and he was in love with a girl who everyone else believed was dead—who, they believed, he had murdered in cold blood.

He could not protect his reputation, but he could protect her.

He saw the looks, the gazes that turned from confusion to suspicion to astonishment. As recognition flashed across their faces.

I’ll distract him.

But the soldier—who was supposed to see him and, bound by duty, arrest him for his supposed crimes—kept walking, even as those he commanded realized that a wanted man was in their midst.

The commander would find her. He was looking for her, and she could not outrun him. He would find her and bring her back to the prince, and they would lock her away, shut her up in the dark. A girl of leaves and sea air and sunlight, and the prince and his commander would keep her until she wilted and died.

He would use her, she’d choked against his shoulder. She had something they wanted, something she’d kept hidden from everyone, something they’d discovered and were unwilling to relinquish.

No. The scholar wouldn’t allow it. If she wanted to hide, she must have had her reasons.

If he let the prince take her away and hurt her some more…

He wouldn’t forgive himself.

Never.

He raised his hands, magic crackling at his fingertips, and he froze the commander in his tracks. Although he saw the man begin to shake and his eyes to bulge in confusion, other images overtook his senses: her gleaming tears, her torn dress, her bruised wrists.

Her teasing, pealing laugh, the ethereal whisper of her hair against his fingers, the musical sweep of her bare feet through fragrant, luscious grass.

He unleashed his magic and watched the soldier stiffen, as if his bones would crack and shatter. He halted. He fell.

“Commander!”

Shouts from far away.

“Commander?”

And then—

“It’s—it’s him! There!”

He was discovered now for the act he was committing, but the scholar knew he could not run. He was weak. A coward. A liar.

Words flowed over him, words he knew he should heed, but he had to stop the commander from getting up again, had to keep the attention on him, had to make sure she got away.

“Commander!”

“Don’t move!”

“He’s magicwielding!”

“Someone stop him!”

“Sir!”

“Stand down!”

“Commander!”

“He’s not breathing!”

“Get him!”

“He’s dead!”

The scholar released his hold, sudden dread coursing through his blood.

Dead?

No.

He hadn’t wanted to—

I’ll distract him. Run. Please.

A diversion, an opportunity.

That was all he—

“I said, he’s dead!”

How?

The scholar stared down at his hands, hands that had never before wielded power strong enough to do what he had just done.

A crowd pressed in around him—too many, too many. Someone knocked him to the ground, and as his glasses went flying and the world turned to a soft watercolour blur, he was awash in shattering pain and biting terror.

“You killed him!” someone roared. “You killed the commander!”

“N—no.” It couldn’t be true. But they’d said. He hadn’t. But they’d screamed it out. He’s dead, he’s dead. But he was a coward, and he was weak. You killed him. But he couldn’t have. “I didn’t—”

“He’s dead, you murdering bastard!”

I wasn’t trying to—

Noise rose around him, furious and panicked, coalescing into one thick wall of sound. Words and words and words and screams and words and bellows, so many voices, too many, too much. Nonsensical. Foreign. Commander. Magic. Him. The girl. Dead. Dead.

Under arrest.

Murderer.

Dead.

Doomed.

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#whumptober2023 #no.8 #lyric #“I’ve got soul but I’m not a soldier.”#outnumbered #oc #original content #fic #angst #death tw #murder tw #arrest tw #vicious rumours #false accusations #lps man of letters

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hummingbird-of-light · 1 year ago

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No. 8 “I’ve got soul, but I’m not a soldier.” (overcrowded ER)

There were so many noises all around him.

People were crying, screaming, begging for help. And McCoy knew that they all asked for one man.

That man being him.

He was the Enterprise’s CMO. He was responsible for sickbay. He needed to make sure that everything was running smoothly, even in an emergency situation.

But this was just too much.

This was a battle field. Too many crewmembers injured. Too many on the brink of death. And McCoy knew that he couldn’t save them all.

He still cursed the ones who had caused the outbreak of the war. The Federation should have known that they didn’t stand a chance against the Romulans. Not after these bastards had built new weapons.

But there was no turning back anymore. They weren’t explorers anymore. The Enterprise had turned into a warship.

And McCoy was no soldier. He had never been. He was supposed to help everyone, not to leave them to die.

However, he knew that he couldn’t save them all. They only had so much meds to treat their friends and crewmates.

So when a barely alive green figure was brought into sickbay, the doctor’s heart sank.

“Dr. McCoy! Dr. McCoy!”

The familiar accent of their youngest crewmate reached McCoy’s ears. Chekov, who was carrying the small body in his arms, looked pale, in panic.

“Get him over there!”

It was an order. And Chekov followed it. He quickly placed the body on a biobed.

“What happened?”

McCoy quickly ran his tricorder over the green skin of his patient, glancing at their navigator who had obviously been helping out in engineering.

“I don’t know, sir. I… I found him like this.”

McCoy gave Chekov an understanding nod. He tried his best to hide the sorrow forming on his face.

“Thanks, kid. Get back to your station, will ya?”

At first, Chekov looked surprised, then he nodded.

“Aye, of course. Take care of him, doctor.”

McCoy forced a weak smile onto his lips. A weak, hopeless smile.

“Sure thing.”

However, once Chekov was gone, he turned back to his patient. He couldn’t stop the tears falling from his eyes when he looked at the poor Roylan.

“I’m sorry, Keenser. I… there’s nothing I can do.”

And Keenser… just nodded. His black eyes blinked once, telling the doctor that it was okay, before all light left them.

McCoy ran a hand through his damp hair, letting out a shaking sigh. He had failed him. He had failed yet another patient.

“Keenser! Keenser!”

When the doctor heard the familiar voice coming from sickbay’s doors, he tried his best not to cry.

Slowly, he turned around to see the man he loved so much standing there. The man in red looked at the one in blue in horror.

And when McCoy shook his head and Scotty broke down, crying, he knew that he was the worst doctor the ship had ever had.

“I’m sorry. I’m so sorry.”

#whumptober2023 #no.8 #lyric #I’ve got soul but I’m not a soldier.#overcrowded ER #star trek #fanficfion #major character death #dr. leonard mccoy #pavel chekov #keenser #montgomery scott #scones mentioned #mega_whumps_characters

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soleberlandieri · 1 year ago

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@whumptober

@whumptober-archive

Title: Words don't come easy

prompts: “I’ve got soul, but I’m not a soldier.”; Overcrowded ER ; Outnumbered ; “It’s all for nothing.”

Fandom: Naruto

Rating: Mature.

Summary:

After thirteen years of isolation, it is difficult for Madara to explain how he feels. He feels emotions but he no longer knows how to use them. He is afraid to talk to the people he loves, he fears making them run away. Words can hurt if let go, but they kill if held.

Midern AU

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whumptober · 1 year ago

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Whumptober 2023

Welcome to Whumptober 2023 — the sixth year running!

COMPLETIONISTS/PARTICIPANT BADGES CAN BE FOUND HERE

To those of you who participated last year, welcome back! To everyone joining this year, welcome!

Please make sure to read the Event Info carefully, as most of your questions will be answered there already. For everything else, you are welcome to come to our ask box or ask questions in our Discord server here.

This year’s AO3 Collection can be found here.

And this years playlist can be found here.

There are 139 prompt options in total this year - this is including the alternatives list! A special thanks goes out to those who took part in our trope vote back in July. From the 1526 responses to our list of 223 tropes, we looked through the popularity results, as well as your honourable mentions, and were able to produce this years prompts list. Stay tuned, as we will be posting some of the results at a later date!

