#and then getting like beaten within an inch of your life or something

[voidwhump]

I need roughly ten billion more fics where some character is seemingly only under the weather because they've been overworking themself and then they wake up with actually serious problems

[gutsby]

License to Kill

Pairing: Mob!Bucky x Reader

Summary: Marital bliss becomes a bloody massacre within hours of your wedding. Bucky has run the gamut of organized crime from gunrunning to public extortion, but an attempt on your life is a whole different ballgame. A honeymoon-turned-manhunt has Bucky out for blood.

Warnings: 18+. Unprotected p-in-v. Semi-public sex. Beefy, mob boss Bucky really wants to give you a baby. Praise kink. Size kink. Facefucking. Sex on a private jet. Attempted murder. Arms trafficking. Guerrilla warfare.

Part 1 | Part 2 | Part 3 | Part 4 | Part 5

Any postnuptial banquet was bound to be the talk of Santorini when a groom arrived beaten half to death.

At least that was what you’d told yourself, what had plagued your mind for hours before the start of brunch, and what Bucky presently refused to acknowledge with so much as a bat of his eye or a word spoken in between.

“You worry too much,” he said as he sheathed himself inside you for the third time that morning.

Bucky seized your throat in one hand and tilted your chin to make sure you were capable of eye contact while he fucked you in front of the mirror. It didn’t seem to bother him at all that the face in his own reflection was bruised, bloodied, and sewn up like a patchwork quilt behind you.

Hazards of the job, he’d said.

Three masked assailants breaking into your villa the first night of honeymooning? Customary. Being yanked out of bed and made to kneel as your husband took the beating of a lifetime just minutes after consummating your marriage? More common than you would think.

Bucky hadn’t even blinked when he got pistol whipped by a gold-plated Beretta. Didn’t flinch when he was held to a wall and pummeled like a freestanding punch bag.

Almost smiled when he took a hard right hook to the nose and felt a torrent of blood flood out of his nostrils.

If anyone were to be accused of behaving too calmly in a home invasion, it would be Bucky Barnes. It seemed as though he’d seen this all before and had no qualms about getting the shit kicked out of him every now and then. Why he hadn’t so much as lifted a finger to fight back was still beyond your comprehension, though.

At length, he tightened his grip on your neck and tried to smile, his upper lip slashed in two and bruised a grim, violet hue.

“Who’s my girl?” he murmured an inch from your ear.

You whined when he delivered a particularly hard thrust, both of your hands flying to the mirror to steady yourself as he pounded you from behind.

“I-I am,” you whimpered.

The stretch was still something you were getting used to, but now Bucky knew just how to spread you open without making it hurt. He’d glide a thick finger between your folds, slide it down to your clit, and leave it there as long as you’d let him, rubbing quick circles while you bucked and moaned under his touch. And, in spite of all his cuts and bruises, your husband made sure to kiss your shoulder every now and then to let you know he still loved you—even if he was fucking you like he didn’t.

Bucky trailed his lips behind your ear and watched you writhe in time with every stroke he gave. Pressed his face close to yours, watched a desperate, fucked-out expression take over your features, and smiled to himself knowing that no one but him got to see you like this.

“Who likes getting stuffed full of this cock?” he taunted.

“I do.”

“Who loves making daddy feel this good?”

“I do.”

He never thought the sound of your vows could be repeated out loud in such an obscene way—his sweet bride bent in half with a thick, throbbing cock wedged between her legs—but he loved it nonetheless.

Bucky was rutting his hips at a breakneck pace and holding your head to the mirror like he’d never let go. Your climax was quickly coming close into view, and you felt your toes curl in the hardwood floor beneath them.

Suddenly, the chirp of a ringtone diverted your attention.

Bucky brought his phone to his ear as he continued to pound you mercilessly.

“Yeah, Steve?”

The mob boss’s business never took a break, it seemed.

“So what?”

“Yeah, no, I heard you the first time.”

“Well, I’m plowing my wife right now, can it wait?”

Your cheeks warmed with embarrassment at Bucky’s blunt choice of words. You saw his brow pinch behind you, his thrusts getting faster and sloppier, and in spite of the distraction, you sensed he was getting close too.

You yourself were right on the brink. Your gaze met Bucky’s in the mirror with a soft, pleading look, and before you knew it, your husband was bidding an abrupt farewell to his friend and chucking his phone to the side.

“Ready to cum for me, honey?”

You whimpered and nodded.

“Alright then,” Bucky said with a near-expectant look, weaving the fingers of one hand into your hair and pulling it back, tight, “Cum all over daddy’s cock.”

With a shriek you feared might carry throughout the whole banquet hall, you finally reached your peak and released around Bucky’s length, tears springing to your eyes as you closed them tight and moaned his name.

And, ever the cheeky fuck, Bucky leaned right in and kissed the sides of your face to collect all the moisture he could—‘Shit, honey, you taste as good as you look’—while he smirked. Would’ve grinned even bigger if he wasn’t so overcome with pleasure; but, as it was, he couldn’t keep from blowing his load just seconds after the last spasms of your orgasm. Bucky leaned over your torso and squeezed your body tight to his, fucking his cum deep inside you as far as it could possibly go.

For a few, dizzying moments, the man’s mind wandered to more primal thoughts of making it stick, knocking you up, and Bucky had to clench his jaw hard to suppress the groans that were threatening to spill through his teeth. Every time he fucked you, it was like something just clicked; he couldn’t rid the thought of giving you a baby.

But no, for now, the two of you were still on wedding time; before you could jet off to your real honeymoon destination—someplace in the Caribbean, if Bucky remembered correctly—your mother had insisted that you host one post-wedding event that day: a brunch.

Naturally, that meant you were obliged to serve a four-course meal on the terrace of the Canaves Oia Hotel.

The mother of the bride had been one hell of a staunch advocate for keeping this wedding party going as long as possible, and who was Bucky to tell her no? He reasoned he would have plenty of time to get you pregnant after all the wedding festivities had ended, so he didn’t mind.

At present, you tugged your panties and your dress back into place with a wince.

“I think you displaced my cervix, James.”

Bucky couldn’t deny he felt the smallest twinge of pride seeing you walk a little funny to collect the rest of your belongings and attempt to freshen up. It also gave him the perfect excuse to scoop you back up in his arms and pretend to be apologetic about your present dilemma.

“Did I really?” he asked as you giggled and tried to swat him away, “I’m awfully sorry, Mrs. Barnes.”

“Like hell you are.”

With Bucky still draped over your body, proffering his apologies again and again as he assailed your face with tiny kisses, you’d barely made it two feet toward the door before you collapsed against a table and almost toppled a centerpiece. The pair of you would be expected outside any minute now, where the rest of your post-wedding party was likely trickling in and wondering where the hell the bride and groom had gone, but Bucky seemed adamant on keeping you to himself a little while longer.

That was until the back exit swung on its hinges and a familiar, frazzled groomsman stumbled in.

“Can you horndogs hurry the hell up?!”

So Sam had heard you after all.

You just might’ve blushed if you weren’t being pushed out the door a second later, the hurried, chiding tone of your husband’s friend ringing low in your ears.

“Your old man’s ready to hit the roof,” he mumbled to Bucky, “Won’t start drinking until you two show face.”

“Probably still thinks my bride escaped in the middle of the night,” Bucky mused, flitting a look to you.

The man behind rolled his eyes and continued to usher you both outside. Sam Wilson knew exactly what had happened last night; he’d been the one to bring in the cavalry to save you both from imminent death, after all.

As you had come to find out, Sam wasn’t just a friend of your husband’s but also a close associate of sorts—the kind that would wait in the wings and do whatever it took to keep Bucky safe. When the wait staff at the villa hadn’t been able to reach you for room service delivery last night, reporting some ‘strange sounds’ inside, Mr. Wilson had sprung into action. Called the rest of your husband’s entourage and was up to your room in minutes, where they’d dealt a swift, and final, blow to your attackers. You hadn’t asked many questions after—just thanked him. Profusely.

“You look like hell,” the man observed with a sidelong glance in his friend’s direction.

“Really? I feel great,” Bucky replied.

The three of you weaved through a crowd of partygoers—every single one of whom, without exception, stopped and stared at your husband’s mangled face as he passed—and you started to chew the inside of your cheek. People were gawking, talking amongst themselves as they wondered aloud what the hell could’ve happened to the groom overnight. You felt their stares turn to you in a mixture of pity and reproach, and you wanted to hide.

“Ja-ames!” a sing-song voice trilled across the way.

You, Bucky, and Sam all stopped in your tracks to regard the duo that was making their swift approach over.

Bucky’s mom and dad.

As the older couple drew near, you half-expected to see them take on the same wan, horror-stricken look worn by all those around you, but to your surprise, they didn’t.

In fact, they didn’t bat an eyelid. Seeing their son’s face all gnarled and bloody barely even registered.

“Good, you’re here! The photographers just arrived.” Bucky’s mother swept you into her arms for a brief embrace before shooting her son a frown. Your husband, in turn, offered her an apologetic peck on the cheek.

“Sorry, ma. We got caught up,” he said.

“Sure looks like it.”

That came from the elder Mr. Barnes, who had stopped to give his son a quick once-over. He looked amused.

“Get in a fight with a grizzly last night?” he quipped.

“Three, actually,” Sam answered for Bucky, who was already grinning from ear-to-ear—or as much as his facial lacerations would allow him.

You saw father and son exchange a brief, knowing look, before it was extinguished just as fast as it had come. Clearly, some sort of understanding had passed between them, and the old patriarch seemed pleased. Proud, even. You couldn’t begin to imagine why.

“The bruising shouldn’t be too hard to edit out of the wedding pictures,” Bucky’s mother turned to you as she started to lead the group away, speaking in a matter-of-fact tone, “It’s those damn lesions on his face that always give us trouble.”

She spoke so coolly about the trauma done to her son it damn near chilled you to the bone. You never thought the wife of a mobster would be oblivious to all the violence, but to talk as though this were just another day in the life as far as brutal beatings went was a little unnerving.

You strolled along and silently wondered what the fuck was wrong with this family. Then you realized, slowly, that this was your family now. Your stomach twisted.

When you got to the garden where the photographers were stationed, you saw your parents waiting, enrapt.

And, in a matter of seconds, you watched their expressions morph from exuberance to confusion to outright trepidation. Your father was quick to look away, but your mother clearly couldn’t be bothered to stop ogling Bucky’s gruesome appearance. She forced a tight-lipped smile at the very last second and stretched her arms out to you as the five of you approached.

“You’re glowing, my dear.”

She hugged you and, over your shoulder, tried to mask a discomfited look.

Your mother and father exchanged pleasantries with the rest of the group but seemed loath to linger on Bucky for more than a minute. Like they couldn’t quite tell whether the honeymoon beatdown was fair game for discussion.

“Places, people!”

The photographers were lined up like a flock of paparazzi. Each standing, crouching, squatting with their cameras in their hands, trying to get just the right angle.

The person in charge quickly busied herself with directing and adjusting every one of your positions before the pictures were taken. Telling Bucky’s father to straighten his tie, your mother to brighten her smile, the bride to tilt her shoulders just a little bit more, and Bucky, would you please stop groping your wife?

That last command had come from his mother, actually. Bucky had been palming your ass above your dress, and his mom couldn’t stand the thought of one camera capturing such crude behavior.

“My hand slipped,” Bucky retorted, much to the amusement of a few photographers.

You and his mother gave him identical admonitory looks, but it was you who was close enough to say something.

Just when you opened your mouth to speak, though, an odd sense stopped you on a dime.

There was a warmth. In your panties. Then a slow and silent oozing sensation. You squeezed your thighs tight together and, instinctively, lowered your hand to your stomach, as if that would have any chance of stopping it.

A smirk tugged at Bucky’s lips just as the lead photographer told you all to smile and hold it.

“My cum dripping out already?” he whispered, low as he’d ever spoken but still too loud for you to bear. His parents were literally standing right there.

“Shut. Up.” You replied through gritted, smiling teeth.

“Chin to me, Mrs. Barnes,” the lady in charge called out.

You did as you were told, and Bucky’s hand on your side pressed the flesh ever so slightly.

A series of shuttering sounds, then another directive.

“Think it’ll stay in your panties?” Bucky managed delicately under his breath.

You didn’t respond. At length, his seed was seeping out of your underwear. You bared an even brighter smile for the cameras and tried not to flinch when he squeezed you again.

“Feel it sliding down your thighs?”

“Eyes forward, Mr. Barnes. Head up, and—here, please.”

The man could barely peel his gaze, much less his hands, from your body. He stroked your hip with his thumb. Then, without warning, that same hand slid down to your rear and pushed into the fabric. You sucked in a breath.

“Bucky.”

“What?”

“Behave,” you hissed, and from the corner of your eye you could’ve sworn you saw your mother turn her head.

Unfortunately for you, your husband would do no such thing. He just moved his hand even lower down your back and brushed the space around that spot with the tips of his fingers. You felt a shiver pass over you, along with a whole legion of goosebumps spreading fast across the skin.

If you weren’t on camera and surrounded by family, you probably would’ve liked to smack him upside the head.

As the cameras continued to fire away, Bucky’s touch trailed down to the outline of your panties through your dress and started rubbing small circles over the area.

“Now just the bride and groom!”

The rest of your family members stepped to the side, and it was only you and Bucky before the cameras now. Still smiling like bright, shiny dolls and communicating like ventriloquists, your lips barely moved as you spoke.

“How ‘bout I push it back in?”

“Barnes, I will kill you.”

“Now kiss!”

At the direction of the lead photographer, you kissed your husband and felt a mixture of lust, hate, and love swell up inside of you. When you pulled apart, it was the latter of these three that was searing hot in your veins.

“I love you,” Bucky murmured with a grin.

“I love you, too.”

The rest of the morning passed away in much the same fashion—being pulled from place to place, person to person, while your filthy-minded husband kept whispering in your ear all the depraved things he was planning to do to you once he got you alone. It was romantic, in a way; just terrible for your poor panties.

You reluctantly mingled and laughed with some of the most boring people you thought you’d ever met in your life—though perhaps you were a touch too horny to make a fair appraisal—and gradually, family and friends pulled you and Bucky further and further apart until you were just being carted around like show dogs and forced to hold the same conversation over and over again.

“You look stunning.”

“Buck’s a lucky guy, I’ll tell you that.”

“Are you planning on having kids any time soon?”

You just smiled, nodded, and didn’t have the guts to tell them that Bucky’s baby batter was baking inside you right now. That would’ve been a fun one to watch the reactions from your uptight, intrusive relatives, though.

And speaking of Bucky, where the fuck had he gone?

Just twenty minutes ago he’d sworn he would have you bent over one of the hotel balconies overlooking the Aegean Sea, and now he was nowhere to be found.

Your parents were currently preoccupied with their second helpings of spanakopita, your in-laws draining mojitos like water, and Sam, like Bucky, completely MIA. No one else had seen hide nor hair of your husband in a little while, and frankly, your legs were growing tired of looking.

You let out a small sigh of relief when you saw Bucky sitting a ways away on the terrace with Sam and Steve huddled on either side of him. They looked to be deep in discussion.

Steve, Stevie, Rogers, or, simply, your husband’s second in command, seemed strangely out of sorts as he clenched a fist and said something close to Bucky’s face.

You decided to let the three of them hash it out and to take a rain check on that balcony rendezvous for now.

At any rate, a pack of Pall Malls was calling your name.

You would fully concede this was a filthy habit you never should have started—like most fun things in life—but the reprieve of a nicotine buzz was too tempting to refuse. You grabbed your clutch and took off toward the far end of the lawn, set for a small alcove apart from the party.

You slipped the lighter and cigarettes from your bag as you walked. The scent of pure salt and sea foam greeted your senses as soon as you drew close to the spot—less than a stone’s throw away from the ocean.

Your hands had jammed the cancer stick in your mouth before your mind could make a single word of protest. You brought the lighter to life in your right palm and raised the flame to your cigarette until the end was lit.

Then you inhaled. Exhaled. Hoped no one would see you. You fanned the smoke from your face every so often.

You’d taken up residence on a bench just shy of the beach, and finally, you could stretch your legs and rest.

Maybe indulge in some disgusting thoughts about your husband while you were at it.

If you’d told yourself just twenty-four hours ago that your mind and body would be on the fritz craving Bucky’s touch, you wouldn’t have believed it. If someone had said sex, and cumming around someone you loved, was a worthwhile experience, you probably would’ve told them they were full of shit. But here you were, splayed out on a bench by the shoreline thinking of nothing but the way your husband’s cock felt inside you. Feeling his seed dried on your thigh and aching for a fourth helping.

You felt pathetic. Maybe you were.

In any case, you didn’t really care.

You brought the near-spent cigarette up to your lips for the last couple puffs. When you’d plucked it back out, you heard someone clear their throat behind you.

Bucky! Your lust-addled brain all but squealed.

You turned much quicker than you meant and nearly jumped in your skin to see who was standing there.

A grinning, bright-eyed blond.

In a panic, you flicked your cigarette over your shoulder and forced a smile.

“Hi.”

“Howdy.”

Okay, John Wayne, what the fuck? The man sounded, and looked, like something straight out of a western film.

“No need to stop on my account,” he tipped his chin toward the cigarette on the ground, “I won’t snitch.”

His smile took on a shade of condescension, but the face seemed friendly enough. Then, to your surprise, he reached into his back pocket and retrieved something small and silver from it. He held it out to you.

“Courtesy of your husband,” he said.

You frowned. A flask?

“It’s not even noon,” you answered.

“Bucky wanted me to relay the message that your mom invited a boatload more folks, and it don’t seem they’re fixin’ to leave anytime soon. Said you might need this.”

Gingerly, you accepted the gift and unscrewed the cap. You almost gagged when you got a whiff of pure vodka.

“Fuckin’ A,” you coughed, “What’s this, nail polish remover?”

“Stolichnaya. Can’t talk shit until you’ve tried it.”

Your eyes were still watering from the pungent stench of 80 proof spirits when you saw the man’s outstretched arm again—this time, to shake your hand.

“Joey, by the way.”

You shook his hand and introduced yourself as well, blinking back a few tears.

“You’re a friend of my husband’s?” you asked.

“From the service, yeah. We go way back.”

You couldn’t help but raise both brows in question.

“The service,” you repeated.

“Russian Armed Forces,” Joey smiled.

And when the hell did Bucky plan on telling you he was a former foreign operative? You stared at the man before you in a medley of confusion and disbelief. Surely the thick Southern drawl had to mean he was joking.

“Sorry—I thought you knew,” he said sheepishly.

Your husband’s old comrade seemed genuinely contrite, blushing a shade of pink as he turned his gaze from you. You quickly regained your composure and flashed him a smile, insisting it was fine, just surprising to you is all.

“Perks of arranged marriage,” you said, “We’re wed for life and I don’t even know the guy’s job title.”

That earned a laugh from the tall, gaunt figure in front of you. His features visibly relaxed, and he wasn’t smiling so smugly anymore. He motioned toward the bench.

“You mind?”

“Not at all.”

You fished for a cigarette as Joey sat down beside you. When he’d taken a seat, you offered it to him, and he politely accepted.

With time, the two of you got to smoking and joking around with a little more ease. You didn’t normally get to see that happen—rarely seizing the opportunity to make friends of near-strangers—but this weekend had already presented a bevy of firsts. What harm could a quick smoke break with Bucky’s old friend possibly do?

You found the man to be quick-witted and charming, if not marred by the slightest stain of conceit under the surface. He was objectively handsome: all cool, clean features with an unblemished demeanor and a set of brown eyes so light they almost appeared the color of honey in the sun. The only imperfection to be detected was a skewed, razor-thin scar on his chin. You weren’t ashamed to admit he might’ve been your type maybe four or five years, and several degrees of naïveté, earlier. But you had Bucky now; not even the most sublime, finely-chiseled Adonis could set your sights off of him.

You continued to smoke and shoot the shit.

“So you’re a Puritan, then?” Joey said at length.

“Huh?” You leaned back to stretch.

“You haven’t touched that flask.”

You glanced down at the silver canteen between you. You picked it up.

“Haven’t been into straight liquor since college,” you shrugged.

“But it’s your wedding weekend,” Joey smirked, “Think it says somewhere in the rule book you’ve gotta be hammered the whole time.”

“Does it? I must’ve missed that one,” you hummed.

Rather than answer you verbally, Bucky’s old friend opted to snag the flask from your fingers and unscrew the top himself. Made an unusually bold move and took your chin in his other hand.

“Open.”

“No!”

You bared a tight smile to be polite, but inside, you were more than a little put off by his behavior. Maybe this was some stupid rite of passage into their ‘brotherhood.’ You had to assume he was just being friendly.

“C’mon. Quit bitchin’ and open up,” he chuckled, pinching your face even tighter.

That left an even more sour taste in your mouth. You jerked your head to the left and were just about to inform the man it’d cost him nothing to fuck off and stay off, when a voice broke out through the foliage behind you.

“Honey? Hon, you there?”

Immediate relief at hearing your husband’s voice.

You craned your neck to look around.

“I’m here, Bucky!” You waved an arm to try and get his attention, wherever he was.

It took him a second, but shortly, he appeared on the other side of some trees. He had a stern, if not slightly sallow, look on his face as he made his way over.

You turned back to Joey but found that he’d vanished. Your eyes scanned the beach, the lawn, even the bushes behind you and couldn’t find a trace of him anywhere. All that was left was the flask.

“Bucky, I just—”

“We need to go,” your husband cut in.

His narrowed, steely gaze sent a jolt of apprehension through you.

“Go wh—”

“Now, baby, please. I’ll tell you in the car.”

Your face dropped.

“We’re leaving?”

Shortly, Steve trotted over. Bleak as you’d ever seen him with his hands balled in fists at his sides. And a deep-set scowl.

“Whole fuckin’ swarm of ‘em now,” he pronounced.

Bucky didn’t wait to hear another word. He just grabbed your hand and joined his friend sprinting back up the lawn. You could barely keep apace with their steps and, still clinging to Bucky, almost tripped and stumbled.

“Get the fuck up,” Steve spat.

You tensed. For a second, your feet scarcely moved of their own accord as you trailed behind Bucky and felt a stabbing feeling in your gut. Bucky’s best man had surely been a little rough around the edges before, but never this needlessly cruel. What did you do?

Your husband delivered an uncharacteristically gruff shove to the man’s shoulder and made sure he felt it.

“Don’t you start this shit again,” he said, “Lay off.”

Steve ignored him entirely and took the lead around the hotel’s perimeter. You glanced to the throngs of partygoers still scattered along the veranda and saw similar looks of disquiet and alarm all around.

Just when a dozen different questions of what was going on, where were they taking you, and why the fuck did everyone look so afraid bubbled to the tip of your tongue, a thunderous sound brought you to a standstill.

At the opposite end of the plaza, a cluster of tents, tables, and catering stations all splintered apart in a single, headlong explosion. A bright red column of fire shot up toward the sky, and following its ascent rose a wave of shrill and horrified screams alongside it. A barrage of gunfire rained over the crowd, and before you could even spare a look toward its source, Bucky yanked you flat on the ground. Your hands and knees were shredded across pavement, had less than a second to register the pain, and were shortly made to snake along concrete and glass toward the garden down below.

You crawled, then crouched, then bounded down the lawn following Bucky and Steve like a bat out of hell. Another explosion sounded nearby—this time much closer, sending a shower of flames sailing through the air and all over—and whole droves of people just dropped. Facedown in the grass and covered in glass. Bucky clamped your hand in his own with a force that could’ve snapped it in two, but you didn’t blink. All of your senses were kicked into overdrive and focalized, unflinching, on the sight of more carnage than you could comprehend.

“Here!” Steve called presently.

He caught sight of a jet black sedan at the edge of the lawn and held a hand up to Bucky. A set of keys were promptly pelted into his grasp, and the three of you closed in on the car, quick, without another word.

Bucky tore the back door open and practically flung you inside. He primed himself to climb in right after, when a set of footsteps and a shout held him locked in place.

“Hangar’s clear.”

Sam, by the sound of it.

He jumped in shotgun while Steve seized the wheel. Bucky hadn’t gotten the back door so much as halfway shut before the engine roared to life and the car lurched ahead. Not thinking, you grabbed hold of a seatbelt, but Bucky was quick to pull you in and jerk you down.

You weren’t sure what you’d been expecting then, but it certainly wasn’t your husband’s weight crushing you from above as he pinned you to the floor of the car.

This wasn’t the seamless, smart exit that the heroes of the action-packed stories always had. Bucky didn’t hold you tight in his arms or cradle your head to his chest. He just draped the weight of his whole body over yours and begged you strenuously not to move or make a sound. By the looks of it, too, the car was tearing up the turf of the lawn and anything else that happened to cross its path; there was no rhyme or reason to Steve’s driving, it seemed, just frantic desperation and a will not to die.

Minutes, seconds, sights, and sounds—or what little of the world you could grasp from your cowered position—all bled together in a haze. Your pulse leapt and throbbed between your ears, and little more could be heard above that sound apart from the thrum of Bucky’s own heart, the thunder of gunfire, and the wail of sirens, coming low and faint and far too late to make much difference now.

You pressed your nose to the floor and got a dizzying whiff of nylon and bleach. Would’ve like to retch but gritted your teeth instead, lying in silence and wondering without humor if the splinters, the soot, or the blood would be hardest to wash out of your white satin dress.

The price of admission to board Bucky’s Boeing 787 came surprisingly cheap: just sit back and be ‘pregnant.’

You’d been flanked by medics as soon as you arrived at the hangar—a place tucked away just a few short miles from the hotel, where Bucky kept his aircraft for speedy escapes, apparently—and had been carried onto a jet. You didn’t squirm or protest, just hung limply in their arms and let them tend to you however they needed.

After all, you looked like fucking Carrie White on prom night: coated in blood and stiff as a board. Sitting with a thousand-yard stare and a frozen, muted expression as you tried, and failed, to process what had just happened.

You watched Bucky kneel down in front of you and hardly saw him at all. You sensed him stroke your hair but felt it from a place somewhere far outside your body. Bizarre was an understatement. All you could do was blink.

“It’s not— not her blood, is it?” your husband stammered, gesturing toward your dress.

“Some of it,” one nurse answered quietly.

Aw, hell. Bucky squatted on the floor and slotted himself between your knees, trying to get as close as possible so he could make you say something, even just see him. One of the attendants raised a warning look and placed a hand on his shoulder, which he shrugged off in a second.

“She’s not looking at me,” Bucky’s lip visibly trembled as he drew you closer, “Honey, I’m here— I’m right h—”

“She’s in shock.” Another voice came flatly.

Sure, shock works. In truth, your mind was floating somewhere even higher than the 43,000 feet the plane had ascended, and your brain had gone as soft as a clump of cotton candy in the rain. You couldn’t speak, but you could think in bits and pieces. You blinked again.

“She looks like death warmed over.”

Thank you, Steve.

Off to the side in a plush, leather seat of his own, the man nursed a scotch on the rocks and frowned. Bucky didn’t have the strength to throw a punch or a pillow at his head and instead said only to shut the fuck up, man.

Your husband turned to the nurses again.

“She’s pregnant.”

I beg your finest pardon? You blinked a bit harder.

“No, she’s not, Buck,” Sam said from down the aisle.

“Well, she could be,” Bucky chided, “We’ve been going at it like rabbits since the—”

“Fuck’s sake,” Steve slapped a palm over his forehead. If you weren’t currently balls-deep in a state of mental disarray you probably would’ve done the same.

Bucky had made sure to tell all medical personnel aboard the plane that you were—or very well could be—carrying his child, so would you please take all precautionary measures possible? She’s my wife. You suspected if the doctors and nurses weren’t all on Bucky’s payroll they probably would’ve rolled their eyes and reminded him that all you needed were stitches, dressings, and extra fluids. And no, Mr. Barnes, your wife probably isn’t pregnant, even if you think your sperm is ‘built different’ than most.

“She’ll be fine either way,” the medic on your left said, stifling a chuckle. Wondering if the man had ever taken a sex ed class in his years of prudish, private education.

Bucky wasn’t convinced. Against all physicians’ wishes, he climbed up beside you in the seat and pulled you into his lap with both arms wrapped around your waist.

By turns, the world was coming back into focus for you. You met Bucky’s gaze for the first time, and the man looked overjoyed.

“See? See? She’s back.” Bucky squeezed your hip—and immediately released it when you winced.

“Mind the bandages, Mr. Barnes.”

Your caregivers pro tempore shot your husband a couple wry looks as they packed their supplies and started to leave, getting the sense that their boss wasn’t going to stop badgering them, or you, anytime soon. That worked just fine for Bucky, because then he would get to hold you any way that he liked, as long as you’d let him.

Steve, on the other hand, didn’t seem quite as thrilled.

Sam watched the medics’ departure with a wary look.

“She probably needs to rest, Bucky,” the latter said, careful with his words.

Bucky’s eyes never strayed from yours.

“She’s okay, Sam. She’s good.” Perhaps speaking more to himself than anyone else. Steve shifted in his seat.

In your periphery, Mr. Wilson was approaching with a glass in his hand. You turned your head, and Bucky accepted the cup of water for you.

“Feelin’ alright?” Sam asked.

You tried to nod, but your husband was already cradling your head like a baby, urging you to take your first sip.

A spate of water splashed down the front of your dress. You shot Bucky a look as he hastily tried to dry it.

“She’s not a child, Barnes,” Steve muttered.

“Should probably keep that elevated,” Sam cut in, nodding toward your swollen ankle, “We’ll get some ice.”

Sam tilted his head again, this time to motion to Steve. His friend pretended not to see him, and then Bucky was back on his feet, keen as ever,

“I’ll go.”

He kissed the top of your head and assured you he’d be right back. He’d just started off toward the door, when Sam hesitated. He flitted a quick look between you and Steve and looked like he wanted to say something, but Bucky was already ushering him out of the room.

When you turned to Steve, you understood why.

The man had you pinned with a stare that could’ve killed you ten times over, fisting his drink in a white-knuckled grip.

You watched him right back. Tried hard not to blink.

“Something wrong?”

You weren’t sure how you’d even mustered the strength to speak. Steve just brought it out of you, you figured.

“You tell me.” Tone dripping with disdain.

You raked your gaze over the man for a second, finding him dressed head-to-toe in his three piece suit—muddied with blood here and there, but still no worse for wear than you’d seen him an hour or two ago. It was that frown you couldn’t shake.

What had you done to piss him off so much? Shit in his cornflakes? Step on his toe? Had he seen you with Joey and jumped to the worst possible conclusion? You sincerely couldn’t make sense of the man’s indignation, so you wanted to ask him directly; before you could, though, Steve was interjecting, at length,

“We should’ve left you to die with the rest of your family.”

Your jaw slackened a bit.

“What?”

“You, your mother, your two-timing shitstain of a father. Every one of you should’ve stayed there to rot.”

Never mind the fact that he’d just wished you dead to your face—what did he mean about your parents?

“But they’re coming with us. Bucky said,” you managed.

“He did?” Steve grinned humorlessly, “He lied, doll. Your folks are probably bound and gagged at the bottom of the ocean right now.”

That sent the first real wave of fear pulsing through you. You slowly rose to your feet but, feeling yourself restrained by the makeshift IV line stuck in your skin, you stopped. You plucked the needle out of your arm.

“What are you talking about?”

You drew closer to Steve, who only sat back and sipped his scotch with amusement.

“What? That wasn’t part of the plan?” he quirked a brow, “Didn’t think anyone would dare lay a finger on your precious, self-righteous fucking family—”

You hardly even noticed you’d swatted Steve’s drink out of his hand until the glass went shattering on the floor. You blinked and raised a shaky, bruised finger about an inch from his face.

“The fuck did you just say to me?” Your jaw was clenched so tight you had to speak through your teeth.

Steve was beaming.

The door to the room flew open, and Bucky and Sam strolled in with their ice packs and pillows. They stopped when they saw the glass on the floor and your figure looming over Steve.

“You picked a real spitfire, Buck,” the blond called out, his hands raised in surrender as he smiled up at you.

Bucky seemed more surprised that you were able to stand, much less take that menacing stance over his friend, and he quickly tried to guide you back to your seat. You wouldn’t budge.

“What the fuck are you talking about?! Where are my parents?” You tried to shake your husband off as Steve’s grin grew even bigger.

“They’re fine, honey. Sit down, please,” Bucky mumbled.

“No! He said they were dead!” you shot back, eyes never leaving the smug, smirking face that seemed to be enthralled by the spectacle in front of him.