We’re very excited to see the community come together once more and be a wild, chaotic bunch of creators and consumers of whump. Go wild with the prompts, and support your fellow creators - we wish you all the fun!

Best of luck and happy whumping,

Mods Vanne, Yenn, Kitty and Surro

(All 31 Themes + Prompts, Event Information and FAQs are posted below the cut!)

Whumptober 2023 Prompt List

No. 1: “But now this room is spinning while I’m trying just to fill in all the gaps.”

Safety Net | Swooning | “How many fingers am I holding up?”

No. 2: “I’ll call out your name, but you won’t call back.”

Thermometer | Delirium | “They don't care about you.”

No. 3: “Like crying out in empty rooms; with no-one there except the moon.”

Journal | Solitary Confinement | “Make it stop.”

No. 4: “I see the danger, It’s written there in your eyes.”

Cattle Prod | Shock | “You in there?”

No. 5: “You better pray I don't get up this time around.”

Debris | Pinned Down | “It's broken.”

No. 6: “Do or die, you’ll never make me; Because the world will never take my heart.”

Recording | Made to Watch | “It should have been me.”

No. 7: " “I paced around for hours on empty; I jumped at the slightest of sounds.”

Alleyway | Radio Silence | “Can you hear me?”

No. 8: “I’ve got soul, but I’m not a soldier.”

Overcrowded ER | Outnumbered | “It’s all for nothing.”

No. 9: “Learning everything ain't what it seems, that's the thing about these days.”

Polaroid | Mistaken Identity | “You're a liar.”

No. 10: “Can’t you see that you’re lost without me?”

Broken Phone | Stranded | “You said you'd never leave.”

No. 11: “All the lights going dark and my hope’s destroyed.”

Animal trap | Captivity | “No one will find you.”

No. 12: “I haven't slept in days but who's counting?”

Red | Insomnia | “I’m up, I’m up.”

No. 13: “It comes and goes like the strength in your bones.”

Cold Compress | Infection | “I don’t feel so good.”

No. 14: “Feed me poison, fill me ‘till I drown.”

Flare | Water Inhalation | “Just hold on.”

No. 15: “I don't need you to help me I can handle things myself.”

Makeshift Bandages | Suppressed Suffering | “I’m fine.”

No. 16: “Would you lie with me and just forget the world?”

Gurney | Flatline | “Don’t go where I can’t follow.”

No. 17: “You’re the lump in my throat and the knot in my chest.”

Collar | Touch Aversion | “Leave me alone.”

No. 18: “I tend to deflect when I’m feeling threatened.”

Blindfold | Tortured For Information | “Hit them harder.”

No. 19: “I’ll take one final step, all you have to do is make me.”

Floral Bouquet | Psychological | “I’m not as stupid as you think I am.”

No. 20: “People don’t change people, time does.”

Blanket | Found Family | “You will regret touching them.”

No. 21: “See the chains around my feet.”

Vows | Restraints | “Don't move.”

No. 22: “They never saw us coming, ‘til they hit the floor.”

Glass Shard | Vehicular Accident | “Watch out!”

No. 23: “It’s gonna get me by the end of the night.”

Shadows | Stalking | “Who’s there?”

No. 24: “I’ve got a head full of chemicals; mouth full of ridicule.”

Goodbye Note | Neglect | “I thought they were with you.”

No. 25: “You’re not delivering a perfect body to the grave.”

Storm | Buried Alive | “They’re not breathing!”

No. 26: “Sometimes I get so tired; I don’t even know myself.”

Seeing Double | Working To Exhaustion | “You look awful.”

No. 27: “You drew stars around my scars; But now I’m bleeding.”

Matches | Scars | “Let me see”

No. 28: “We might not make it to the morning; so go on and tell me now.”

Bloody Knife | Sacrifice | “You'll have to go through me.”

No. 29: “I only sink deeper the deeper I think.”

Scented Candle | Troubled Past Resurfacing | “What happened to me?”

No. 30: “It’s okay, just to say, ‘I’m not okay’.”

Borrowed Clothing | Bridal Carry | “Not much longer...”

No. 31: “I thought that I was getting better.”

Emptiness | Setbacks | “Take it easy.”

Alternatives List:

Betrayal

Aftermath of Failure

Brass Knuckles

Decoy

Body Modification

Playing Cards

Examination

Hunting

Drugging

Shaking

Panic

Broken

Miscommunication

Lab Rat

Reluctant Whumper

Event Info & Rules

~ Please read our extensive event info posts before sending us an ask ~

WHUMPTOBER is a month-long, prompt-based creation challenge (think: Inktober, but whumpier). There are 31 official themes this year - one for each day of the month - which can be used, skipped, or combined in any way you’d like. The 'theme' of each day is the line of lyrics.

The prompts are merely to serve as inspiration without being taken literally (e.g. you don’t have to include the exact wording of prompts into your work). Feel free to run rampant on interpretation. For example, if the prompt is "flame", you could create something with reference to a candle/campfire, your character could have suffered a burn, or the flame could be related to the 'spark' of a relationship. It's truly up to you!

In total, there are 4 prompts for each day: there's lyrics, an object, a trope and a line of dialogue to choose from. We want to give everyone as much creative freedom as possible, as well as increase event accessibility for folks with triggers and squicks.

Creators can PRODUCE work in any media they choose, including but not limited to: writing, visual artwork, photo/video/audio edits, paper crafts and elaborate recommendation lists (not just a list of links). Creators can PARTICIPATE as much or as little as they want (i.e. you don’t have to do ALL the prompts if you don’t want to) and prompts can be used in any order. They are also free to use even after the event ends.

When uploading Whumptober content to your blog, be sure to tag the with:

#whumptober2023 …..(the event tag)

#no.1, #no.2, #no.3, …..(day number)

#lyric, #bruises, #stabbing, …..(the theme or specific prompt you chose)

#fandom or #OC, … (ironman, originalcontent, oc …)

#medium …..(gifs, fic, podcast, art, etc.)

#teeth, #gore tw, #etc …..(trigger warnings & any additional tags. Add "tw" AFTER the trigger/content warning. )

#nsfwhump …..(only for nsfw content)

#your own tags go here

PLEASE BE DILIGENT WITH YOUR TAGGING. Only properly tagged posts are considered for archiving on the official @whumptober-archive blog. They must be tagged in the order above. An elaborate post about our tagging system can be found [here]

Unfortunately, due to the sheer number of participants in recent years, we cannot guarantee your work will be archived. A random selection of properly tagged posts from all genres will be reblogged each day.

Whumpers who produce content for 31 total theme days are considered event completionists and will be tagged in a masterpost at the end of the month. A form will be published at the beginning of November asking you to tell us if you completed the event. You do not need to post anything you have created, we rely on trust and we will not check this.

Questions not addressed in one of our many event info posts can be directed to this blog. We will not answer any questions that have been answered in the FAQs or rules already.

Frequently Asked Questions

Q. How does this year’s prompt list work? What do I have to choose?

You can create something based on:

The overall theme/lyric of the day

Prompt 1, 2 or 3

One or several of the alternative prompts

A combination of the above

Q. Is [specific anything] allowed?

When in doubt: JUST DO IT!

Q. Do I have to do all 31 days?

Participate as much or little as you like! Just be sure to tag your posts properly (ex. #no.7, #radio silence). If you create works for 31 total theme days you will become a completionist. But apart from that, there are no repercussions if you don’t fill prompts for each day.