“Why don’t you tell her, Buck? Girl deserves to know.”

“Shut the fuck up, Rogers,” Sam uttered quietly.

“Tell me what?”

“It’s nothing, your parents are fine,” Bucky seemed pensive now, gaze scanning the ceiling for a second as he tried to collect his thoughts. You shoved his hands off.

“Don’t you fucking lie to me, James,” you said, diverting your attention to glare up at him, “What’s going on?”

“Either she’s a world-class actress or she really doesn’t have the first clue about this. Enlighten her.” Steve seemed a little more serene as he unscrewed a bottle of Talisker and reached for a second glass. You would’ve liked to knock back one or two—or ten—yourself.

You turned on your heels to face Bucky. At the moment, he seemed torn between imparting a death black stare on Steve and a placating, apologetic one to you. The tips of his ears were tinged pink.

“Baby—” He reached for you, but you pulled back.

“No.”

You wouldn’t ask him again. Your husband was wounded by the sight of your recoil—and perhaps by some painful truths he’d be compelled to share as well—and he wrung his hands. Started to chew the inside of his cheek.

Sam snagged the scotch and made a heavy pour.

“Why’d you marry him?” Steve said suddenly.

Bucky’s face dropped; you raised a brow in question. Before your husband could stop you, you answered,

“Because my dad was in debt.”

“For what?”

You paused.

“Real estate. Gambling. Fuck if I know.”

Steve nodded. Ignored Bucky’s sharp, reproachful gaze.

“And how much money did he owe?” he asked.

“Steve,” Sam warned.

“Four, five million—more than he could ever repay.”

This time, it was Steve to raise both brows as he mulled over your response. He almost looked surprised.

“You’re forced to marry a man just to settle a debt and you don’t even know the price that tight little body’s paying?” he scoffed.

His words hadn’t hung in the air for much longer than a second before Bucky decked him, shoving him square in the chest and sending him stumbling back a couple steps. A splash of whiskey was quick to join the bloodstains adorning Steve’s tux, and the pile of broken glass on the floor grew even bigger. The man hardly flinched when Bucky shoved his head to the end table.

“Say it again.” Your husband sounded dispassionate as ever. Like this was something he was used to doing.

“She should’ve known!” Steve snapped anyway.

You shared a brief look with Sam but found his expression inscrutable. He kicked a few shards of glass with the toe of his shoe.

“I wasn’t exactly in a place to negotiate,” you grumbled, “They were going to kill my father if we didn’t settle it, so I wasn’t all that interested in knowing how much money my A1 cunt was gonna cost Bucky. Personally.”

If he could go low, you would go lower. Fuck him.

You saw Steve grin through a freshly busted lip and straighten himself back into a seated position. He wiped the blood with the pad of his thumb while Bucky seemed to contemplate swinging again. The look in your eye cautioned him against it.

“Fair enough,” Steve conceded. He stopped to consider his words—ones that wouldn’t prompt Bucky to punch him directly in the throat—and looked to you, curious,

“Why would the mob kill him over a few million dollars?”

You shrugged.

“He’s a real estate broker. They probably knew he couldn’t fork over that kind of cash.”

Something akin to a stifled chuckle and a cough sounded from Sam, while Steve outright broke out laughing. Even Bucky’s expression softened a little as he rubbed his knuckles and paced closer to you.

“What?” you spat, “Did I say something funny?”

Sam shook his head slowly, starting, “I don’t think—”

“Your daddy’s a fucking gunrunner, sugar,” Steve wheezed, “Head of a multinational arms trafficking syndicate—motherfucker is not selling houses.”

Your insides churned with a mixture of disbelief and revulsion, but you couldn’t let them see that. When Bucky reached for your hand, you yanked it back again.

“And how the fuck would you know?” you said to Steve.

“We work with him. Used to work for him, at one point,” Sam answered.

“And the man is horseshit at business”—Steve paused to see if Bucky had shot him a warning look but found your husband far too concerned with capturing your attention—“He was $90 million in the hole when Bucky came to the rescue.”

“James?” You finally turned to him.

“And your daddy didn’t even owe the money to Bucky, he owed it to HYDRA,” Steve sneered.

“James,” you pressed again.

You couldn’t understand why your husband refused to speak—going as deadpan and radio silent as the night before. He stood there and watched you with a rigid, inflexible gaze.

“HYDRA as in— the Russian mob?” you asked him.

“No, the Girl Scouts,” Steve huffed, “Yes, the mob.”

“Schröder’s boys. Your dad’s been in business with them for years—owed them a lot of money,” Sam added.

“And your dad and Bucky’s dad have been friends even longer. So Bucky figured he’d do yours a favor and pay the debt himself.” Steve seemed eager to tell this story.

All the while, the hue of Bucky’s cheeks grew even deeper—like he didn’t want this coming to light. He sensed you wouldn’t stand down until you’d heard the whole ugly truth, though, so he held your gaze and watched you grow more repulsed by the second.

“Then why’d he need me? Just another bartering chip?” Your tongue felt heavy in your mouth, “A pawn?”

“A peace offering,” Bucky said quietly.

Steve and Sam finally clammed up long enough to let him speak, but your husband seemed taciturn as ever.

“Your father didn’t owe me anything. I would’ve paid his debt and left it at that, but he insisted I— that we marry. He wanted an alliance no subsequent financial incentive could disrupt. He would take the money I gave him, pay HYDRA, and bow out of any future dealings with them. Our marriage was supposed to guarantee that.”

Bucky spoke slow, like every word was a labored breath. Hardly the same could be said for his friends.

“That was until your dipshit weapons dealer daddy decided he’d have his cake and eat it too. Struck an even sweeter deal with HYDRA and played in our faces,” Steve said.

“At the direction of Mr. Schröder, your father tried to intercept a shipment bound for one of Bucky’s warehouses in Brooklyn,” Sam continued, “Only problem is he fucked up the execution and cost Schröder a dozen men and tens of millions of dollars in artillery and blow.”

“So Schröder paid him a visit today,” Bucky muttered.

Without realizing it, you found yourself sinking into the nearest seat and bringing a hand to lay flat on your stomach. You felt sick. More than woozy, truthfully. Your head was spinning and your stomach was twisting something terrible, as if you’d just ingested cyanide.

Fuck, did you need a drink.

You couldn’t look at Bucky or Steve or Sam any longer.

You reached for your clutch and pulled out Joey’s flask.

And, bloodlusting mobsters and outlaws be damned, the Russians knew how to make the hell out of some vodka. A single sniff of the stuff told you this was exactly what you would need to cope with your current situation.

“So you think I had something to do with the new HYDRA deal?” you asked, “You honestly th—FUCK!”

Bucky lunged for the flask in your hand before you could take a single pull. He snatched it away in the blink of an eye and shot you a look.

“Liquor? For our baby?” he barked.

You audibly groaned and were just about to tell him that his understanding of human reproduction was a crock of shit when you stopped. You saw his expression change.

“Where did you get this?” Bucky asked, suddenly pale.

“You, dumbass!”

“Me?”

Bucky was presently passing the flask around to his friends, who were eyeing a spot on the bottom of the container with shared looks of alarm.

“Your friend gave it to me earlier saying that you wanted me to have it,” you said.

All three men looked up at once.

“What friend?” Sam asked.

“Joey,” you answered, “Bucky’s friend from the army.”

If it were possible for your husband to get any paler his skin might’ve turned the color of cottage cheese. His eyes were wide with fear.

Then he was hurrying to your side. Taking your hand.

“What friend from the army? What’d he look like?”

You were still scanning Bucky’s face, trying to make sense of the apprehension etched into his features, when you managed,

“I-I dunno. Blond. Light brown eyes.”

“Tall fella?” Steve asked.

“Very.”

“Have a German accent?” Sam pressed.

“No, a real thick Southern accent,” you shook your head. It didn’t occur to you then that it could’ve been fake.

You were about to turn your attention back to Bucky, brow still knit in confusion, when a vague memory crossed your mind. You looked up at Sam and Steve.

“He had a—” You tapped your chin lightly, “—a little scar right here.”

You would’ve thought you’d just announced you had a bomb strapped to your ass the way the three men reacted. Each wore identical looks of disbelief and muted horror, exchanging looks between themselves as if they’d just discovered the Atlantic Ocean—and found the Loch Ness Monster lurking somewhere underneath.

Bucky looked the worst out of all of them. His face had drained of all expression and color as he stared at you.

“Joey?” he intoned feebly.

“Yes,” you answered—feeling ineffectual, even dense, for not catching on to what the rest of them had discovered.

Fortunately, Sam wouldn’t let you wallow in ignorance.

“Johann Schröder,” he supplied in a second, “The man you were talking to was Mr. Schröder, head of HYDRA.”

Steve held the flask in his grasp for you to see the bottom, where a skull with six tentacles was engraved. Then he tipped the canister into a glass he’d taken in his other hand and watched a frothy pink liquid spill out.

“Looks to be a serum of his,” Steve said, hollow as you’d ever heard him, “Kind of like…roofies.”

“You didn’t drink any of it, did you?” Sam asked.

“Nuh-uh. Bucky showed up right as he was trying to, uh— to pour it in my mouth.”

A beat of silence gripped the room.

Bucky looked like he might burst a blood vessel, or someone’s skull. Or both.

Still, he wouldn’t speak to you.

The inside of your head was throbbing.

You almost preferred the ruthless, irate glint in Steve’s eye when he’d suspected you of being a traitor the first time around; this cloyingly sympathetic gaze he was giving you now had to be the most maddening thing. He and Sam both looked on at you like you were a victim. Like you were something to be pitied, or coddled, or left to the capable hands of your husband—a motherfucker who couldn’t even speak so much as a syllable to you.

You felt a pressure build, then swell, then peak between your temples, and you wanted to wince but couldn’t stand the thought of looking weak in front of them.

Then your nose started to bleed.

That, at least, woke Bucky from his reverie as he fumbled around for a napkin and helped you to your feet. He looped an arm around your waist and led you off to the bathroom, his grip tightening on your frame with every step you took.

In two minutes flat, you were flooded with fifteen feet of toilet paper and tissues. Bucky cupped the back of your head in one of his broad, warm palms and kept it plastered there as he instructed you to hold it, honey, hang on, I can grab a few extra rolls right here and guided you toward a private area at the back of the plane.

You could scarcely see above the bunched up wads of Charmin Ultra Strong pressed close to your nose, but you trusted Bucky wouldn’t lead you astray. You felt the welcome touch of a bed underneath you, and then your husband was helping you settle in amongst the pillows and the blankets and the rose petals that had been scattered around before—not entirely appropriate now, but a nice touch nonetheless—and slipping your shoes off your feet. You felt his hand graze your ankle, and then he was saying he’d be right back with those ice packs.

You reached for his hand before he could leave.

“I don’t want it,” you said, your voice slightly muffled by the tissues, “Want you to talk to me, James.”

Bucky’s brow pinched inward. He kneeled down in front of you, where you were sitting on the edge of the bed.

“I am— I’m talking to you right now, honey, I—”

“You know what I mean.”

Bucky wiped his hand down his face and shook his head. Like he was trying to rid himself of a thought.

“I don’t want to talk about HYDRA. Or your father,” he said simply.

“Why not?”

“You’re not in the right place to hear it.”

You plucked the toilet paper away from your face long enough to give him a stern glare.

“We’re on a plane. Fleeing Greece. After you got curb-stomped in our honeymoon suite, our post-wedding brunch was bombed by the Russian mob, I was almost drugged by their leader, and my parents are probably as good as dead, if not being held for ransom, as we speak. Please tell me a better place to have this conversation.”

Bucky was left stumped for a second. Then he slowly rose back to his feet.

“Okay.”

Infuriating.

“Okay?” you snapped, “We could’ve died five times today and all you can say is okay?”

“Uh-huh.”

Fuck this guy. You wiped your nose and stood up too.

Bucky tried to nudge you back onto the bed, wary of the ever-growing number of bumps, bruises, and nosebleeds afflicting your body. He tensed when you nudged him right back.

“I need to see my family,” You stood firm, “As soon as we land wherever it is we’re going, I’m on the first flight back to New York—or wherever they are.”

You dabbed at your nose once more and looked up at him.

“No, you’re not,” Bucky returned.

“What? You’re gonna stop me?”

“Yes, I will.”

The worst part was he wasn’t even smug about it. Just calm and self-assured. You flung your tissues to the side and threw your hands up in exasperation, feeling the need to step away from him and start pacing the room. The man’s reticence was grating on your nerves.

“Why bother, Buck?” you snorted, “It’s not like I’m even your wife, really. I’m just a peace offering that you get to bend over and fuck every now and then, right?”

You turned to make your first circuit around the foot of the bed but were shortly met with the expanse of Bucky’s chest. You looked up to find him frowning.

“Don’t say that again,” he glowered down at you.

Unlike most times before, you didn’t flinch. When he reached for your wrists, you didn’t let him win.

“I’m not your wife,” you repeated, “We may be playing the most fucked up game of mob charades, but this is not a real marriage.”

You ignored Bucky’s evident desire to grab hold of something of yours and side-stepped easily, expanding the gap between you two as much as you could. It was almost amusing to see him not in control for once, and floundering to recover what semblance of it he could.

“You are my wife,” he insisted, frown growing deeper as you crept along the edge of the room, “Everything I do now is for you—it’s not a goddamn game to me.”

“You used me for some Machiavellian marriage ploy! That is the definition of a game, James!”

“I don’t even know what the fuck that means,” Bucky said, “But I love you.”

“You met me yesterday, motherfucker!”

You could feel another bloody nose rising in your bones. You turned around, swiped your lip with the back of your hand and were surprised to see nothing there. You waited for the bleeding to start back up again. When you turned, Bucky had closed the distance between you and was holding something in his hand.

Before you could protest, he was smoothing the thing over your face—apparently he’d grabbed a washcloth and dampened it—and laced his fingers through the hair at the back of your head. He held you firmly as he blotted the blood.

“Is it so hard to believe that I love you?” he asked quietly.

He was trying hard to placate you, but his actions were having just the opposite effect. You let him wipe the blood from your face but watched him begrudgingly.

“You want someone to control, Bucky,” you said, “Love is not a power play that you get to manipulate at will.”

Bucky blinked, trying to conjure up a response as he daubed the skin with a little more force. You weren’t finished.

“You look at me and see a victim. Someone you need to watch over— who can’t take care of themse—”

“That’s not true.”

“Really? That’s not what a ‘good little wife’ is to you?” you retorted.

At last, Bucky tossed the hand towel to the side and ran a hand through his hair. He stepped toward the dresser, shrugging off his suit jacket.

“That’s a— a bit I do when I’m horny. I don’t actually want you subservient to me,” he muttered as he looked around for a hanger. Finally, he just draped the coat over the back of a chair and sighed.

“So holding me hostage from my family is a bit, too?” you quizzed.

“To keep you safe from the people who tried to kill them. I’m sorry I don’t want to see you butchered because of me,” Bucky returned with just as much biting sarcasm.

“That’s rich coming from you.” You despised the indignation in your tone but couldn’t help it. These thoughts had been brewing inside your skull for hours. You watched Bucky struggle to undo his bow tie—just like the night before—and, again, your brain barely registered the action before you were reaching for the garment and tugging at the fabric to loosen it yourself.

“What are you talking about?” Bucky asked, brow furrowed.

“Last night,” you yanked harder than you meant to. The knot just got tighter, “And today. Tonight. You’re as still as the fucking grave and won’t say a word when something bad is happening. You just let it happen.”

You tried to pry your fingers through the tie but found it stiff as ever. You groaned inwardly.

“No, I don’t,” Bucky objected.

“You’re doing it right now! You wouldn’t tell me about HYDRA, or my father, or the guy who could’ve— hurt me. You didn’t say a word of that to me, and you expect me to believe we’re in this together? That you’re trying to keep me safe? You couldn’t even—” you paused to pull at that stupid tie your husband had tangled about four times over, finally feeling it give way a little—“couldn’t even pretend to give a fuck when those men broke in last night and almost killed us!”

Just as you freed the silk from its knot, Bucky seized your wrist. Shoved your hand off of his collar.

“I had to do that,” he snapped.

He threw his tie to the floor and started to unbutton the cuffs of his sleeves. The sight of his broad, veiny forearms were only visible to you for a second before he headed toward the closet, peeling off bits and pieces of his ensemble as he walked.

“You didn’t do anything, Bucky! You just sat there and got the shit beat out of you for no fucking reason! You didn’t even try to fight back.”

Bucky had just muscled his way out of the confines of his dress shirt, leaving him in a tight, plain white tee. He turned to you with what seemed like the most pointed look of disdain.

“You think I wanted to do that?!” he barked. Suddenly facing you head-on, skin flushed a shade just shy of crimson.

“You were too chickenshit. Didn’t wanna get your hands dirty, so you let Sam do it for you,” you seethed.

Your husband looked as though he wanted to put his fist through a wall and pummel it several times over. Seemed like he did, anyway. In truth, he didn’t move—just watched you with the most cruel, unflinching gaze as he clenched his jaw.

“I’m chickenshit?” he repeated.

“Yeah. Coward,” you spat.

“Too much of a coward to keep you safe?”

“Precisely.”

At long last, you saw Bucky smile. It was the tightest, most humorless grin that had ever crossed his lips, but it was a smile nonetheless. He raised a hand over your head and bracketed his arm against the wall so he was leaning over you. Not meant to intimidate per se, but the sight of that smirk was unnerving, to say the least.

“Did you hear what language they spoke?” he asked, voice unbearably low as he drew his face closer to yours.

“It sounded like—”

“Russian, that’s right,” Bucky cut in, “Do you know what they said to me when they pulled us to the floor?”

You swallowed and said nothing. Bucky’s breaths were fanning hot across your cheeks, sending waves of a strange sensation all throughout your body—you weren’t sure if you were meant to be aroused or scared shitless.

“They told me, ‘If you move, we’ll kill her,’” Bucky deadpanned as he began to trace the wallpaper beside your head with a single, bloodied finger, “‘If you fight, we’ll dismember her and set fire to every piece of her body in front of you.’ Or something to that effect.”

The repetition of their words seared your veins like a legion of flames. You could picture them saying it. Grabbing hold of Bucky’s head by the roots of his hair and beating him over and over and over, threatening your life if he made a single move to stop it.

“Bucky—” you started.

“I know they meant it, too. HYDRA operatives make good on their promises if they really set out to harm someone.”

Your husband’s grin had transformed into something more of a crooked, downcast grimace, just baring his teeth as he tried not to lose his composure. Guilt flooded his face.

“I know I should’ve told you then. And after. I should’ve told you about your father as soon as Steve’s informant told us. I just—” Bucky stopped to swallow; he couldn’t meet your gaze—“I didn’t want that hanging over your head. Not after everything that happened last night.”

It was like a blade had just twisted in your stomach. Your throat ached. You wanted to touch him but were almost too scared to ask. He looked so fragile.

“I am a coward. And controlling. Probably the most chickenshit, overbearing son of a bitch you could’ve been unfortunate enough to marry.” For a moment, Bucky’s gaze flickered to yours, and you saw a blooming red hue around the blues of his irises, “But that’s not how I’m supposed to love you—or going to love you.”

You weren’t sure how to reply; you tried raising a hand to his cheek, just to touch the skin, but decided against it.

“I’ve been a shit husband, fake or not. I’m sorry.”

Fake husband maybe, but the look on his face was intractably authentic. Palpable. He blinked as though trying to clear the warm and heady feelings from his expression—suddenly not wanting you to see the shades of his emotions painted there—and focused instead on a few stray strands of hair that had blown over your face. He got very invested in those, all of a sudden.

While your husband stroked the corners of your face and fixed his gaze away from yours, you felt the smallest prick of warmth spark within you. Bucky looked soft and serene and sincere in his apology, defenseless now as he grazed his knuckles over your cheek and said it again,

“I’m sorry, honey. I’m so sorry.”

He paired his apology with a rapid succession of little kisses pressed to your forehead, moving his hand to the nape of your neck to pull you closer to him.

You wanted to touch him, too. You almost felt as though you didn’t know how.

So you stood there and accepted his affections and tried to nod your head when he asked if you were alright, were you hurting any, baby? You leaned into the gentle pressure of his fingertips taking stock of every cut and bruise you’d sustained over the course of that day, watched Bucky’s brow furrow with each new discovery, and tried not to let his touch stray far down your body.

You wanted to be the one with your hands on him—now more than ever.

When Bucky’s hand trailed over your chin, you tilted your head just slightly to kiss it. Your husband didn’t think much of it, just smiling down as tender as he always did, when your lips really grazed over the skin. You pressed a kiss to his finger and wordlessly urged him to move it further. Now it was Bucky’s turn to be at a loss for what to do as you took the tip of his thumb between your lips and suckled it, gently.

“Honey,” he let out a sigh, half-encouragement and half-warning—what were you trying to do?

You glided your mouth down his finger so half of his thumb was enveloped inside. You sucked it again.

“You can’t…” Bucky maintained feebly, eyes briefly scouring all the cuts and bruises across your skin. He didn’t want to see you strain yourself any further.

But whatever pain this might cause was ancillary to you; you curled your tongue around the digit and moaned lightly.

The taste of one finger alone was enough to send you into a frenzy. That and the fact that he had been so open and honest and attentive to your needs made every bone in your body want to jump his. Something about a man taking accountability for his actions and communicating them in a way that didn’t intimidate or belittle you was refreshing. Sexy, almost. Admittedly, the bar for mob boss husbands was hovering somewhere deep in hell, but you admired Bucky’s efforts all the same.

You popped his thumb out of your mouth and smiled.

“You worry too much, Mr. Barnes.”

The echo of his words from earlier—the ones he’d said as he was railing you against a mirror—made Bucky’s cock twitch. His gaze trailed down to the sheen of saliva on your lip, and he almost folded on the spot. He swallowed.

“Don’t wanna hurt you, bunny,” he murmured as you sucked your bottom lip between your teeth and peered up at him.

“Hurt me how?”

You really hadn’t meant to sound like such a tease when you’d said it, but it was hard not to come across that way when you were watching him like that.

And sinking to your knees, with your eyes glued on his.

Bucky sucked in a breath as you kneeled between his feet and nudged the seam of his pants with your nose. He felt so big against your face, you almost couldn’t fathom how he’d fit inside of you the night before. You were amazed how quickly he’d gotten hard—as if the two of you weren’t just having a heart-to-heart a second ago—and you felt your own arousal pool in your panties.

“You know I don’t mind if it hurts. Love the way you stretch me out anyhow,” you continued, and tried not to smirk as you imagined a dozen filthy images from last night flash before Bucky’s mind.

You heard him stifle a groan when you ghosted your lips over the bulge in his pants and felt him swell even more. Your mouth watered at the sound, the sensation, the raw anticipation of what was to come and knowing that you got to dictate what happened. You undid the button and the zip of his pants and damn near drooled at the sight.

Even confined to his boxers, Bucky looked fucking huge.

Suddenly, you began to understand how needy he had been the night before when he’d first wedged his face between your legs and gotten a taste of you. You hadn’t so much as sampled an inch of his cock, and you were already aching to swallow him whole.

“You have no idea what you do to me,” Bucky grunted as he planted a hand on the wall in front of him. You kissed the outline of his clothed erection and earned a full-throated groan.

Well, that makes two of us, you wanted to say but were too busy palming him through his boxers to utter a word. Soaking in the sight of him with every sweet, soft groan he made and wanting to be the reason for even more.

“Can I take you in my mouth, daddy?” you asked softly.

Bucky flattened his palm against the wall and nodded. Beyond words as you worked him out of his boxers.

For one, fleeting moment, you almost wanted to walk back your big talk when his cock sprung out of the fabric. You really hadn’t seen his length at all last night—too busy having it stuffed inside your cunt to get a good look—but holy shit was it an intimidating sight. You weren’t sure if it was just the nerves of this being your first time giving head or if Bucky truly was that massive, but you felt your courage start to crumble before your eyes.

My husband is hung like a fucking horse and I’ve never fit anything bigger than a couple fingers in my mouth. This should go well.

Bucky was evidently so turned on that he didn’t notice the apprehension in your expression. After all, you were moving your lips down his cock and seizing the base of him with what looked like excitement.

Should I…lick it first?

It seemed you would have to learn all of this on the job. You stuck your tongue out and ran it up the length of his shaft.

When Bucky groaned in response, you sensed that that was okay. You pressed a few kisses on the underside of his member and scrambled to think of what else to do.

“Fuck, baby,” your husband let out the most guttural sound as you squeezed his length in your hand. Then, to your surprise, he seized a fistful of your hair between his fingers and rutted his hips, pushing the head of himself against your lips, “Take me in your mouth.”

You heard the Kill Bill sirens blare between your ears but said nothing. You could do this—you’d be fine.

Your lips wrapped around the head of his cock, and Bucky gripped your hair even tighter. Let out a deep, satisfied moan like this was exactly what he needed. You liked that noise and wanted to take him even further.

What you didn’t expect was four more inches shoved inside your mouth before you could stop to take a breath.

The whole girth of his cock made a sharp intrusion, causing your cheeks to stretch and hollow out around him. The head of his member barely grazed the back of your throat, and still, you gagged. And not only gagged but choked, as though someone had just tried to scrub your tonsils with a fine-bristle toothbrush. Unfortunately for you, Bucky’s dick did not taste like spearmint.

He pulled his cock out as quickly as he’d pushed it in.

“Sorry. Shit, sorry.” Bucky blinked twice to get out of that blissed-out headspace and shot you a sheepish look.

The man had rarely been obliged to slow down or take five when his old, ever-changing flavors of the night sucked him off before—most blew him without trouble. But you, kneeling there batting your lashes through a few more tears than expected, seemed uncertain. Even half of his shaft made for a tight fit in your mouth, Bucky thought with some guilty feelings of arousal. He watched you wipe your chin with the back of your hand and frown.

“We don’t have to do this if you don’t want to, baby,” Bucky said, stroking the top of your head.

Suddenly, the frown was turned in his direction.

You raised a brow.

“Why? That all you got, Barnes?”

Bucky couldn’t help but chuckle—and grunt, a little—when you grabbed the base of his cock and brought it down to your swollen pout. His hand instinctively moved back to the wall.

“Honey, are you s—”

He stopped the second you rubbed him up and down and pressed a kiss on the most sensitive skin.

“My mouth isn’t made of paper mâché. You can fuck it a little harder than that,” you said, running your touch down his length while holding his gaze. You looked eager.

Before Bucky could respond, you took the tip of his cock between your lips. Flattened your tongue and glided your mouth down as far as it could go before your cheeks started to hurt—then bobbed your head even further. One of your husband’s hands made a fist in your hair while the other scraped the wall, and you could tell it was taking some serious effort not to rut his hips out of habit.

Be gentle, be gentle, your dick barely fits in her mouth—

“—fucking hell you feel good,” he groaned.

Bucky took one look and could have cum on the spot.

It was one thing to feel you licking and sucking and stretching to accommodate his length, and another thing entirely to see you knelt in front of him with the world’s sweetest gaze, mouth stuffed full of his cock and eyes all but rolling back at the overwhelming sensation. You’d nearly made it all the way to the short tufts of hair on his lower abdomen—and looked so pretty doing it.

Bucky fucking loved it. And you. And fucking you, your face, any place he could fit himself, quite frankly. He stared down at you struggling to take his cock and felt a strange new wave of desire pulsing through his body.

“You like that, doll? Like when daddy fucks that slutty little mouth of yours?”

“Barely fits but you take it so well, bunny.”

“My good little wife and her pretty fucking mouth—likes sucking daddy’s cock however deep he needs it, huh?”

You liked it more than the air in your lungs, to be honest. Only problem was you couldn’t quite speak your mind with your mouth full of Bucky, so you had only to nod. Your husband groaned when you hummed along his length and bobbed your head to answer ‘yes.’ He saw you try not to gag and decided to thrust a little deeper.

He watched his cock drag back and forth along your tongue and took hold of your hair like a vice, fucking your face until your chin and cheeks were drenched with spit. Every now and then he’d pull his cock out just long enough to ask how bad you wanted him in your mouth, how desperate you were to taste him again, and every time you’d answer a little more sweetly and incoherently than before, eyes glazed with desire and mouth open for more.

You were amazed you’d lasted as long as you had—how quickly you’d devolved into this pliable, doe-eyed cocksleeve for Bucky and how keenly you desired to please him even more. It felt pornographic and lewd and somehow still loving as he plowed in and out of your mouth and sang your praises like no man had before.

Above you, Bucky was aching for release but adamant that he wouldn’t cum down your throat—not yet, at least.

His mind was alight with those pesky, primal thoughts again, and every time he watched you swallow him whole, he just wanted to fuck his cum someplace else.

Bucky wasn’t sure if he was smitten or simply dominated by carnal desire; all he knew was that he wanted to give you his babies.

Lots and lots of babies.

A hundred or more, if he had it his way.

Again, you barely had a chance to take a fresh breath before Bucky threw you onto the bed. You’d just tried to steady yourself in a semi-seated position when the man shoved you back in the pillows and slotted himself between your legs, pupils blown wide with hunger.

In a blink, you were flipped onto your stomach with your ass yanked high in the air. Back made to arch, toes about to curl, you closed your eyes and sank your teeth into the sheets, moments away from begging your husband to fuck you right then and there, but Bucky had other plans. He seized the hair at the crown of your head and jerked your head to face forward.

The first thing to greet you was your own reflection—in a floor-to-ceiling mirror at the foot of the bed—followed by Bucky’s broad form steadying behind you. You watched him wet his lips, furrow his brow, and use one careful hand to guide the head of his cock to your entrance. Completely piqued with arousal as you were, weeping beads of desire from that place between your legs, you almost wanted to buck your hips and fuck him yourself.

You refrained.

Bucky pressed the tip of himself to your clit and met your gaze in the mirror when you let out a whimper.

“You didn’t mean it, did you?” he asked, tone suddenly dropped to that of a stoic.

“Mean what?”

It took an unbelievable amount of willpower to fight the moan in your throat when Bucky dragged his cock down the seam of your cunt and rubbed every hot, throbbing inch of himself in the slickness between your folds. You were quick to take the sheets in your hands and squeeze as tight as you could—you wouldn’t let him win that easy.

“When you said you weren’t my wife. Did you mean it?” Bucky was coating himself now, rolling his hips back and forth while you seized the white linens for dear life.

“No. I didn’t,” you said through your teeth. Your eyelids fluttered with the feel of him circling your sensitive hole.

“Do you want to be my wife?” Bucky had to have known it was an asinine question, but he asked it all the same.

“Yes.”

“You do?”

“I do. I do. Now will you just fuck me already?”

In response, and as if to make a mockery of your request, Bucky just pressed the head of his cock inside you and watched you close in the mirror—daring your hips to move back another inch.

“What else do you want to be, doll?”

To say your mind was an empty slate bare of anything but the desire to be fucked was an understatement. You fumbled to find words.

“Your wife, your girl— that’s it, Bucky.”

Your husband nudged his cock a little deeper.

“A good girl?” he hummed.

“Yes, daddy,” you cried and clenched around him.

Bucky stayed where he was and stretched your wet, aching hole with just his tip, making the world’s most shallow thrusts as he flattened his hand on your back and made sure it stayed arched while he teased you.

At this point, you didn’t care what the man saw or heard. You fought with your hips and whined into the sheets.

“Bucky!”

“Wanna be my obedient little cockslut?” he asked.

“Uh-huh.”

“My bunny?”

“Yes, James.” Your cheeks were enflamed, almost hot to the touch.

Bucky suddenly drove himself inside you all the way to the hilt. He squeezed your hip in one hand and with the other slipped a finger between your folds to rub vicious, tight circles against your clit as you bucked and moaned beneath his touch.

“How about a momma?” he pressed, almost too low to be heard, “Wanna be that, too?”

His hips fell into a quick and easy rhythm against your ass, stretching you wide and filling you up almost seamlessly. Your mind was too consumed with pleasure and him to think much else, but barely, you managed,

“W-what?”

Bucky delivered a thrust that knocked the breath from your chest, leaning down to rub your clit even harder.

“Do you want to be a mommy? Have me fill you up and put my baby inside you?”

Oh, fuck. Fucking—what the fuck? Your toes curled as a new jolt of pleasure shot through you, and your gaze locked with Bucky’s in the mirror. He knew exactly what he was doing.

“No— James, we’re not, shit—” you stopped to take a breath as he fucked you rough from behind, smirking the whole time, “We’re not ready for that.”