Q. Can I post early/late?

Yes, you can post whenever you want. We will only reblog posts during October, but you can use our prompts all year round. The day you post will only affect your probability of being reblogged.

Q. Will you reblog my post?

Due to the sheer number of content posted during Whumptober we can’t promise to reblog every single post. We will make a random selection trying to capture a wide variety of content. The following will increase your chances at being reblogged:

tag your post properly

post within 2-3 days of the theme you want to fill: if you fill the prompt for Day 1 your chances of being reblogged during October 1st to 3rd are highest and will go towards zero afterwards.

Q. What if I don’t understand a prompt/theme?

Send us an ask! We’re happy to help with wild, unhelpful clarifications or brainstorming. That being said, the themes are entirely up for interpretation. Don’t take them too literally. For example: You can be choking on a cherry, someone else can choke you or you could be choked up on emotions, etc.

Q. What kind of content can I make? Can it be NSFW?

This is a MIXED MEDIA event! You can write fic, post meta, doodle or paint, create a gifset or photo edit, link a song, or get crafty with video - anything goes. As for NSFW, make what you like, we just hope that you’ll tag your work accordingly so that others participating in the event can stay safe.

Q. Can I combine Whumptober with other creation challenges?

Absolutely, as long as the other challenges allow it too.

Q. Can I upload/repost my Whumptober content to other social media platforms?

Of course! You can post your own content wherever you like (or you can opt to not publish it at all). Additionally we’ve created an AO3 Collection to archive any fics posted there. It can be accessed here. The tumblr blog @whumptober-archive is the official archive, so please respect the boundaries of any closeted whumpers in your social circle.

Q. Can I use prompts to write a new chapter for an existing fic?

Yes.

Q. An existing fic I am currently writing contains many of the Whumptober prompts, can I use it?

If you are actively writing this fic at the moment with the Whumptober prompts in mind, yes. If you’ve previously posted something that checks the boxes, we ask that you not include it retroactively for this current year. You can, however, add new chapters relating to one or more of the prompts.

Q. What kind of characters can I write for?

Fandom characters, OC characters, human, furry, alien, cyborg, RPF, whoever you like. You can use the generic “whumpee” character or have specific ones.

Q. Does it have to take place in a specific fandom?

No, you can create works for your own worlds or for fandoms or for both. You can also create more generic or pan-fandom works. You can do cross-overs or use OCs, whatever you want.

Q. Can I use a prompt multiple times?

Yes, but it only counts once towards being a completionist.

Q. If I’m not comfortable with one day’s prompts can I use a prompt of a different day as a substitute and still be a completionist?

No, you can’t exchange prompts for different days. However, if all four prompts of a specific day make you uncomfortable, we have created an alternate prompts list that you can draw from. You can exchange any prompt with these, but please make sure not to use them twice.

Q. Where can I post my work?

Post where and how you want. You don’t have to (cross)post it to Tumblr or at all. Just keep in mind if it’s not on Tumblr we will not be able to add it to the blog archive.

Q. Can I start posting early?

You can, but this is an October event and wouldn’t it be more fun with everyone doing it at the same time? That being said, you can post early, but we won’t be reblogging any work predating October 1st.

Q. Do I have to finish a fic I started/can I post WIP’s?

Yes you can post WIPs. And you’re not obligated to finish it in October for it to count towards being a completionist.

Q. Is co-writing allowed?

Yes, absolutely, and it would count towards being a completionist for both/all of you.

Q. Do I have to create 31 standalone pieces to be considered a completionist or can I write one continuous story?

One continuous story is fine. The challenge is to write something for 31 prompts. If that’s spread over 31 fics or just one, you are still considered a completionist. (The same goes for every other media you choose.)

Q. Is there a min/max limit on word count?

There is no limit.

Q. Can I combine prompts? Is there a limit on how many?

No limit and combine as many as you’d like.

Q. Is a hc/angst/emotional whump focus ok?

Of course! We are not going to establish a threshold for whumpiness. If you think it’s whumpy enough, then it’s whumpy enough. It can be physical, psychological, emotional, or any combination of the three.

Q. What’s considered nsfw?

See this post

Q. What is whump?

Typically the genre includes situations where a fictional character is hurt, be it emotionally, psychologically, or physically. Fanlore provides information here.

Q. My interpretation of the prompt isn’t whumpy at all, does that count?

If you don’t think your interpretation is whumpy, then it doesn’t count for Whumptober. Remember that whump comes in many forms, though, and that we don’t have a whump-checker or a threshold for how much whump needs to be included. If you think your interpretation contains enough whump to count, then it does.

Q. Can I start working on the prompts before October?

Absolutely! That’s why we post the prompts a month in advance. We recognise how difficult it can be creating for 31 days in “real time” so feel free to start creating early!

Q. How do I tag triggers?

tw at the end of the word, ex. #gore tw

Q. Do I have to use your tags?

Yes, if you want your work archived on the blog. If not, feel free to use whatever tags you want.

Q. Does combining prompts count towards completion?

Yes

Q. Can we @ you?

Yes but we mostly rely on the #whumptober2023 tag.

Q. Is there anything we are absolutely not allowed to write?

There are no rules, but please make sure to properly tag your trigger warnings. And keep in mind Tumblr’s policies if you are posting it here (or the policies for whatever site you use).

Q. Where can I go for brainstorming help?

Here on Discord or come into our ask box.

Q. My characters are minors, is that ok?

Yes, but as with everything else, use clear and descriptive tags.

Q. Can I cross post on other blogs?

Yes, multiple platforms and blogs are perfectly acceptable. You can also post different works to different accounts under different names, without posting them everywhere at once.

Note: This is a creation challenge, please don’t repost your old work under our tags (unless it’s been changed or edited for the event).

Thanks for reading, and happy whumping!

#whumptober2023 #whumptober 2023 prompts list #whumptober #prompts list #long post

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thesteeldeal · 2 years ago

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Seeing the Killers live in concert and singing along to all these things I’ve done with the whole stadium saved my life, revitalized me, watered my crops, cleared my skin, showed me the light

I’m very happy right now

#personal post #like not even joking #tonight was pure joy from beginning to end #someone save my life tonight and it was a crowd of people singing I’ve got soul but I’m not a soldier

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ragingbookdragon · 5 months ago

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It’s an incessant knocking that pulls him from the fragile sleep he’s managed to get himself into, barely tugging on the balaclava before he opens the door, damn the risks, if someone wants to kill him at his own front door, he’ll let them. That is until he cracks the metal door from the frame and sees her standing there in her nightclothes, tear-streaked face in the cool Birmingham night.

He opens the door for her. “What are you doing here? Where are the children?”

“Left them with Denise.”

Denise. The only babysitter he approved of to watch his newborn daughter and six-year-old son.

“What’s going—”

She isn’t even two steps inside the apartment and she’s falling into his arms, dry sobs escaping her throat as she cries, “He’s gone, Simon. He’s gone.”

His eyes widen, she’s just now finally coming to terms with the fact that she buried her husband two days ago. Once a proud army wife, now a frenzied, exhausted widow, unsure how to raise two children by herself and go on.

“He’s gone. John’s—oh God, Simon, he’s dead.” She stares at him wide-eyed and gutted. “My John, he’s, he’s gone.” She cried out all her tears a few days ago when they first showed up at her door, and he watches as she raises her hands to her face, fingers caged around the sides of it as she sobs, “He’s gone, Simon. What am I going to do?” She’s working herself into a grief-driven anxiety attack. “What am I gonna do? How am I going to raise our—our children, oh, Simon, she’ll never know him.”