“Look pretty…ready to me,” Bucky stifled a groan when you squeezed around him and made obscene little noises sliding up and down his cock. He watched the way your pretty, wet pussy stretched and swallowed him down to the base and imagined it dripping with his cum. He snapped his hips against your ass even faster.

It wasn’t clear just who was more overcome with desire—both of you blissed out and fuckdrunk as you’d ever been—and then Bucky flipped you onto your back.

He wanted to see your face as he fucked you slow this time, lips hovering mere inches from your own as he dragged his cock gently in and out of you.

“James,” you breathed, digging your heels in his back with a wordless plea to speed up, baby, please.

In truth, you just knew what would happen if Bucky had the advantage of slow and soft sex with a mouth lowered close to your ear. How he’d shower you with kisses and bring you right to the edge, rolling his hips against your body with strings of sweet praises flowing fast off his tongue.

“Just one, honey,” he mumbled, lips grazing the edge of your jaw, “One baby and I promise we’ll be done.”

Yeah fucking right, you wanted to return with a roll of your eyes but felt your insides churn as he grazed that spot.

“Can you do that for me, doll?” he eased his dick back and forth and snaked a hand between your bodies until his palm was laying flat on your stomach, “Fit my baby in there?”

You couldn’t deny the feelings of pleasure were heightened to no end when he rubbed the heel of his palm into your tummy and continued to rut into you. That feeling of fullness, the delicate nudge against your most sensitive place, paired with the warmth of Bucky’s hand on your lower abdomen, was as close to euphoric as you’d ever felt before orgasm, and it wasn’t hard to tell from the way your body responded. Bucky worked his touch even deeper and watched you writhe beneath him.

“My sweet girl,” he cooed, rubbing that spot, “You’d look so pretty all swole up down here, don’t you think?”

Fucking hell, this guy was good. You squeezed your eyes shut and tried to shake your head.

“Someone…tried to kill us…twice in the last twenty four hours,” you managed between labored breaths. Trying not to whimper when the head of Bucky’s cock kissed your cervix and you felt him bottom out inside you.

Balls deep and enamored with the expression on your face, Bucky laid a kiss on your forehead and smiled.

“I’ll take Schröder’s life with my own two hands if it means keeping you—” he paused to press his palm even firmer on your stomach, “—and our child safe, honey.”

You wanted to believe him. You sincerely hoped your husband could make good on his promise—even if it meant delivering an agonizing, bloody death to a man you barely knew—but you sensed deep down that there were no guarantees in the world Bucky Barnes inhabited. From what little you’d seen in the last day and a half, it had become clear as ever that there were no certainties; no promise of tomorrow, much less a probability that things would pan out exactly as you planned. Add to that a living, breathing child between you two, and the prospects for a safe, secure, and peaceful future were small. Infinitesimally so, in the grand scheme of things.

“No, Bucky,” you finally opened your eyes to find his tender gaze watching over you. Still moving his hips gently, still blanketing your body with his own, “That’s entirely just— just irresponsible. You know it would be.”

“Making a child together?” Bucky seemed wounded saying the words.

And, in spite of the serious turn your conversation had taken, you could see and feel with the growing pace of your breaths that both of you were close. You wanted more than anything to repair that muted, injured look in his eyes, but then Bucky was blinking it away, to the best of his abilities, and lowering his head back down to yours to impart a soft barrage of kisses along your skin. He resumed before you could even think to speak again.

“Okay. No, you’re right. It’s your choice, my love,” he murmured against your cheek, getting back into the more deliberate rhythm of his thrusts before. He stayed there holding his body and his lips as close to yours as possible, and when you felt tempted to say something again, you found the sound drowned by a cresting wave of pleasure.

Your legs tightened around Bucky’s sides, and your head fell back on the bed. You felt Bucky’s drop right beside you, turned just slightly to graze his lips against your ear.

“Gonna cum for me, doll?”

You nodded.

“So close, Bucky,” you breathed, a tremor passing over your thighs as they squeezed him even tighter.

You felt your husband’s hand move from your belly to a place just below it—taking care to bring the pad of his thumb to that wet, aching bundle of nerves—and started drawing circles. Your back arched from the bed, into him, and the coil of pleasure in your lower half swelled.

“Good girl,” Bucky growled, “Good fuckin’ girl, taking me so well.”

The praises and gentle circuits of his thumb continued as he fucked you harder into the bed and panted against your skin. Increasing the speed of his thrusts before catching your mouth in a sloppy kiss, body sinking into yours.

“Gonna make a mess of this cock, huh? Show daddy just how much you love it?”

You whined in response, feeling your muscles start to ache from how hard your legs were wrapped around him. Bucky invaded your mouth with his tongue, kissing and licking and craving your taste as he fucked you stupid—and begged for your release.

“Cum for daddy, honey, I know you got it. Let daddy feel it, baby, please.”

A couple more snaps of his hips and you gave him just that: a hot, cascading ripple of bliss spreading all throughout your body, sending your mind in spirals and every muscle under your command a tense, throbbing mess. You swallowed a scream and took a bite of Bucky’s shoulder instead, causing the man above you to grin and fuck you harder.

“That’s my girl,” he mumbled with an audible hint of pride.

The smile only started to waver when his own release was coming close. Suddenly, his grip was moving to your hip and pinning you down to the bed, brows pinching in and breaths starting to hitch.

“Honey— honey,” he said, voice strained, “Baby, you— you gotta let go of your— ah, fuck.”

Still riding out the highs of your orgasm, you hardly even noticed how tight you were holding him with your legs, and shortly, this raised issues for Bucky, who was trying like hell to heed your wishes and not cum inside you.

“Baby, let go, I gotta—”

He probably could’ve fought to shake you off a little harder, been a bit more adamant about his efforts, but you looked so comfortable and lithe and sweet beneath his frame, so blissed out and happy to be taking his strokes, Bucky almost had to pinch himself to rouse his lust-addled brain to action and remind himself that this was how babies are made, man, get the fuck off of her.

Bucky let out a long, strangled groan as the ropes of cum left his body before he could think, or move, fast enough.

He hastily pushed your legs away and pulled out, but not before painting your walls with a good portion of his load. His hand fell to his cock and started jerking the rest of it out over your stomach, body washing with pleasure.

Vaguely, thoughts of babies and ballgames and neat white picket fences crossed his mind, but those views were fleeting; he remembered what you’d told him and forced himself back to earth, dropping a quick, apologetic kiss to the side of your face.

“I’m sorry. Should’ve pulled out quicker,” Bucky panted against your neck.

You stroked his bicep and shook your head.

“You’re fine. I kinda had you down like a boa constrictor for a second,” you breathed and shared a weary laugh.

Before you knew it, Bucky was sliding off the bed and shuffling toward the bathroom in search of a towel. You prodded the warm, gooey mess on your belly with your finger and raised an eyebrow. Curious, and only slightly worried.

Bucky had been hitting it raw for a day now—surely one more half-load of his wouldn’t get you pregnant, right?

Fortunately, you didn’t have much longer to ponder that thought because a trill of a ringtone sounded from the nightstand.

A phone call? At 45,000 feet?

“Just the intercom,” Bucky called out, “Probably Steve about to start complaining that we fuck too loud.”

Huh. You stared at the trimline-looking telephone on the table and let it ring. Then the sound stopped.

“You think they could hear us?” you asked.

Bucky had just wet a washcloth under the sink and was rifling through the cabinets for something else.

“Hope so,” he said with a shrug, “You know I’d never miss a chance to let ‘em know I took a trip to poundtown—”

“Please never say that again,” you groaned, closing your eyes in sudden fear of what Steve and Sam may or may not have just been made privy to outside of the room.

You were just about to speak up again—perhaps to tell your husband there would be an indefinite travel ban to poundtown if he didn’t hurry the fuck up with that towel—when the intercom’s jarring peal started up once more.

Fuck this. Ignoring the sticky-sweet puddle of love still painted on your stomach, you sat up and crawled over to the phone and ripped it off the hook.

“Barnes residence,” you announced without ceremony. Then, imagining how smug Steve was probably looking on the other end of that line, you decided to be crass and add, “Bucky Barnes is very busy laying pipe on his wife right now, but if you could leave your name and number, he’ll be sure to call you back as soon as possible!”

You heard the caller burst out laughing, and you smiled to yourself. Pleased to have made an otherwise moody and brooding Steve Rogers crack at one of your jokes, you were just about to hang up when the caller cut in.

Bucky was returning with your towel in hand, lips curled in the faintest of smirks at hearing your crude declaration, when he stopped at the foot of the bed.

He saw the smile fall from your face, and his did, too.

From the other end of the line, a soft and familiar Southern drawl crawled out of the phone’s receiver.

“Sure thing, doll. Tell him it’s Joey Schröder calling.”

Taglist: @vicmc624, @she-could-never, @mcira, @kentokaze, @identity2212, @unaxv, @buchi91, @ordelixx, @stinkerbelle007, @opibarnes, @wilsons-striped-ties, @desigirlxx, @pono-pura-vida, @geminiflanagansblog, @fandomsfeminismandme, @buggy14, @sky-full-0f-fl0wers, @buckysdoll1520, @armystay89, @minimarvelingmarvel, @kunakizen, @ghostiebby06, @blackhawkfanatic, @dameron-grant-spector, @sushiseoks, @deansapplepie, @mrsjoequinn, @lunaroserites, @first-edition, @kaybaby2494, @jaggedsi, @excusememrbarnes, @daisychainsoflove, @mostlymarvelgirl, @diannana, @shawnberry, @yujyujj, @urmomsalex, @mrs-bucky-barnes-73, @athenabarnes, @christinabae, @wintrsoldrluvr, @bethbunnyy, @i-heart-smut

(If I missed anyone or tagged improperly, please let me know! This is my first rodeo taglist)

[buckys-arm-and-rios-dagger]

Bucky and Touch Headcanons

Bucky x GN!Reader

Description: Just some Headcanons about Bucky and learning to trust human contact again

Warnings: fluff, a little angst, Bucky’s trauma, abuse at the hands of HYDRA, insecurities, self conscious Bucky, pet names, no y/n used, no pronouns used beyond "you"

A/N: if you haven't noticed I definitely have a type when it comes to fic and that fic is hurt/comfort with Bucky. I kinda feel like everything I've written is like the same thing in different fonts, but oh well 😅 anyways, Bucky re-learning that hands on his body doesn’t inherently mean pain and becoming super cuddly and touchy with someone he loves is my SHIT inject that into my VEINS man

((18+ only below the cut please and thank you!!))

It takes Bucky a really long time to get accustomed to human contact again, after you two got together it took him a while to even do something so innocent as hold your hand.

It’s not that Bucky hates it

He loves being close to you, he wants it so badly

And he’s touch-starved

He’s so touch-starved

But he went so long without positive human contact, and now that he’s free he wanted it so badly he could feel his chest aching for it

But it made him so nervous to want to try

After one night where you mindlessly reached up to casually touch his face and he flinched away hard, after all open hand coming towards his face had meant pain for so long, you two had a long conversation about his comfort levels

You two took things slow initially

You would sit on the couch together, watching a movie and talking with your fingers intertwined, your thumb stroking his knuckles.

Sometimes you’ll fall asleep on his shoulder, something he’s slowly started to accept

At the very least he’s stopped freezing when he feels your head droop to his arm

But now that he’s grown used to it and learned to love it? He wants to be touching you all the time

Bucky almost always has his arm around you, or a hand on your back, holding your hand, etc.

He would never admit it to anyone but you, but he’s SUCH a little spoon.

Bucky loves when you hold him, resting his head on your chest while you rub his back brings him a level of calm that he’s never felt before

Or when you hold him from behind and he curls into your body

You slip your hand under his shirt and run your hands along his tummy, gently stroking your fingers along his skin

You know he’s a lot larger than you, being a wall of muscle that has at least a head of height on you

But seeing him sleeping peacefully, wrapped in your arms with a little smile on his face he looks so small

He loves when you play with his hair.

It took him a long time to be okay with it (too many memories of handlers grabbing and/or dragging him by the hair), but now?

If he had it his way your hands would never leave it

Whenever you two are holding each other your hands always seem to find their way to his dark locks, brushing them out of his eyes or carding your fingers through it

You learned that the quickest way to get him to fall asleep is to stroke his hair, and put him to sleep like that every night

When it was long, Bucky loved when you combed it for him after a shower, or braided and unbraided it while he laid in your lap during a movie

Now that it’s cut short (thanks to you, he didn’t trust anyone else to do it) you’re pretty much always playing with it in some way

As much as you loved his long hair, his shorter cut is nice because it’s a bit more manageable and still just as soft

Bucky loves when you massage his scalp, feeling your nails gently scratching against his head makes him melt every time

He also loves when you bathe him or bathe with him

Bucky had a lot of anxiety around being naked in front of you, too many bad memories of being stripped and hosed down after missions or beaten within an inch of his life

But with lots of time and comfort and assurances he eventually opened up and got more comfortable

Long baths with you are his favorite thing.

Whether you get in with him or not, he loves how gentle you are with washing his body, massaging sore muscles and peppering his chest and back with little kisses

He especially loves when you wash his hair (I know, shocking).

Usually when you’re done washing him you’ll guide his head to lay in your lap while you stroke his hair.

When it’s time for him to get out you usually have to wake him up, it makes you smile

Peace looks so good on him, you just want to let him bask in it forever

And oh GOD he loves skin-on-skin contact so much

It took so long for Bucky to learn that he was allowed to want things

When he first started opening up with touch, he would wait until the aching in his chest got unbearable before asking if you would do some skin-on-skin with him

You never wanted to push him, but you tried to teach him that he was allowed to ask for things he didn't need immediately.

He didn't have to wait until he absolutely needed something to ask for it.

He was allowed to just want things.

Once he finally gets used to asking for things he wants skin-on-skin all the time.

Most every night you end up cuddled up in bed, sans clothing, Bucky pretty much on top of you, his head on your chest while you play with his hair.

He'll press little kisses to your chest, making you smile when his stubble tickles against your skin

“I love you,” he whispers into your neck, “how did I get so lucky, hm?”

You smile softly and kiss his forehead

“Believe me Buck, I'm the lucky one.”

[zekescherries]

ׅ ˙ levi & physical touch

levi hates being touched, even if it's a guy from a random person or a handshake, he'll decline. it's a complicated thing, he isn't used to things that would be considered "gentle touches".

most of his life levi has just experienced violence and cruelty at the hands of many, those he knew and even strangers. getting beaten within a half inch of your life almost everyday just to get your hands on even the smallest slice of bread is something that doesn't really leave you.

so, levi hates being touched. he can really only correlate being touched to being violet and unruly.

it takes a while for levi to warm up to the idea of you touching him, even if you two are in a relationship. it's not that he doesn't trust you, he's just scared. though he wouldn't admit it outright.

sometimes, people are afraid of the unknown but levi has never been afraid of anything. not in a long time at least. no titan, man or animal has invoked fear into him like this has.

he's not sure where to even start. but when you invite him to take a warm bath with you he agrees, he's not even sure why.

you keep your hands to yourself as to not cross his boundaries. levi can't help but feel conflicted, he wants to touch you, he wants to be like other couples who hold hands and hug each other so close that they seem as if they're one.

"can i wash your back?" the question is polite, innocent. levi agrees, it wouldn't hurt, right? he trusts you, he believes you won't hurt him. you aren't those men, you aren't those strangers.

your touch is everything he dreamt of and more, gentle. a gentle touch. he melts, his body relaxing.

maybe this was the first step you both had to take.

a/n﹕maybe i'll turn this into a fanfic one day. 🫠

© zekescherries 🍒

[backmuscles21]

Finally Found You

Tonowari x Reader x Ronal

Summary: Jake and Tonowari find your body washed up on the shore, it's a forest Na'vi's body. Once Jake sees your face, he remembers you and it scares him. You were blue but you never had a Na'vi body. Ronal nurses you back to health and Tonowari shows you around. You told Jake about all of Ardmore's plans and what had happened, only you didn't know how you ended up on the Metkayina shore beaten to a pulp. Tonowari and Ronal end up falling for you, and once you mate with them, you'll do anything to protect your family, even kill again.

Warnings: smut, canon typical violence, self-esteem issues, bisexual reader, mating rituals, hurt/comfort

The last thing you remembered was dark, it was pitch black. You feel like maybe there were waves, maybe you heard waves, but maybe it was just your mind making things up in the coldness of dark and lonely silence.

Jake and Tonowari were going over some of the plans that the warriors and hunters would be going over, they were deep in conversation when they heard kids screaming. Jake and Tonowari turned around to see mothers holding onto their kids, they both walked closer to the shore.

It was a forest Na’vi body, the body was female and completely naked, it also looked pretty bruised up from the sight of it. Tonowari and Jake pulled the body from the water and covered it in a blanket. When they flipped you onto your back, Jake was shocked, he knew you. He stumbled back, he quite literally saw the face of a ghost.

“Are you okay?” Tonowari asked Jake seeing the look on his face.

Jake nodded; he couldn’t form words. You were there when home tree went down, you and Trudy were in her helicopter. You left after they did; you gave them word Quaritch was coming and stayed to help. You and Trudy died when her helicopter went down. You were Marines and a Na’vi sympathizer, but you never had an avatar. He didn’t understand, he didn’t know what to think.

“Jake?” Tonowari asked again, “are you sure you’re alright?”

“I knew her, the face. I knew her as a sky person. When she was also a sky person. It doesn’t make sense. She died; I saw her die. She was always on the outside but she was never blue. I don’t know what happened.”

Tonowari squatted down by your face, despite all the bruising, you were quite pretty. That’s when he felt it, your warm breath on his cheek. It was barely there but he stood up and looked at Jake.

“She’s still alive, I felt her breathe. There her chest is rising and falling ever so slightly. Help me take her to the Tshaik’s tent.”

Tonowari and Jake took you to the Tshaik’s tent and Ronal looked at what was wrong.

“We will leave her here to rest and recover. I don’t know what happened to her but it looks like she was beaten within an inch of her life. Her body will take time to recover. She’ll be lucky to wake up in the next few days,” Ronal said.

However, in the next few days, you woke up.

Ronal was mixing some herbs, you sat up and took the deepest breath Ronal has ever heard, like your lungs had never known what oxygen was. You looked around, your eyes widened when you saw Ronal.

“What happened?” You asked quietly after staring for a moment.

Ronal came over to you, “you look better now that you’re awake. I will get the boys.”

“Who?” you questioned as she left.

Moments later, Tonowari and Jake followed through the opening with Ronal.

“Y/N,” Jake said.

“Jake?” You sat up more and hugged him. “Jake, what’s going on?”

“I could ask you the same thing. Last I saw you; you went down in Trudy’s burning helicopter.”

“I have to tell you something.”

“What is it?”

“There was this project, Project Phoenix, I signed up for it back when we were at Hell’s Gate, long before home tree went down. They selected certain marines to get brain scans and then we’d use them to learn and fight fire with fire. A couple of months ago, I woke up with the memories of y/n. I’ve always loved the people but you made me fall in love with the Na’vi even more. I forgot all about the project and they didn’t remember about me switching sides, clearly. I did but only some of it, obviously, I didn’t know how I died or if I did at all. General Ardmore is who we’d answer to, me, Quaritch, Wainfleet, Zdog, Walker, Fike, Ja, Prager, Warren, Mansk, Zhang, and Brown. We were to go boots on the ground in the rainforest and look for you, we went out like twice. We never found you. last thing I remember was heading back to the base, a helicopter was coming for us and then it was lights out.”

“Well, they did. Or they found some of my kids at least. That's why I'm here. However, they beat you pretty badly I think and stripped you and threw you in the ocean. Probably thought they killed you.”

“I think I wish they did,” you looked up at Jake, tears starting to well up in your eyes.

“Don’t say that.”

“I’m an abomination. I died; I don’t get second chances. I’m on the bad guy’s side. Jake – I don’t want this. They brought us all back to do their bidding. I’m not a lap dog, I’m not kissing ass again,” you felt the tears roll down your cheeks.

“You’re with us now. You don’t have to go back. You can be a warrior with us now.”

“I don’t want to fight anymore. I don’t wanna live like this. I don’t want to fight again. I was bred to fight and if I’m using this second chance, I’m not killing again.”

“There are many jobs here that you could do. You don’t have to waste this chance.”

Tonowari looked at you and smiled, “you are welcome to stay. We could always use the help.”

“Thank you. And thank you for saving me,” you looked at Tonowari and smiled as another tear fell down your cheek.

“You’re welcome. I can show you to your mauri.”

You nodded, you stood up and saw you were in traditional Metkayina garb. You walked with him along the bouncy path, you looked around as you walked. This place was like you’ve never seen, it was gorgeous and the water was so blue.

“I think you’ll fit in nicely here. I’ll show you around tomorrow and I’ll introduce you to a couple of ladies and you can pick a job. There are a few in mind.”

“Thank you for everything. I can’t help but feel like I don’t deserve it.”

“You do, you’ve done a lot for Jake and soon for us.”

“I didn’t do a lot. I helped when the war happened but not initially.”

“You were following orders.”

“That doesn’t make it right.”

Tonowari stopped in front of you, his hands on your shoulders as he looked into your eyes, “you’re doing the right thing now. That’s all that matters. You died for our cause; you saved many forest Na’vi.”

“I would’ve died either way. Not to mention I killed. I have memories of shooting up a school. Not that I enjoyed it or liked it, but I still did it.”

“That doesn’t matter now, that’s in the past. You’ve lived that life and now you have a new one and you can choose what you want to do with it.”

“Tonowari, what if I can’t? What if I’m only ever good for following orders and killing?”

His hands moved to your cheeks; he wiped the tears falling down your cheeks. “You will do your best and if something happens or you can’t handle it, you let me know. We can work on it. It won’t be easy but it will be possible and as your new olo’eyktan I want you to succeed.”

You leaned into him to hug him; he was probably the most loving person you ever met. You grew up as a military brat, you were never shown supportive love like this. You never knew love like this and you wanted to reach out and grab it and never let it go. You held onto him; your arms wrapped around his neck as you nuzzled into his neck. He hugged you just as tightly, he could see how hurt you were.

“I don’t quit, never have never will.”

“I think you’ll find other things you are good at.”

“Like what?”

“Weaving perhaps, healing, or maybe fishing, possibly you could be a hunter. You could provide for the people.”

“I will give it a try.”

After a long night's rest, you met a few people that morning, Tonowari took you by each person to meet them and try the jobs out.

As you figured, you sucked at weaving and cooking and healing and fishing. You would get frustrated easily, anything fitness-wise came easy to you as usually were always strong and fast. That’s why, when you went hunting with Tonowari, you kicked ass and had fun.

That’s when you started to admire Tonowari’s smile.

You knew he was mated with the tshaik but that didn’t stop you from staring and dreaming. Normally, you wouldn’t go for guys, you were bisexual, but you preferred women. At least most human women could actually make you cum, hence why you dated Trudy.

You spent a lot of time around Tonowari since you developed a small crush on him, which is how you started to crush on his mate more. You were over with him and his mate a lot, and you couldn’t help but to fall in love with them both, they both had such beautiful bodies and faces and personalities. You felt like every time you were flirting with them but they never seemed to reciprocate.

Ronal was even more loving than Tonowari and you were addicted to it, you wanted to be around her all the time. Ronal was always there to clean your cuts and ensure you were healing properly from all the bruising. You liked that she was so doting and caring, she was so special to you as was Tonowari.

Weeks later, you were with Jake’s kids, you were making jewelry with Kiri, Tuk and Tsireya. You found yourself having a lot of shell jewelry already thanks to Tuk, so you found yourself making a necklace for Ronal. You just wanted to do something nice for her since she helped you so much. Of course, you did make a bracelet for Tuk which she adored.

You were going over there for dinner and that was the perfect time to give her the necklace you made her. When you got there, you gave it to her with a large smile on your face. At first, she looked taken aback but then she smiled and set it down to hug you.

“Thank you.”

“You’re welcome. I thought it was the perfect gift to say thank you for everything you’ve done for me.”

Of course, you didn’t know about mating rituals.

Ronal and Tonowari talked after you left and they were ready to give you a courting gift and hopefully have you mate with them.

You were over with Ronal and Tonowari again, it was the place to go to try and find you. As you were chatting with Tonowari about a recent hunt Ronal came over with a small box in hand. You looked at her, she smiled as she sat down in front of you and Tonowari, and you smiled along with her.

“I have this for you.”

“For me?”

Ronal handed you the box, as she opened it, your face lit up. It was a very traditional armband that Metkayina wore. Your face lit up and you smiled widely as you took it from her hands.

“It’s gorgeous Ronal, thank you. Both of you. It’s amazing. I love it a lot.”

“Ronal made it, it was my idea to make the armband though.”

“Well, you both did amazing.”

“So, you accept?” Ronal asked with a wide smile.

“Of course, I accept,” only you didn’t really know what you were accepting.

Tonowari’s hand held your jaw as he moved your face from looking straight ahead at Ronal to look at him. He looked into your wide eyes and his hand moved to your jaw as he kissed you. When he pulled back, you looked shocked, you never expected that. Once your brain reconnected, you moved in to kiss him. Your hands went to his neck and you went in for the kill, you have been wanting this.

You were kissing him quite passionately, although you didn’t realize you accepted their courting gift, you absolutely wanted this. Once you moved back, you smiled, you smiled at both of them.

“So, you will mate with us?” Ronal asked.

“A million times yes. I have only dreamed about this since you guys saved me.”

You moved in to hug Ronal, when you pulled away you stared at her.

“Can I kiss you?” You asked, unsure if she wanted that or accepted that.

She kissed you; you crawled closer to her while your lips remained locked. Your arms went around her neck as you were practically on top of her, that’s when you felt a hand on your back. It went up your back and had you turn your head to Tonowari, who then started to kiss you again. You felt Ronal’s hands fall to your waist and drag down to your hips, her hands slid back up your body to your chest covering.

She reached behind your neck and untied it slowly to allow you to stop her, but that never came. She pulled your chest covering off and her hands gravitated to your tits which she held so nicely. Your body was writhing as she played with your nipples, and you moaned into Tonowari’s mouth. Your back arched and you pressed your lips into Tonowari more. Tonowari’s hands gripped your rib cage and squeezed his way down to your hips before moving between your legs. His fingers worked their way under your loincloth, your lips detached and your head rested on Tonowari’s shoulder.

The couple worked on you, as you moaned out loudly. You raised your hand and covered your mouth to try and keep the sounds to a minimum. Tonowari’s hand quickly followed yours and pulled your hand off your face.

“The noise doesn’t matter. Anyone nearby can smell it already. They know what’s happening,” Tonowari said.

“So, you just want everyone to know how well you’re pleasing me.”

“Obviously,” Tonowari said as he removed his fingers and started to untie your loin cloth.

You whimpered but then Tonowari removed your loin cloth fully and Ronal took her hands off your chest. He grabbed your hips and lied you on your stomach, he lifted your hips up enough to give himself some decent leverage.

“I’m going to fuck you and why don’t you eat out your darling mate Ronal,” Tonowari said as he slowly sunk into you.

You grabbed Ronal’s bare thighs and pulled her close to you, you immediately started to eat her out as Tonowari fucked you. Cumming from being fucking mercilessly by Tonowari was one of life’s greatest achievements and to top that off, your face was pressed further and further into one of the prettiest women you’ve ever seen. Making her cum was second to being fucked by Tonowari, it was immaculate to even taste her.

Your life from then on revolved around those two and your newfound adopted kids, Ao’nung, Tsireya, and the current unborn child Ronal was carrying. You were with them every step of the way, from holding Ronal all night after her spirit sister was killed to watching the kids leave to save Jake’s youngest son tulkan friend.

The sky people came to attack and you had no choice but to become a warrior. You were ready to fight for these people, you didn’t care what you wanted.

“I’m going out there, you can’t stop me.”

“Are you sure that’s what you want?” Tonowari asked.

“It doesn’t matter what I want, our kids are out there.”

“You didn’t want to be a warrior or a killer.”

“I don’t have a choice. They took what is the most special to me, my family. I’ll kill for that.”

Tonowari let go of your arm and let you onto your skimwing and raced off to save the kids.

Once Jake went out to talk to Quaritch, you were looking at both your mates as Jake went to save your daughter and his two kids.

Then all hell broke loose and you did exactly what 10 years of intense military training taught you to do, kill.

You swam in fast; you were killing left and right, pushing through many bodies of so many different soldiers. You were blind, you remember this feeling, all you see is red and you’re mindlessly killing. This time it wasn’t orders though, this time you were fighting for your home and for your family. This time it was like a big middle finger to Quaritch for all the shit he’s ever done to you in the time you’ve known him on Pandora.

Watching Jake’s eldest cut loose his siblings and your daughter, you had Tsireya and you were trying to get Lo’ak and Neteyam to come with you once Tuk went with her mom. You had a choice to make, take your daughter to safety or help the boys go get their friend. You were blinded with rage still and Tsireya called an ilu and went back to her parents while you hopped aboard the ship. You followed the boys into the ship, you grabbed a gun and you shot at the few soldiers still straggling around.

The boys saw you following them, you went further into the ship together once they got Spider back. You shot at more soldiers, before getting into the water. It was shortly after you were confronted with Quaritch.

“I see you lived.”

“What would you know about that?”

Quaritch smirked as he held Kiri.

“What did you do to me?”

“You lied.”

“About what?”

“You were never on our side, even before you signed up for Deja Blue.”

“That’s true, but I didn’t defy until before home tree went down.”

“Still, you should have never been on our team. That’s why we had to take matters into our own hands.”

“By beating me and dumping me in a river.”

“You were supposed to die.”

“I wish I did. But at least I get to have some well-deserved revenge.”

Once the ship started to sink, you got out and went back to shore. You couldn’t fight Quaritch anymore and Jake had it covered anyways.

Your skimwing brought you to the shore and you saw your mates standing there, they did not look pleased. You couldn’t be happier about having to travel through water to get back to the shore, all the blood was washed off you, at least the blood that wasn’t yours.

“Where the hell have you been? Tsireya came home by herself.”

Tonowari was yelling at you, he was using his chieftain voice. You’ll be damned if it didn’t both scared you and turn you on, but you knew this was not a light circumstance. You stared at your mates, you felt nervous and you felt remorseful.

“I’m sorry. I went to help Jake’s kids. I think I just was seeing red and I didn’t want to stop.”

“You left your daughter alone,” Ronal said as she walked up to you.

“I’m sorry, I really am. This is why I didn’t want to start killing but I didn’t care anymore. They had our daughter and I just had to. I shouldn’t have left her, I knew that. But I did see one of the people I got brought back with. He told me what happened.”

“What did you learn, syulang,” Tonowari said as he pulled you into a hug.

“They knew about me being a traitor so they tried to kill me and get rid of me. I wanted revenge. I know it was selfish but still.”

“It’s okay. Just make sure you apologize to Tsireya.”

“I love you guys more than anything.”

“Let’s go get you cleaned up. You have a couple of cuts,” Ronal said as she started to bring you back to your home.

refuse to write Neteyam’s death so I just left it out.

[meiluu]

Sleepy

Leon S. Kennedy NSFW one-shot

Leon S. Kennedy / Reader(AFAB) cw: soft morning SMUT 18+ MDNI, re:2 leon, no RC event.

*not edited

Quietly closing the door behind him, Leon breathes a sigh of relief. It was another late night patrol with the R.P.D, even though Leon was exhausted he would never grow tired of his job. Since he was orphaned at a young age he dreamed about becoming someone who could protect those who couldn't protect themselves, and he was able to do that with his job. Although he had only joined the force a year ago he has made his impact not only that but has made many friends along the way. And that included you.

Leon was still within his first week when he met you, cliché enough you both had bumped into one another. Leon had stupidly not been paying attention and had spilt his morning coffee all over you. And thankfully you hadn't beaten him for ruining what looked like a beautiful sun-dress. But Leon just couldn't let you walk away without repaying you, so that's when he had offered to get lunch sometime and by a miracle you accepted. And from there a relationship blossomed. You had become a rock, a pillar of reliability and comfort, something Leon had never had within his life. And now a year later your relationship has bloomed into a beautiful garden.