Tears finally come to her eyes, and she stares up at him in his arms.

“My sweet Morrigan will never know him,” she whimpers. “Oh, my sweet girl. She’ll never know how much he loved her.”

“She does,” he says, and he takes her chin in her hand. “Now you’ve gotta stop this. You can’t do this. You have to get it together.”

“But he—”

“Johnny’s dead. But your children need you. JJ and Morrigan need you.” It’s harsh but it dries up her tears as she stares at him with a pitiful look.

“I can’t do this alone,” she whispers. “I need him. He…John made it better. He always made it better. Without him…” she gazes at him. “What am I supposed to do, Simon? I’m all alone.”

“You’re a fool to believe that,” he replies and pulls her close; he misses his best friend too, unable to stop the tears that come to his eyes. He inhales shakily, feeling dampness grow in his sweatshirt, remembers how he had to sit down and explain to little JJ that his dad was gone. How he made a six-year-old boy promise to be strong and be the man of his home and watch his sister and mum, while the child in Simon was grieving the exact same thing.

“I’ve got you,” he whispers into her hair. “C’mon love, I got you,” he says, holding her tight as she breaks down into sobs again.

***

It’s horrible. His best friend hasn’t even been dead for a week and already Simon can’t help but feel his heart yearn for her. It’s a little cliché, laying the sleeping widow in his bed, smoothing her hair as be bends down and kisses her forehead. There’s something about the way her tear-stained cheeks glisten in the moonlight but he looks away and grabs the pillow from the other side of the bed and a blanket from the closet before he lays out on the floor beside her. Her hand falls over the side of the bed, and damn Simon’s soul, forgive me, Johnny, he props his elbow up and takes her hand, gently squeezing it in his large one, feeling her faintly squeeze back.

Strongest soldier you’ll ever meet, tough as nails, hard as steel.

But at Simon’s core, he is, a weak, weak man.

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dadsbongos · 1 month ago

Text

supe soldier at attention (for hours)

1.6k words / warnings - reader bimbofication (light), soldier boy is himself, very toxic kinda rapey mindset on this guy

summary - left to babysit the 100+ year-old by yourself, you make a bet you soon regret with Soldier Boy.

kinktober: day seven - humiliation, objectification @maniacpixiedreamboy is here!!!! ~~~

You’re so ashamed, but you cannot help yourself. It’s too late for you and your morals: you want to bite him, you want to kick him, your leg erratically thrums against the floor and your eye starts twitching when you look at him. Sadly, not even out of annoyance.

He’s fucking gorgeous. You want him to die.

“If you just got on your back you’d be happier,” Ben has the cockiest squint to his eyes, “Loosen up a bit, smile more, and you can get a man. Men hate hysterics, rocket.”

“Stop calling me ‘rocket’.”

“It’s a compliment!” he cringes when your scowl only deepens, “Can’t fucking give a compliment these days?”

“It’s not a compliment, it’s degrading, and you’re the worst man I’ve ever been forced to interact with.”

Hughie is another man you think should drop dead, even though you usually like him. Usually you think he’s thoughtful and kind, but today he’s left you alone with Benjamin. Dreaded Soldier Boy. Butcher’s ace in killing Homelander. You’re not sure the stress of having him around is worth a quicker victory.

Ben cocks his head at you, brow raised, “Dollface, if I reached into your pants right now you’d be soaking.”

“Try it and I’ll break your hand.”

“As if you fucking could,” Ben snorts, leaning back against the opposite end of the couch with folded arms, “You look like a gambling soul, let's put numbers down.”

“Fine. I win and you shut the fuck up anytime I’m in the room,” you uncross your legs, thighs spreading along the motel couch cushion. Confident you can maintain composure even with his hand on you.

“When I’m right,” he rocks forward onto a knee, with the other leg propped against the floor, “I’m gonna make you see God, finally put a fucking smile on that sour ass face.”

Ben surprises you by not instantaneously jamming a hand into your business. Rather, he slowly sears his palm up the plump of your inner thigh, face closing on yours. Green eyes study how your breath hitches, heat radiating off your cheeks and lapping his. He squeezes your thigh suddenly, plying the fat and skimming a thumb high toward the hem of your underwear.

“That’s not fair,” you chide petulantly.

“Shouldn’t matter,” he continues, breath fanning your cheek and fingers digging beneath the leg of your panties, “If you don’t want me, you won’t be wet either way.”

Your eye does twitch with annoyance now. Just as you go to yank his hair or pull his ears or spit in his eye, he’s tugging your underwear down and tucking fingers into the divot between your thighs. Warm fingertips slipping along the seam of your cunt, he laughs in your rapidly cooking face. Reveling in your wispy gasp when he strokes two fingers over your weepy hole, thumb rolling your clit.

Hips snap against his hand, nails drilling bluntly into his wrist, “Fuck you!”

“Like a faucet,” he muses, “You brats love pretending to be tough. Need someone to fuck you boneless and remind you of your place.”

“You’re the worst!” your voice jumps when he spoons a finger inside you, slithering his other arm around your shoulders to cradle you against his broad chest.

Ben condescendingly scruffs his cheek against your head, adding a second digit.

You hadn’t thought being wrong, in the nightmarish scenario you were trapped in, would matter because he’s supposed to be bad at this. He’s supposed to rub the crease of your thigh or blandly jab you off for fifteen minutes to no avail before getting bored.

He’s not supposed to know how to swivel your clit with rhythm, and he’s not supposed to know to curl fingers towards the pouch of your stomach. He’s not supposed to tweak your nipple or fondle your chest to any success. He’s not supposed to make slick gush and marr the couch cushions.

“Oh, fuck, fuck you,” you whine, head burying into his neck to hide from the sight of yourself humping his hand.

“Gotta spread this pussy open first,” he grunts, practically searing your crotch how hard he’s staring. Fingers scissoring apart, stretching your walls.

When your huffs and coos progress into moans muffled against a bitten lip, Ben tightens up -- using his arm muscles to finger-fuck you harder. Rapidly losing traction the more slick drools out of you, Ben abandons thumbing your knob completely. Letting the meat of his palm roughly grind against you instead. Your body jostles under such attention, and he nearly rips your shirt off with the hand previously squeezing your chest for a better view.

The new position and breakneck motion has you splashing, lewd sucking festering through the room.

“S’fucking wet, rocket,” he slurs against stray hairs, panting onto your scalp with tight puffs, “What do you say, can you take it right now?” you hum non-committedly, by far more interested in how your thighs are tensing and gut churning, “C’mon, gambler, make another bet. Think I’ll make it inside? Or will I just slip right fucking out of this wet cunt?”

“Shut the fuck up!”

pap!

Your cheek stings faintly, his palm just above the sore flesh. Slight pain sparks from the tail of your earlobe, rounding your cheek, and spiking the corner of your lips. From there it fizzles to pleasure and you’re moaning. Legs spreading wider as if he could get anymore welcome between them.

To your shock, the bastard slapped you -- and to your horror, you actually liked it.

“Don’t be rude, rocket, I’m doing your pretty pussy a favor,” then he’s sliding out of you.

“No, no, no…” you snivel, shaky thighs desperately trying to clamp shut around his sodden hand. Just before you can mumble out a ‘please’, you silence yourself. No way are you that hot for him.

Ben clicks his tongue, shaking his head and wrangling you by the backs of your knees so you're laid on the cushions. Sousing your bare ass in your own fresh made puddle. Furiously schucking down his own pants to expose himself, Ben then lays your thighs against his chest. Ankles left dangling over his shoulders.

“I was close,” you frown up at him.

“I know,” he replies flippantly, slapping the flushed head of his cock over your mound, smearing pre-cum over your glossy slit, “But your attitude was shit, and I’m not giving out charity orgasms to mean sluts.”

“Hey!” you scoff, following derision interrupted when he thrusts inside -- punching out a breathless, raspy, “Said ‘hey’!” from the bowels of your lungs.

“Speak up, then,” he leans, louring over you solely to crush your knees against your shoulders, “What?”

“‘m not a slut!” your voice waivers.

Laughing, again, in your face, Ben winks all smarmy and grotesque and punch-able, “Obviously. Sluts get dick, you’re just playing pretend.”

Any offense you could vocalize is chopped short as he bruises his pelvis to yours. Leisurely pulling out to admire the sheen you’ve webbed down to his balls before pushing back into you. A meager whimper is all you can manage, his cock hot and heavy and splitting you wide. You’re not sure if it’s the weight against your chest or raw delusion, but you swear you feel him in your throat.

“Can’t breathe,” you wheeze up at him.

He grunts low, chest vibrating against the backs of your thighs, swallowing hard, “Squeezing me good, rocket. You like that?” one of his hands cinches the sides of throat, slowly building pressure, “You like being choked?”

You sputter, hips thrashing to sink his cock deeper in you. That's answer enough.

“You might be a genuine slut, then, doll. Sloppy and happy to get slapped and choked, you’re a messy fucking bitch.”

Despite your previous reservations, Ben can feel you spasm around him. He thrives off it.

Unfurling the fingers around your neck, Ben keeps his palm settled over your windpipe while arresting your jaw. Teeth grit and pace quickening, he nearly growls, “Say it, rocket. You wanna cum, don’t you?”

Pathetically, you nod, tears beading your lashes. All from some cock battering your insides.

“Say it.”

“I’m a slut!”

He withdraws, histrionically slow, “Doesn’t sound like you want it enough.”

“Please!” you cross your shins over his back, ankles locking, and fully wail all dignity out the window, “I’m a real slut! Rocket’s a slut!” you’ll say anything just to gain his favor right now, “I’m your slutty rocket, Soldier Boy, please I wanna cum!”

“That’s fucking right, baby,” he returns to squeezing your throat, using the iron grip to pull you into his every thrust, “Keep screaming for me like a nice cunt.”

Mouth agape, you unleash debauched moans and squeals as that delicious tingle rages hotter and hotter from hips to chest. Sizzling you from the inside out until you’re throwing your head back and raking nails over his hand, arms, and back; any skin you can grapple.

“Fuck, fuck, ah! Ben!”

“Cumming on me, rocket,” phrased like a question, but you both know it isn’t. He’s too arrogant to even hint at amazement, “So much prettier for me like this.”

He fucks you through your orgasm, even as he twitches and splatters inside you. And frustratingly even as he’s cumming you’re the one to cry out,

“Oh! Hah.. ohmyGod!”

“Yeah, that’s it. Feeling nice now, dollface?” he prompts, patting your cheek with the hand he used to choke you, “Give me a smile, pretty thing.”

You don’t have the energy to roll your eyes, only scraping enough strength together to grin up at Ben. Lips pressing tightly.

“Show me teeth,” his hips roll into you again, earning an overstimulated sulk, “I can keep this up all night.”

You comply, baring teeth in a full, albeit exhausted, beam.

Ben squishes your cheeks, murmuring low enough to mistake as being only for his ears (you’re sure he means for you to hear him, though), “Total fucking rocket, baby.”

#soldier boy x reader #soldier boy smut #soldier boy x you #the boys x reader #the boys smut #dads kinktober

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bucks-babe · 7 months ago

Note

maybe angel!reader helping bucky thru a panic attack? like he thinks when he dies hes gonna suffer in hell for the stuff the winter soldier did and we calm him down and help him? u can add smut if u want but u dont have to !!

My Guardian, My Angel, My Love

Pairing: Bucky x angel!reader

Summary: For the first time Bucky gets to experience peace because of his sweet angel.

Word Count: 5.5k

Warnings: Angst?, actually a lot of angst, I don’t know how it got that way but it did, it gets happy though, fluff, smut (I can’t help myself), oral f!receiving, handjob, awkward sex talk, like really awkward, talk about heaven and dying, talk about life after death and immortality, angels based off of Supernatural but I changed a few things, blood, nearly dying, gunshots, reader doesn’t have a soul but can still love because I said so, reader knows when and how everyone dies but can’t tell them, reader has wings, 3rd person, age gap (reader is eons old), wings being a metaphor for sexual assault?, think Maleficent, no use of Y/N, so many emotions

A/N: This is not supposed to force any religion nor be an accurate representation of any religion. I din't go with panic attack, rather I had him almost die. I was feeling angsty

The moment Bucky’s knees hit the ground he knows it's over, that this is the end. He knew this was the way he would go out, on a mission, desperately trying to atone all his misdeeds. Tendrils of pain shot throughout his stomach, blood seeping through his fingers. When his side hit the ground, he knew it wouldn’t be too long before he went, limbs feeling too heavy. He couldn’t hear Steve screaming for help, scrambling for anything to stop the bleeding.

What Bucky did hear though, was a ruffle, almost like a flock of birds flying by, then a figure he’d never seen before stood above him. She’s here to take me. It didn’t strike Bucky as odd that she was the only thing that was clear, the rest of his view blurry and unfocused. He tried to speak, he really did, but no words came out, the breath leaving his lungs not enough to push any words out.

The woman crouches down, hand cupping his cheek with such softness tears leave his eyes, wiped away by Steve in the quinjet who seemingly can’t see her. “Close your eyes, my love. When you wake up, I’ll be there.” Fuck, this is really happening. Fear coursed through his body, scared of what punishment his sins earned him. I deserve to go to hell for what I’ve done.

A guttural whine passes his lips; Steve chokes back sobs next to his lifelong friend. “Shh, none of that, now. I won’t let anything bad happen to you, I promise. You can rest now.” All at once, the pain is gone. Bucky feels like he’s floating - it’s wonderful.

Bucky has no problem opening his eyes. What the fuck? This is hell? Well damn. The most wonderful sound meets his ears - a giggle, soft and delicate. “No, my love, this is not hell and you’re not dead.” She comes into view. She’s gorgeous. Wait, I’m alive! Apparently, Bucky says that last part because Steve’s gasp enters his ears.

“Yeah, Buck, you’re alive. Gave us a scare though, didn’t uh, didn’t know if you would make it.” Bucky doesn’t respond right away, too busy looking around for his mystery woman, only to be met with the walls of the med bay. “Hey, I’m right here, Buck, look at me.” It’s not the woman, rather it’s Steve.

“How long was I out? What happened?”

“A few days. It was touch and go for some time but you bounced back. When we were on the mission, Hydra had a sniper posted outside. He got you right in the stomach.” Bucky could hear the emotion in Steve’s voice, the fear of losing his best friend still leaving him shaken up.

“Well, they’re a pretty shitty shot if you ask me. Could have gotten one right between the eyes with one of those shit guns we got in the war.” Steve coughs out a laugh, turning into a belly laugh a few seconds later. Bucky would laugh with him, but the bullet wound in his abdomen says he shouldn’t. He still doesn’t see the woman, though. Maybe I just made her up.