Gently taking off his boots, setting them aside next to your shoes he makes his way into the living room as he lays down his bag along with his belt and the rest of his gear. Then he's making his way to your shared bedroom. Leon's heart swells at the sight of you bundled up in the thick comforter, face snuggled into his pillow. A soft smile painting his face, stealthily Leon showers and readies himself for bed- happy that he's off for tomorrow and can sleep in with you. Reaching the bed, he pulls up the comforter cuddling himself around you. A sleepy sound leaves your lips, "Leon?" voice thick with sleep you turn towards his chest. "Hi baby, go back to sleep." whispering to you as he pulls you closer to him, relishing in your warmth. A soft 'I love you' is mumbled into his chest before you fall back asleep, "I love you too." placing a kiss atop your head Leon buries himself in your scent and is soon pulled under into a dreamless sleep.

The morning rays of the sun stream into the bedroom, a groan leaves Leon at being awakened. Turning away from the window he snuggles himself further into your chest. But before he can fall back asleep your voice is ringing through his mind. "Good morning grumpy." Leon lets out a grunt at your teasing, a soft laugh bubbles up from your chest at his antics. Hoping to better his mood you begin to place kisses upon his face. Starting at his messy bed head you trail your way down his face, past his furrowed brows, placing a light kiss atop his nose as you continue downwards not so subtly avoiding his pink lips that are just begging to be kissed. Voice a bit husky with sleep calls out your name, "Don't tease- it's too early." With a cheeky smile you continue your teasing, now your kisses have past his sharp jawline and are now mapping out the delicate skin of his neck. A familiar sound of pleasure tumbles from Leon's lips and not a moment later are you rolled onto your back, hands pinned beside your head. Leon has a smug smile painted upon his face, "You should know better baby, if you're not careful we’ll be in bed all day." A mischievous smile tugs at your cheeks, raising a brow "would that be such a bad thing?" Leon's lovely laugh fills the air around you both, and you can't help the genuine smile that takes up your face. Leaning down Leon finally gets what he has been deprived of, the feel of your lips against his has him shutting his eyes in relief.

It starts off slow and measured, Leon removes his hands from your wrists as he begins to caress your curves as he travels down to the hem of your-his- shirt. his warm and slightly calloused hands mapping out every inch of you. Mouths locked in a dance, taking the lead you nip at his plump bottom lip, and Leon gives into your request allowing your tongues to meet one another. Your hands are quick to crawl up his bare shoulders rising to his blond locks, carding your fingers through the soft strands. Taking your dance further, Leon's moving his lips down to your neck placing open mouth kisses upon your skin- relishing in your natural scent that does nothing to curb his want for you. With his mouth littering kisses his hands are massaging the swells of your breasts, your whimpers of pleasure reaches Leon's ears. Reaching the collar of your- his-shirt he takes a moment to look up at you, giving you the opportunity to stop this if you didn't want to go further. And Leon is met with your lust filled gaze, "Please, Leon." and that's all it takes for Leon to quickly remove the offending fabric from you body, finally Leon can now continue where he left off.

Mouth marking your skin, creating a beautiful constellation of hickeys across your skin. Then he's pulling the hard bud of your right breast into his warm mouth. Tongue swirling around the bud, a moan is quick to fall from your lips as your fingers tug on Leon's hair, eliciting a groan from him, mind and body buzzing with pleasure. After he's satisfied in his worship of your right breast he is moving onto the other breast- not wanting to leave it out of his loving devotion to your body. Giving it the same treatment as the other, with every swirl and flick of his tongue sending jolts of arousal to your core- no doubt dampening your panties. Once he finishes Leon is soon to move downwards, mouth lighting a fiery trail of pleasure down your stomach- past your navel, only stopping at the hem of your panties. His fingers are quick to remove the fabric just as fast as the shirt- eyes blown wide in a mix of lust and adoration his gaze locks with yours. Once again silently asking if he can continue, "Leon if you don't fuck me- I'll do it myself." voice filled with lust and frustration. "Yes ma'am." who was he to deny you? Whenever you asked-begged or made so much as an inkling that you wanted something Leon was quick to fill that, the same way you did for him. He was so in love you, and he planned on making sure you remembered that- always, even with the late night patrols or having to reschedule plans with his job he always made every moment with you count and this was no exception.

Raising his head level with yours, he's taking one of his hands dragging it down to your center. Fingers meeting your arousal, a throaty groan leaves Leon at the feeling, you were so wet for him. Slipping two fingers into you easily, your warm walls are quick to clamp down upon him. Pushing in until his fingers were completely within you, does he then finally start his movements. Deep but measured thrusts of his fingers in and out of your cunt has your whimpering in ecstasy. Taking his other hand, bringing it down to your bundle of nerves, putting just the right amount of pressure and swirling your clit underneath his fore and middle finger. Your moans are a beautiful melody that he'll never grow tired of listening to. Your cunt is soon to grip his fingers in a vice like grip, as you near your impending climax. "Fuck- cum on my fingers, please baby." Leon's voice is a needy whimper filled with lust and its sending you off that cliff straight into your orgasm. As your mind blanks with your orgasm, you are soon brought back down to earth as Leon's cooing words of encouragement and love begin to register within your mind.

"So good, that's it baby." Gently removing his fingers from your cunt he is bringing his wet digits up to mouth, letting himself taste the unmistakable flavor that is you. Leon is quick to remove his clothing- luckily it was only one piece of fabric, throwing his underwear to the side his cock now free. A sigh of relief falls from his pink lips, cock hard and aching to be within you. Precum has already smeared the tip of him no doubt leaving a wet patch upon his clothing- but Leon couldn't care less about that right now. Bringing his length to your core, taking a moment to grind his length into your arousal, wetting his cock. Though he is quick to push himself into you, taking steady breaths so that his doesn't cum too quickly. He lets his cock sink into you until he is flushed against you. Fuck, he will never get tired of this feeling- your inviting cunt hugging him, warm and wet just for him and only him.

Pulling his hips back, feeling his cock drag against your walls, stopping only when his tip is left within you does he then sink back into you. Deep and rhythmic thrusts, not slow but not fast either. Your arms are wrapping around his neck while your legs cage in his hips, encouraging him to go deeper- to go harder. A soft cry of his name has Leon's eyes leaving where they were watching himself disappear within you up to your eyes. Obeying your silent begging, Leon quickly brings his hands down your thighs raising your left thigh to rest against his chest- allowing him to reach deeper within you. His other hand gripping hard onto your right side, giving him the perfect leverage to fuck you into the bed. In and out, his harsh and deep thrusts has your head falling back into the pillow as your back arches up into Leon's chest. His mind-numbing sounds of pleasure has your cunt clenching down hard upon him- trying to keep him within you, never wanting him to leave. Taking his eyes away from the hypnotizing sight of your cunt taking all of him to the hilt every time he thrusts, rising to your face again he nearly cums at the sight before him. Your face is etched in pleasure, mouth open allowing for your sweet sounds to fall from your lips. And then you are throwing Leon right to the edge as you bring one of your hands down to swirl your clit as you near an earthshattering high. A curse accompanied with your name is cried out, as Leon feels your cunt rhythmically begin to quiver and squeeze around his cock. Leon's grip upon you tightens, undoubtedly leaving bruises for you to find later as he feels white hot pleasure roll down his back as his body tightens before he feels himself cuming within you. Pushing as far into you as possible grinding his length as he paints your inner walls with his cum.

Slowly his grinding comes to a stop as you both finish riding out your highs, he is gently setting your thigh down against the sheets. And just as Leon goes to remove his now softening cock to clean you both up- you are quick to latch onto him. "Stay- just a bit longer, please."

"Of course." leaving himself within you, his arms wrap around your torso. There he settles himself atop of you, placing feather-light kisses against your neck. "I love you." your lips are placing a kiss upon his temple, "I love you too Leon."

[pinkaton]

crushcrushcrush ❣︎ mark grayson hcs

gender neutral reader, pronouns unspecified

mark falls for you either because he looks up to you in some way/thinks you're cool, or because you're super cute to him (or all of the above) - either way you make him nervous.  

he's embarrassingly tongue-tied in almost every interaction, even a simple 'hi' is suddenly difficult to muster in your presence (no his voice didn't crack in his eagerness to greet you, that's not why william is snickering next to him).  

he doesn't really approach you unless he has to though, like being paired up for an assignment or some other 'practical' reason. beyond casual small talk he's almost content to admire you from afar, or just stay acquaintances.  

william alternates between making jokes at his expense or encouraging him to be forward with you, but they're mostly mild ribbing. he doesn't want to push mark after he fully realizes the extent of harm and danger he has to face, so he's more understanding of his reluctance this time.  

he would happily play the role of wingman though, especially if mark is curious about your interests - william has his ways of procuring information.  

mark ends up knowing more about you than you recall telling him, he tries not to show it because y'know, that'd be kinda weird and he doesn't wanna weird you out or anything - he fails at it of course, he was never a good liar.  

him keeping his distance is only partially due to his own uncertainty and shyness in romance, he's mostly hesitant to try dating again after his relationship with amber went south.  

... not to mention the lack of privacy in his life with the GDA breathing down his neck, the fact that he'd been beaten to within an inch of his life a number of times, and at literally any point in time he could be required to leave you to don the mask and suit.  

the thought makes his smile slip as he stares at you from across the hallway.  

it's a world he'd rather you stay far, far away from, and after what happened with his father he finds it hard to fully welcome someone new into his life. especially a civilian.  

despite himself he's giddy with anticipation if you show interest in getting to know him better, and if he suspects his crush is reciprocated he indulges in the feeling.  

if you're forward with him he can't resist flirting and/or bantering back, (even if he stumbles over his own words all the while) but there's something restrained about the way interacts with you, always not-so discreetly slipping away before anything can get serious.  

if you're more introverted he feels emboldened to take initiative to approach you, but besides his somewhat nervous air he's never anything more than friendly and polite.  

even if you don't know him all that well yet mark grayson wasn't considered a hard person to befriend, but around you, and only you, he's surprisingly elusive.  

he tip toes between surface-level friendliness and pulling away when he has to commit to something deeper, oftentimes he's clumsy despite his intentions, and it's not hard to tell that he wants something with you despite his occasional cageyness.  

but for the time being, the innocent rush of a highschool crush gives his dual-life a sense of normalcy, and the thought of seeing you again always brings a dopey smile to his face, even on the confines of a hospital bed.

[maidflowery]

Fortified Wager ♣♣♣ 𝘊𝘩𝘢𝘱𝘵𝘦𝘳 8

♦︎♦︎ Aventurine x Reader ♦︎♦︎ 𝕀𝕝𝕝𝕦𝕤𝕥𝕣𝕒𝕥𝕖𝕕

🄱🄰🄲🄺 🅃🄾 【Ｃｈａｐｔｅｒ 7】

𝕋𝕒𝕓𝕝𝕖 𝕠𝕗 ℂ𝕠𝕟𝕥𝕖𝕟𝕥

𝐂𝐢𝐧𝐝𝐞𝐫𝐞𝐥𝐥𝐚 𝐕𝐒 𝐁𝐢𝐠 𝐁𝐚𝐝𝐝𝐢𝐞 (𝟏)

╔══ ≪ ♥♦♥ ≫ ══╗

“See? You should have just kept quiet and done as you were told. The truth is, I actually like you. You’re quiet and obedient.”

When Big Baddie stood up, you realized he was twice your size.

So, you let the gems fall, teetering on the edge of the table as bait.

Sorry, Aventurine.

Meanwhile, you let your watch slid over your knuckle as a makeshift brass knuckle. There was no way you’d deal any real damage otherwise.

“I was just trying to save you, you know? I’m sure you also don’t know this, but that Avgin slave over there killed his owner.”

The moment he leaned in, eager to grab a hold of the gems, you swung your fist straight into his face!

“Of course I know, you piece of shit!

Otherwise, what kind of Aventurine’s fan were you?

“Uuoorrggh—!!”

As your fist connected with his nose, you felt the sharp impact reverberate through your knuckles, followed by a sudden, jarring crunch. Big Baddie took the punch square in the face and staggered backward. Soon, he lost his balance and fell, crashing to the ground in a heap.

Regret always came too late.

As you watched your wristwatch fell, shattering its glass on the floor, you realized you still loved it after all!! Also, your hand hurt like a bitch! Shit! Fuck! You could feel tears welling up in your eyes.

Above all, you were furious.

Aventurine never even brought up his past, so who the fuck gave this guy the right to do so?!

You recalled how the pair of violet-cyan eyes looked so lifeless and devoid of emotion the moment his past was mentioned. It was clearly something difficult—something he preferred to keep private, and for obvious reasons.

If Aventurine were a male lead in a romance novel, it would have taken over 100 chapters and three different arcs before he revealed his past!! Even then, it would be only to the person he trusted most, someone he felt comfortable being vulnerable with!! That was just how delicate this was!!

And yet, and yet... this guy, heartlessly, in front of everyone...

In the past, Aventurine's entire family and clan were massacred by their enemies. Though he survived the ordeal, he was soon enslaved. Only God knows the depths of trauma and torment he suffered at their hands—enough to drive him to kill.

“—Hahahaha! Of course! Of course she doesn’t know! That's what you get for letting his looks fool you!”

“Do you know how hard I’ve been holding back my laugh?! I was wondering how to break the news this whole time! Hahahaha!”

Of course, taking a life was rarely, if ever, justified.

But that is not a reason to laugh at or shame him?! Especially not this bastard, who drove two innocent children to seek revenge!!

A single tear rolled down your cheek. Regret, anger, sorrow and pain washed over you all at once—mostly pain.

While shaking your stinging hand like crazy, you screamed at Big Baddie, “But so what—?! So what if he killed his master?!”

If you were beaten within an inch of your life every day and treated far worse than an animal, what would you do?

If you had nothing left to live for but to await your death at the hands of your enslaver, how would you respond?

“—I’d have done the same!!”

Your shoulders heaved up and down as you struggled to regain composure. All you knew was that you were ranting out of sheer rage.

“Shut up!!” Big Baddie stood up while covering his nose. He glowered at you like a beast, blood oozing out of his hands. “You're just a pathetic slut serving tables!! Do you really think I can't destroy you?! That worthless slave won't protect you from me!!”

“...!”

You instantly went quiet.

Seeing this, Big Baddie grinned with triumph, blood staining his gold and white teeth.

...That’s right.

Back when you were merely a third party, you could easily dismiss the whole incident with Big Baddie as "unreasonable." As much as you hated to admit it, you didn’t see it as that big of a deal.

Why didn’t the staff just skirt around the problem, make some excuses, and feign ignorance? Or, even better yet, fight back. Then, call the authority if things escalated. Easy-peasy.

Well, the reason, as it turned out, was plain and simple.

It was the same reason you didn’t pick a fight with every professor who imposed outrageous assignments or feedbacks on you. Or why you hadn’t shoved your middle finger down Erin’s—your actual manager at the restaurant you actually worked at—prissy throat yet.

Because you’d be a dropout and without a job. Now, you wouldn’t say that you knew how every single staff in Primavera felt, but you certainly wouldn’t survive without your job, let alone switch colleges.

Facing against Billy Burnett, the infamous iron-fisted loan-shark, the stakes were even higher. One wrong move, and your entire life could be in jeopardy.

“Need I remind you what kind of authority they have? A single word from them could ruin the lives of many. I wouldn’t care if you’re the only one affected, but I also have something to protect, so stay in your lane.”

You recalled Marius’ words.

You wouldn’t blame him either—or anyone, for that matter. Everyone had their own circumstances. It was called “picking your battles.”

Which was why, only you could do this.

If it wasn’t you—who would?

You grinned.

Thanks for the reminder, Big Baddie.

Thus, as the waiter of the high-end nightclub Primavera, you shot back, “Watch your language! Aventurine is one of our most valued customers, and we do not tolerate any form of abuse or mistreatment toward him!”

“Wha—?!”

Big Baddie had a dumb look on his face. Perhaps this was the first time someone had called him out so boldly.

Also, you weren’t even lying!! Who else could singlehandedly quadruple the profit of a luxurious nightclub?! Calling him Primavera Jesus would be more fitting! Obviously, the staff would want to cling to him—especially after what you were about to do in their uniform, using their name!

While Big Baddie was still flabbergasted, you continued.

“—Given that this behavior has persisted, we are left with no choice but to ask you to leave and ban you from returning!”

After enduring his tyranny for so long, those were likely the words the staff had been dying to say, but couldn’t.

Then, your gaze briefly landed on your crisp, black uniform. Her uniform.

Of course, you wouldn’t pretend to understand how Judith felt either.

Still, when everyone else was too terrified or stunned to do anything, her manager took a punch in the face for her. If you were her, you’d be happy, knowing that most managers out there wouldn’t do even half as much—and at the same time, sad. But above all, angry.