A few days later, doctor Cho gives him the all clear to leave the med bay; however, he’s off duty for the foreseeable future and not any amount of his grumbling changed her mind. Still, Bucky hasn’t seen the woman. He feels a little crazy that he misses her, well crazier.

Slowly, he makes his way to his room. Steve offered to help but Bucky wanted to do this on his own, having been tended to his whole stay in hospital. He puts in his password on the keypad Tony installed when Bucky first arrived, when the fear that Hydra would come back and take him was too much to bear. His room is the same way he left it, except for a woman on his bed. Not just any woman though, it was his mystery lady.

Someone’s gonna have to put me in the cuckoo's nest. She laughs as if she can hear his thoughts. God, I hope not. “God has bigger things to worry about than such an inconspicuous fear as that, my love.” She sits up, facing him, the most beautiful smile gracing her lips.

“Can you hear my thoughts?” He feels like he already knows the answer, but asks anyway. If this woman is made up, of course she can read his mind. She just smiles and rises to her feet, walking over to him.

“What do you think, my love?” She tilts her head, a soft smile still resides on her lips. He feels so safe with her and she isn’t even real, just a figment of his imagination, a ruse to comfort himself in what he thought were his last moments. “I am very real, I’ll have you know.”

Bucky doesn’t know why, but he believes her. He believes this woman who showed up randomly on a field, who his best friend couldn’t see, and who disappeared without a trace. “How then? How did you do it?”

“Do what, my love?” She grabs his hand and leads him to the bed, helping him sit, finding a spot next to him.

“Save me, hear my thoughts, hide from Steve, disappear, get into my room, all of it. It’s not natural. Either you’re a ghost, or a mutant, or a reaper who was trying to take me. I don’t know, but you’re something.” Another laugh escapes her. He should be terrified of her, but he can’t find it in himself to be, her presence emanating calm.

“Well aren’t you a clever one? However, I’m none of those things nor did I save you. It just wasn’t your time yet. I’m an angel, though, to answer your question.” Bucky just stares, not believing her. This has to be a joke. “No joke, my love. If you want, I can prove it to you.” Bucky doesn’t even question why she calls him my love, the sound of it just too nice to stop.

Bucky just nods, words failing him. She rises to her feet, turning to stand in front of him. He hears them before he sees them, the same ruffle he heard as he lay dying. Then he sees them. A pair of dark wings coming from her back. She doesn’t spread them all the way, too big to fit in the small space of his room. “They’re black.” She throws her head back, a loud, beautiful laugh fills his ears.

“That was your first thought? You don’t like them? Personally I think they’re quite nice.” It was the first thing that came to his mind, the rest blank. Maybe he should have asked for more proof, but he knows she would never lie to him. He doesn’t know how he knows, he just does.

“I don’t know. I guess I just thought they’d be white. With the whole angel thing, you know?” She hums.

“There is a lot humans have wrong about us. I mean, plenty of us have white wings, but they come in many colors. If you can believe it, this isn’t even my true form.” Bucky is confused, she looks so real. A tangible human, someone he can touch.

“What is your true form then? Can I see it?” That’s a little personal to ask, dumbass.

“Well, that is a little complicated. Only one human has seen my true form and it didn’t go well. I thought she could handle it, but when she saw me, well let’s just say she couldn’t see from then on.” Bucky’s eyes widened, not expecting that answer. “Anything else you want to ask me?”

Her wings are still out, folded against her back. They look so soft. “Can I touch your wings?” Her wings shift slightly. If he wasn’t trained to observe everything and everyone, Bucky wouldn’t have known that she was uncomfortable. “I’m sorry, I shouldn’t have asked. I didn’t know-”

“That’s okay. An angel’s wings are very personal. They’re sensitive and even for an ethereal being, it's very personal - intimate.”Clearing her throat, she changes the subject. “I know your name, my love. Might I say, it’s very pretty, but you don’t know mine.” Bucky picks up on her attempt to move his attention away from her wings.

“What is it then? I can’t call you angel forever, however fitting it may be.”

“Well I don’t exactly have a name. I’m a cherubim. The only angels who have names are the archangels, the first borns.”

It was Bucky’s turn to smile.”My little cherub.” She doesn’t tell him that cherub is the plural of cherubim. Until this day, Bucky didn’t know that angels could get shy, yet here his sweet cherub is, shying away from his piercing eyes. He bets if he felt her face he would feel the heat on them. “I have to ask though, my little cherub, why did you come to me?”

She became serious, staring right into his eyes. “Because God commanded it.”

“What does God want to do with me? Out of all the people in this world, he chose me?” A pained look crossed her face and she walked over to him, kneeling in front of him like he was her God. Her hands ran up his arms, goosebumps rising at the pass of her hands. He almost stopped breathing - he could feel her hand on his left arm. He hasn’t felt anything with that hand since he fell of that train.

Hands still rising, she cups his face with both hands, making him look into her eyes. “You don’t think you deserve to be saved.” It wasn’t a question. She knew. “That is why he sent me. He sent me because you deserve it. You deserve to let go.” At that moment, Bucky broke down. Sobbing uncontrollably, somehow without pain in his fresh wound.

She pulls him into her, wrapping her arms around him. His face buried in her neck, arms clutching her back. She hesitates for a second, no one having touched her wings in thousands of years, yet she cocoons him with them, shielding him from the world. It only makes Bucky cry harder, her wings holding every bit of softness he thought they would. The comfort she brings unlike any other he experienced before.

Her arms rub his back as she coos to him. Soft words spoken into his hair. “Shh, my love, I’m here. Nothing bad will ever happen to you again. I will die before I let that happen.” The conviction in her tone sets him off more, unable to comprehend someone would do that for him without a second thought. A being, older than he can even fathom, is ready to give it all away for a mesley human. A speck of dust in her life. His entire existence no longer than a second when compared to hers.

That’s how it was for a while, Bucky’s sweet cherub staying with him. At night she would wrap her wings around him, keeping him safe. Bucky knows that her powers are the reason his nightmares are gone. At first he was glad that he could finally sleep, but then the guilt crept in. Why should he be allowed to forget the horrors he committed? Their families didn’t get that condolence.

When he told her this she wasn’t having any of it, wings jerking in annoyance. It was something that he picked up on, how when she experienced emotions her wings would move in different ways, always giving her away.

“I swear, my love, you’re going to make my wings turn gray with all this. I have lived a long life, longer than you can comprehend, so when I tell you that I have seen the best and the worst of this world, I mean it. And you, my love, are a good man. There is a reason God sent me to you.” Her wings surrounded him and he felt himself relax. “There is no quest to send you on, no mission that the world hangs in the balance of. It’s just you. A man who needs to see the good in himself.” Bucky hangs his head in shame, not meeting her eyes.

“You think your purpose is suffering for the things you couldn’t control? My purpose is to save you. My love,” she cups his face in her hands, wiping away the tears he didn’t know had formed, “I have done far worse things in my life. Horrific things, yet I’m here right now, with you. Please, let me take your pain away.”

None of this was easy for Bucky. No one has ever had their sole purpose be him. Back in the forties he took care of Steve, he stepped up when his father left. When he was no longer the Winter Soldier, Steve helped him, but Steve’s care never felt like this. Bucky knows that he’s fallen in love with her. He knows that she knows, but what he doesn’t know is if she feels the same.

What he doesn’t know is that she is fighting the same battle, the feeling of love is one she has never had before. It all came to a head one night, Bucky wrapped in her wings, her head on his chest. “Cherub?” She felt the vibrations in his chest.

“Yes, my love.”

“You said that we could be together for the rest of my life, right?” She did say that when he was worried that she would leave him after her mission was complete.

“I did.” One thing about her is that she never gave long answers to questions, not used to having to talk with humans.

“What happens when I die? Where will I go? I want you to be there with me.”

She sighed, thinking about how to convey her words properly. “When you die… you’ll go to heaven. It has already been decided. If you choose, when you go, I will be there with you for the rest of our existence, but you don’t have to make a decision now. My body will age with yours, follow you to the end of your life. When your time comes, we will leave and go to heaven where we will both be young again.”

Without hesitation Bucky answers, “I want that. I want you to be with me for the rest of eternity.” There was no doubt in his mind. Even though he met her a few months ago, he knew. “I have to ask, what is heaven like?”

She sits up a bit, shifting to lay on his chest, wings still cocooning them, keeping them in their own little bubble. “There is no one heaven. Not everyone who ever went there is in the same place. Heaven is made up of small pockets of personal heavens. People who lost their loved ones meet again, your happiest memories are relived, there is no pain or sorrow, you can have anything you want.”

Bucky felt the pull of his chest, emotion bubbling up. “Is my ma there? And Becca?” The words come out thick, a lump forms in Bucky’s throat. “Please, don’t lie to me.”

She looks into his eyes. “Yes, they are. They’re together and they’re waiting for you. I have seen them myself, right before I left to meet you. They talk very highly of you, my love.”

Tears fall from his face, the pain in his chest all the time at the greatest loss of his life eased slightly. “Can I talk to them?” He knows it's a long shot, but if there is a chance he wants it.

“I’m so sorry, my love, but I can’t. Even I don’t have the power to do that. If I could, I would.” A pained whine leaves his lips. “Hey, you know who is waiting for you too?” She waits a beat before speaking anyway. “Your dog from when you were a kid. He’s in his prime, always will be. His days are spent chasing rabbits around the yard.”

“Balto’s up there too?” A small smile graced his face, crows feet appearing by his eyes.

“Yeah. If it is any consolation, time passes differently up there. The longing you feel right now for them, they feel the same only it’s made easier by us.” Bucky only nods, staring into her eyes, seeing nothing but truth. His eyes flicker to her lips and back up. “You can, my love, I want you to.”

That was all Bucky needed to hear. Gently cupping her cheek, he guided her lips to his. There was no rush, no sense of urgency. They had all the time in the world and then some. Bucky never felt anything this good in his life and he was only kissing her. When she licked his lips, he opened mouth without a thought, brain clouded with love just for her.

He moaned into the kiss, the feeling of her tongue on his incredible. At his sound, Bucky felt her wings flutter under him. Breaking the kiss, he giggled. Bucky actually giggled. She reared her head back, slightly affronted by his laugh when she just kissed him.

“I’m sorry, my little cherub, it’s just that your wings tickled me.” She huffs and a second later, her wings are gone the only sign they were ever out is the small black feather on the bed. “No, cherub, don’t put them away. I love them.” She wasn’t really offended, but she wanted to tease him a bit.

Her wings were always out around Bucky, comfortable enough to reveal the most intimate and personal part of herself to him. He was the first human in thousands of years to touch them, but he was the only one to be wrapped in them. The only time they were touched was when a man cut them off her back. It was a time when she trusted humans, not knowing the atrocities they were capable of.

Her wings were white then, when she was pure and unknowing of the hate humans possessed. God crafted her a new pair. Of course she accepted them, but her feathers turned black, scared she looked to her father. When he said that it was because of the wrongs his creations did, it broke something in her, took away her purity, teaching her a lesson. Father never blamed her for it, he knew she would heal with time. It was part of the reason he sent her to the man she lays in bed with.

Bucky didn’t know this, he didn’t know how much she was betrayed by humans, only for her to trust him and him alone. She playfully glares at him before bringing her wings back out, sitting up on his lap. Gently, more gentle than he has been in years, Bucky reaches out to touch them. She lets him feel them whenever he wants, even wrapping him in them as he sleeps, but this was a completely different setting.

She was so vulnerable at this moment. Her wings flapped, a nervous tick of her’s, making Bucky pull away immediately. “Cherub, I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to make you uncomfortable.” She swallows before meeting his eyes.

“It’s not that I don’t want you to touch them. It’s just that only one other human has touched them. There was a time where I was naive and innocent, not knowing what humans were capable of.” She pauses and Bucky sits up, back against the headboard and laces his fingers with hers, feeling the softness on his metal hand.

“It was a man, he had a family, a kid and a wife. They struggled to survive, trading their valuables for a slice of bread. Father sent me to help them, take away their sorrows. Said he was an honest man trying to make an honest living.” Bucky senses where her story is going, hoping that it doesn’t end the way he fears, but the pain in her eyes is palpable, a human emotion angels almost never experience.

He waits for her to continue, not forcing her to speak. “At first, they were grateful, having everything they needed. They had their health, food on the table, but the man grew greedy. He wanted more. One day, as I was watching his child in a field, keeping her safe from the horrors of the world, he snuck behind me with a sword he got from a blacksmith, sharper than any blade. He-he cut my wings right off my back.”

Tears fell from her eyes, not having relived that moment for thousands of years. Bucky felt his heart physically ache. She was sent to heal him, but it was his turn to do the same. “You know, my wings used to be white?” She looks into his eyes, red with tears. “When he hurt me, Father took me back to heaven, crafting me another pair. They were white but when he gave them to me, they turned black.”

A whine leaves her lips and Bucky pulls her into him, careful not to touch her wings. “Oh, my sweet little cherub, I’m here and I won’t let anyone hurt you again. I’ve never felt as content as I have with you, never so happy and I will do anything to keep you safe. I love you, no matter what you have done, I’ll still love you.” This only made her cry harder. Human emotions were foreign to her, but spending so much time with Bucky caused her to develop them. It was almost overwhelming, going from not having anything to having so much fill her body.

“Father said that it was because the man took my innocence, showed me the evil of the world. I’ve never seen him apologize for anything, yet that day he was broken, realizing that his creations, even the ones he thought were good, are capable of unspeakable atrocities. They will never turn white again because I’m ruined.” Tears welled up in Bucky’s eyes. His sweet cherub thinking she is anything less than perfect breaks his heart.

“My cherub, you saved me, now let me do the same for you. Let me heal you like you have me.” Leaning back slightly, she took his hands in her own, drawing them up her waist to her back, moving them to touch her wings. At his touch, she gasped, eyes closing forcing more tears to cascade down her face. The feeling of his gentle hands, hands that have done so much harm, resting on the most violated part of her body was something she never thought would happen.

She didn’t know she could love until she met Bucky, finally placing a word to the indescribable warmth that spreads throughout her body every time she thinks of him. “I love you too, my love. Forever and ever, til you die, til the end of time, in heaven and on earth.” They were both crying, neither experiencing the tenderness of love before.

He brings her down, kissing her with as much passion as he possibly could, tasting the mixture of both of their tears. Her arms clutching onto him, trying to get closer. He did the same, one hand running across her wings like he was trying to wash away the taint of betrayal his kind caused.

Shifting on his lap, she feels the bulge of his cock, half hard pressed up against her. Gasping, she pulls away. “Cherub, I’m sorry, I didn’t mean, it just-.” She silences him with her lips, drawing a groan from him, subconsciously grinding down onto him. “Cherub, we have to stop, I don’t want to take advantage of you. You’re vulnerable right now, I can’t do that to you.”

Her hips stutter on his. “My love, I want to, I need to. Need to be closer to you, please grant me this.” His hands run up and down her sides, soothing the heat of her skin.

“Any time you want to stop, or don’t like something, you tell me. Okay? This is about me showing you how perfect you are.” She nods, kissing him one more time. Bucky’s hands slide up her shirt, resting on her soft skin, palms feeling the goosebump under his touch. Looking up at her for permission to take her shirt off, she nods.

Bucky did that with every piece of clothing, every move he made. Soon they were both naked, her wings splayed out on the bed, twitching in a way he never saw before - arousal. “My, my love, I have to tell you something.” He pulls his eyes away from her wings to look into her eyes. “I’ve never done this before. Angels, we don’t do this, I don’t know what to feel right now.”

Hands cupping her cheeks, he smiles at her, relaxing into his touch. “Do you feel safe?” She nods. “Do you feel like you have to do this for me?” She shakes her head. “Do you want me to please you?” She nods once again. “We don’t have to do anything with this,” he gestures to his throbbing erection.

“I want to, I just need you to show me what to do.” The thought that she trusts him enough to take care of her makes his cock pulse, aching for some type of relief.

“Let me make you feel good, okay? All you have to do is lay back and tell me how it feels.” She nods her head in understanding, worries slowly fading away. He kisses down her body, taking the time to swirl his tongue around his sensitive nipples, grinning at the small gasp it draws from his cherubs lips.

Going further down, his face is right in front of her pussy, smelling her intoxicating scent. “Keep your eyes on me, cherub.” She gulps. For a minute, Bucky just stares at her pussy, breathing her in, memorizing how wet she is before his tongue flicks out onto her clit.

“Oh, that feels good. Can you do it again?” She was so sweet, asking so kindly for him to deliver her pleasure.

“Of course I can.” And with that, Bucky dives into her pussy, restraining himself from devouring her. He groans into her cunt, already addicted to her taste, the moans she lets out are soft and breathy, yet it’s one of the most beautiful things he's ever heard, only competition being her laugh.

“My love, I don’t, what is happening to me?” Bucky pulls away from her cunt, reaching up to lace their hands together.

“Just let that feeling wash over you. It’s okay, I’ll catch you when you fall, I’m here.” He goes right back to her pussy, lapping her juices up, eyes boring into hers. She was twitching on the bed, hips bucking up to meet his tongue. Bucky chuckles when he sees her wings flap, not knowing what to do with the pleasure coursing through her.

Her orgasm comes as a surprise to her, never experiencing one before, nor knowing what they were. Her eyes shoot open, wings beating wildly, body almost convulsing on the soft sheets. Bucky pulls away, not trying to overstimulate her. He almost cums at the sight of her, it was the most beautiful thing he has ever seen.

It takes her a while, but she comes down, wings falling limp on the bed as Bucky crawls up her body, resting in between her legs. “My love, what was that? I thought I was about to die.”

Barking out a laugh, Bucky leans down. “That was an orgasm, sweet cherub. How did it feel?” She whines, not able to put what she felt into words.

“Like nothing I have ever felt before. It was incredible.” Her eyes close. Bucky is perfectly happy to hold her, not caring about his own orgasm, but her eyes shoot open, wide and curious. “Can you have one, too?”

Another laugh leaves him. “Yes, cherub, I can. It’s a little different from yours though.” Her eyes squint in confusion, clearly not understanding what could be different. “Well, for one, what I have looks a little different to yours, doesn’t it?” She nods. Bucky never thought he would be giving “The Talk” to an angel, but here he was. “When I have an orgasm, stuff comes out of this tip, right here.” He grabs his cock to show her.

“Can I see it? How do I make you do that?” It was Bucky’s turn to be surprised.

“Cherub, you don’t have to do that.” Her glare is enough to make Bucky continue. “Um, there are a few different ways. I could put it inside of you, that feels good for you too.”

“In where?” Bucky huffs, not in annoyance, but this talk is turning him off. Not that he’s mad at that, but the conversation feels like talking to a child, someone who hasn’t experienced anything sexual and it wasn’t exactly turning him on, it felt wrong to have this talk naked.

“In this hole right under where I was touching you. There is another one under that, but it’s different from the other. Or your mouth, but also a hand. Pretty much anything that could rub against that area.” Bucky felt his cheeks heat up. His cock was going soft right in front of her eyes.

“Can I do one? I want to see you orgasm.” Her eyes were so bright and eager, he couldn’t say no to his cherub. He nods, only for her to glance down at his soft cock. “Why is it smaller now? I think it’s kind of cute.”

This has to be the most embarrassing thing that has ever happened to him. No woman has ever called his dick cute, or made a comment on its size when soft. He gets compliments on how big he is when he’s hard, but soft is a different story. He’s a grower not a shower. He has to admit, his encounter is damaging his ego a bit. “It gets bigger when I’m aroused, but if it’s not touched it gets softer.” He’s lying straight through his teeth, he can stay hard for hours without touching his dick.

“If you touch it, it gets big again.” She switches positions, having him on his back, resting between his legs, face right next to his cock. He feels himself twitch and she jerks her head in surprise, giggling at her own reaction. She begins to almost pet him, it feels good but not what he needs.

He reaches down, guiding her hand to gather the precum at his tip, slowly pulling it back down, tightening her grip on his dick. “Oh, wow, it’s getting bigger. It’s so hard.” Her amazement at something so simple as a dick getting hard is endearing.

Bucky grunts when he twists her hand. “I liked that sound.” Her words make him groan again, cock all the way hard. His hips buck into her hand and he lets her hand go, trusting her to keep her pace. It’s slow but firm, driving him insane. He wants her to go faster, harder, but this is about her, letting her discover at her own pace.

“Spit on the tip, it’ll make it easier to move.” She does so without hesitation. Bucky’s head flies back into the headboard, moaning at her soft hands working his cock. “Just like that, cherub, you’re doing so good. This feels incredible.” Bucky meant every word of it. Her hand honestly felt better than the full blown sex he’s had in the past. Maybe it was because he loved her with all his heart, or maybe it was because she was an angel, either way, Bucky didn’t have it in himself to care.

“You look so pretty like this, my love. I love this, making you feel good.” Bucky’s hips pick up speed, feeling his orgasm building up in the base of his cock.

“Cherub, I’m going to cum. Please keep going just like that.” She figures he means orgasm since he is jerking just like she was. The urge to make him orgasm was almost too much to bear, wanting him to show her how beautiful he was when he lets go. “Oh, cherub, I’m about to, oh fuck.” He moans long and loud, cum spurting out of his tip. She gasps at the force of it but doesn’t let up her pace. She had never seen anything more beautiful than her love in this moment.

He has to stop her, not knowing that he needed a break. “Love, I want to make you do that again.” She scoops some of his cum off his stomach with her finger and just stares at it.

“You can taste it if you’d like.” She eagerly licks her fingers, eyes bulging at his taste, dropping down to lick the rest of it off his body. “Come here, cherub.” He pulls her into a kiss, tasting himself on her tongue. He pulls the cover over their bodies, her wings instinctively wrapping around him.

“Thank you, my love, for always taking care of me. I was sent to save you, yet I feel that it’s the other way around.” Bucky doesn’t think so. He knows that she saved him. They fall asleep together and in the morning they will find that her wings are just a bit lighter than the night before.

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