So, you thought of saying this for her.

“—Also, that’s for punching my manager, asshole!!!”

Yes, only you, or specifically, Aschenputtel, could do this.

Aschenputtel, who was destined to lost her job either way. Aschenputtel, who had neither family nor friends, and would disappear past midnight.

Hence, you, Aschenputtel, decided—

—I’m taking you down with me, Big Baddie.

╚══════╝

🄾🄽🅆🄰🅁🄳 🅃🄾 【Ｃｈａｐｔｅｒ ９】

I realized that at the rate I was doing it before, the update will only come once a month, or even 2 months in case anything happened. ���(˶ㅠ︿ㅠ)ა I don't want to keep you guys hanging for that long. So I decided to post it as soon as a part is finished. Do tell me if any of you prefer that I just finish it as a whole before updating :D

[lakesbian]

“I knew he was the reason she had texted me for help, from the moment I saw her reaction.  Maybe I’d suspected there was something going on even before that, from the way her emails and texts had changed in tone.  It would explain that gut feeling I’d had that made me get over there as fast as I did.  I saw her shrink back, I felt her hold me tighter, and I went cold inside.

okay so just to set down the WoGs about this so we all know where i'm coming from

i think the biggest lie here aside from the obviously false constant reiteration he's doing that he Had No Idea Who The Man Was, No Sir is that he went cold inside...or rather i think 'i went cold inside' is a perfectly true statement, but he wants it to be taken as "i went emotionally dead inside and beat the man up like a cool and tough manly older brother and saved the day" when the reality is that he was frozen/chilled with fear from coming face-to-face w/ his abuser, and he hated himself for feeling so weak and incapable of moving/acting to protect his sister. his desire to be big + scary mixed w/ both his desire to run away/hide himself and aisha from their abuser and his mental conflation of "being able to care for people" and "being masculine/not being weak," and it resulted in the ability to generate darkness. darkness to scare people, darkness to hide him, darkness that makes him look bigger if he generates it around himself. all, of course, while he remains fundamentally vulnerable at the center.

like.

you know? You Fucking Know? brian laborn, man. & he explicitly details how this mindset was beaten into him as a child, while completely oblivious to the fact that there's anything wrong with it:

“Well my father is a hard man. Not the kind of man that’s meant to raise a son alone. I wouldn’t say he was abusive, but there’s never been any warmth to him, no charming anecdotes, no fatherly wisdom, no throwing baseballs in the backyard. The extent of our bonding was in the gym, him holding the punching bag in position while shouting at me that I was doing something wrong, staying grimly quiet if my form, my timing, the raw power of my hits were all flawless. Or we’d be in the ring, with boxing helmets and gloves on, a thirty five year old man in peak physical condition barely holding back against his fifteen year old son. He just expected me to keep up or take the hits, and I didn’t have much choice in the matter.

he has to be strong and masculine, because he's been taught that if he isn't, he will be demeaned and hurt.

so, my theory on the matter is that after he triggered from beating himself up over freezing, the little moment of him being distracted/staggered from coming out of the vision was enough for him to yell at himself in his head and kick himself into "fight" gear.

“So even if I was only fifteen, I was tall for my age, I was fit, and I knew how to throw a punch. I didn’t say a word, didn’t make a sound. I put my sister down and beat my mother’s boyfriend within an inch of his life, my mother screaming and wailing the entire time. When I was done, I picked my sister up and returned to the cab. We went to my father’s that night, and we went to the police station in the morning.”

i think the emphasis he puts on Not Saying A Word And Not Making A Sound is an indicator that that's another part of the memory he really wants to revise, just like how his constant reiteration that he didn't know the man is exactly what indicates that not only did he know the man, knowing the man was very significant and scary to him. i would put, like, 20 bucks down that he's insisting that he was dead silent precisely because he was choking back tears. as 4 the last bit of his big fucking lie....

“When you throw a punch barehanded, it doesn’t leave your hands pristine. A few good swings, you connect solidly with someone’s face, someone’s teeth, and it tears the fuck out of your knuckles. It was at my father’s place that night, washing and cleaning my hands, when I saw it. It wasn’t just blood leaking out of my torn up knuckles, but there was the darkness too, like wisps of really black smoke. You hear about the trigger event, you might think it’s all about rage or fear. But I’m a testament that it can be just the opposite. I didn’t feel a fucking thing.”

i think the fixation on the violence of the thing is in part a desperate desire to prove that he's strong enough--an indicator that he's still the same scared little boy he was 3 years ago, the boy with no route out of being beaten up by his father but violence, the boy being taught that knowing how to hurt people is what keeps you safe. he's trying to turn that into something good, by hurting the "right" people, by hurting people for aisha, but he's still fundamentally under the dysfunctional impression that being a strong, masculine man who can hurt people without flinching is good and impressive and a way to keep himself and his loved ones safe. i think it's also in part that this was the first time he ever really, seriously, intentionally hurt someone, and he's still got the vivid traumatic memories of the wounds to his knuckles to prove it. i do buy that he didn't notice the darkness until he was washing his hands--incredibly vivid and compelling symbolism, and one of the top all time worm things i wish people would redraw.

i also think it's really, really funny how he's insisting that he "didn't feel a fucking thing" RIGHT after a conversation between everyone about how trigger events are the worst day of your life. it's so comically teenage-edgelordy and fake as a trigger event story! and he is telling it because he wants taylor to think he's cool! and it works! she buys that shit! so so funny that he's telling this entire ass huge fucking lie right in front of lisa too. everyone on this team is always fucking lying in front of lisa like ooh good thing no one knows i'm lying. she is basically the bravest and nicest girl on the planet ever for not tattling on him.

[ivymarquis]

Ivy's Belated Kinktober 2k24 Extravaganza

A Quiet Corner

Day Two - Risky Place Soap x Reader WC: 1771 Content: Risky sex, semi-public sex, oral (F!receiving), PiV

Kinktober Masterlist Day One: Dirty Talk | Day Three: Stuck In The Wall

“Johnny, we can’t!” You hiss, trying to sway your boyfriend from doing the thing he is very obviously planning on doing. 

(The thing being fucking you within an inch of your life inside a supply closet.)

“Think you’ll find tha' we can, bonnie. Very, very easily,” he assures you with lust rolling through his words like velvet.

Your protests are, admittedly, half hearted. It’s not that you’re not interested- you very much want to climb him like a tree. But good God you’re in public. It’s not even like they returned home at 3am where there’s some plausible deniability that your tryst will go unnoticed. 

It’s broad daylight, and you kinda want to throw something at Ghost’s head because you know he knows Johnny is trying to sweet talk you into something illicit.

“It’s the middle of the day!” You point out the obvious, like that’s going to even remotely sway him. 

“It’s been three weeks,” is Johnny’s equally reasonable counter to you stating the obvious. 

And, damn him, he makes a fair point. But you’re not animals in heat, you can wait until the pair of you are somewhere private. You don’t have to-

-let Johnny drag you into a supply closet that he swears is far enough off the beaten path that no one should need it for the time this will take. 

How did you go from “We are not fucking in a closet” to being dragged into said closet?

Should you put your foot down and tell him unequivocally that the answer is “no”, you have no doubts that he would immediately yield to you. He would not push the matter. 

But he knows when you’re protesting in a mock outrage for propriety’s sake and not because of your own desires or a lack thereof. 

So yes, he’s running amok and trying his best to charm you out of your panties. Much to your annoyance, it is working. 

No sooner than the door clicks shut behind you- shut and not locked, a part of you remembers- Johnny devours you. Three weeks of longing and desire and unbridled lust welling up and spilling over as the pair of you pry at each other's clothes, lips locked together. 

The clock is officially ticking, and Murphy’s law dictates that at some point the pair of you are going to get walked in on no matter how rarely this closet is used. 

As much as you’d like to take the time to strip down to nothing (and strip Johnny down to nothing), that’s a bad idea. 

It seems that he is on the same page as you, pawing at the buckle of your belt so he can yank your pants down your thighs.

Johnny’s never been one to fear chasing what he wants. It’s obvious what he wants from the moon eyed expression fixated between your thighs and the way he jerks your pants down more to get better access between your legs and drops to his knees. 

The way he descends on you immediately has you leaning against the wall behind you for support.

There is nothing protecting the pair of you if someone walks in. Sure, Johnny kneeling in front of you will provide some coverage for the most important bits, but there’s absolutely no hiding what he’s up to. Not with the sound of his tongue lapping against your pussy like his life depends on it. 

It’s hard to keep quiet with him putting forth his best efforts to make you squeal. You’re really in trouble when he shifts between your thighs to quickly work one finger into you, only to make it two when he thinks you can take it. 

“Fuck, Johnny,” the pleading whine escapes you. Even you don’t know if you’re begging for mercy or for him to finish you off. 

“Three fuckin' weeks,” he admonishes with his head still buried between your thighs. Like it’s your fault he’s the one who gets sent to fuck-knows-where at the drop of a hat. 

His fingers find the spot that makes your legs shake. One of your hands buries in his hair, the other clamping against your mouth to muffle the noises threatening to escape.

“Almost a month without this sweet cunt,” he groans against your skin. It’s all you can do to breathe and let out a low moan as he alternates between pointedly latching and sucking on your clit, and letting go with a lewd pop just to tease your lower lips with the tip of his tongue before starting the whole cycle over again. 

His fingers haven’t let up on the abuse of your g-spot once. 

“Need ye tae cum, lass. Need the taste o' ye squirtin' all over my face.”

With all the focus he’s put into achieving his mission, it’s no surprise at all when you do exactly as told. 

One hand doesn’t feel like it’s enough to keep you quiet, but if you release the death grip you have on his hair with the other hand you worry you might fall over from how your legs are shaking. 

It’s a fight to get the necessary stability in your legs, but you breathe and shiver as you come down from your high about the same time Johnny is getting to his feet and whirling you around to face the wall. 

There’s little fanfare as he lines himself up and sinks home into you. For once he seems to acknowledge that other people could hear the two of you if you’re not quiet, his hand clamping over your own to help silence you. 

“That’s a good lass,” he groans low in a way that sends jolts straight to your pussy. “Be a good girl an' take it,” he instructs, like there’s anything else to do other than to be pliant and good. 

Like some cruel twist of fate, the knowledge that you need to be quiet just makes it all the harder to keep things down. Another knot of pleasure coils in your gut, clamping down and twisting tighter the more you think about getting caught. 

Johnny’s low grunts and curses don’t travel as well as your pitched, breathy little ah ah ahs that are timed perfectly with his cock burying itself inside of you. God- leave it to the sniper to have perfect aim, hitting that spot in you that makes your eyes cross and your knees buckle over and over and over again. 

“Missed ye so damn much,” Johnny huffs against the back of your neck. “Ye and this perfect fuckin' cunt. Had nothin' but ma hand and imagination for almost a month.”

You garble out something against your palm vaguely in the realm of Johnny I’m gonna cum again. Your reward is one of his hands dropping between your thighs.

“Fuckin' do it, then,” he goads as you gasp and wriggle in his hold, trying desperately to breathe through the orgasm threatening to overwhelm you as your pleasure starts to peak. 

He shouldn’t be surprised, really, when the only thing you can do at that point is buck against his hand and squeal. 

It’s taking all you have to keep your legs under you as your second orgasm washes over you. Johnny’s frantic circles around your clit get audibly wetter as you squirt, soaking his hand, the wall, and your thighs.

Johnny knows the routine, easing off of your clit while his pelvis claps against your ass. Knows that the sensitive little bundle of nerves needs a break from the direct stimulation, but you’re fine with him chasing his own end and getting his.

His hand slips from your mouth to a comfortable hold on your neck- not choking, but firmly in hand. 

“Fuck, Johnny” you groan lowly, voice now uncovered by either of your hands.

The feral grunt that escapes him as he thrusts against the plush of your ass keeps the embers of your pleasure rolling. Content in the sensation of him using your body to get his own pleasure, a well earned reward as you lean against the wall loose-limbed and compliant. 

“Want you to cum in me, Johnny,” you plead ever so sweetly to him, and that’s what does it. 

Your body stiffens at the sensation of his teeth digging into the meat of your shoulder, yelping in shock as you realize he’s biting you as he crosses the finish line.

Your arm twists so you can bury your fingers in his hair, “Johnny- fucking- teeth!”, yanking sharply to make him let go.

The ass is using you to muffle his own grunts of pleasure, his teeth loosening their grip on you about the same time as his hips stop canting against yours.

Pleasure is still the overarching sensation coursing through your veins. You’re tired, content with your climaxes and the knowledge the love of your life is safe and back home relatively unscathed. Even if there’s now a perfect imprint of his teeth in your skin.

The haze of the moment is lifted when you hear a high pitched giggle outside. Oh mother fucker-

“Looks like someone had the same idea we did,” you don’t recognize the voice, but do feel Johnny’s hands grabbing at you to haul your clothes back into place with a muffled “Shit”.

“I know another spot, come on,” the other voice is hushed, their footfalls leading away. 

Thank God you don’t recognize who they are, and can only assume likewise they don’t recognize you. 

Johnny doesn’t dress himself until he’s satisfied you’re put back in order- dick out of his trousers the whole time, just hanging until you’re situated and only then does he tuck himself back in..

“We should head back before someone walks in here,” you caution, aware that while you’re both clothed that you’re not exactly out of the woods for getting caught just yet.

Johnny grabs you, turning you to face him before he crowds your body with his own. “Come here,” he instructs and pulls you to him, kissing and groping at you like you’ll disappear if he doesn’t keep a hold on you. “Just another minute,” he pleads. You can’t possibly tell him no. 

You kiss him back, happy to have him home and whole and safe in your arms. 

It’s an odd sensation, living in a moment that you just know is going to be forever burned into your memory.

Not even an hour ago, this closet was just a door you’d pass by without a single thought given to it. Now every time you pass by it, or think back on your time at this base, you’ll remember this moment rather fondly.

[mischievouslittlecreature]

Part 21: The Shadow of the Abattoir

Summary: Lucy begins the long recovery from what Luca did to her, while the Shelbys prepare for Bonnie's boxing match.

Word Count: 5,254

Warnings: Injuries, chronic pain, and references to torture.

Previous Chapter • Series • Fic • Next Chapter

Chapter 26: Lost Forever

Audrey entered Luca’s room to find it in complete disarray. The papers that he kept spread across his desk were all over the floor, chairs and tables overturned in the sitting room, a lamp smashed on the thin rug, along with the shattered remains of crystal glasses and a decanter filled with amber liquid.  

Her eyes swept over the scene of destruction, lips pursing. 

When Matteo came to her lodgings, eyes wide and begging her to please come at once, she had almost sent him away. She probably would have, had it been anyone else asking for her help. She was the matriarch of the Changretta family, and she answered the summons of no one. 

“Luca,” she said, stepping deeper into the room, towards where he was seated on the couch, staring straight ahead, gnawing so hard on the toothpick wedged between his teeth that she thought he might splinter it in half. Glass crunched under her heels.

She lowered herself into the seat beside him, keeping her back straight, watching her son scrutinizingly. 

“What happened?”

He didn’t answer her, and Audrey bristled. 

“When your mother asks a question, you answer it, Luca.”

“She got away,” he growled, eyes still staring straight ahead. “She fucking got away.”

“Who?”

“The Red Demon. Lucy Winters.”

Audrey felt her stomach fall into her toes, though she did not let it show on her face. “How?”

Luca shook his head. “Shelby found her, we think. The fucking gardener was found this morning, laid out on the doorstep of one of our old businesses, with his throat cut and his eyes torn out.”

“The gardener talked? But I thought you had men protecting him…”

“Yeah. Two men who we can’t locate. They were last seen at a pub with Smith. They were probably drunk when the Peakys arrived. Didn’t stand a fucking chance. Not that anyone who was at the pub that night will tell us anything.”

Audrey cursed in Italian under her breath. “But you left guards with Winters.”

“They’re all dead.”

“All of them?”

“Yes. Shelby must have killed them all.”

“Or she did.”

Luca finally looked at her. “She was barely able to stay conscious when I left her. She’s cut up and beaten within an inch of her life. There’s no way that she–”

“How many times do I have to tell you to stop underestimating her before you listen to me!?” With a sharp, controlled movement, she cuffed him around the back of the head like she used to when he was small. “If any of your men gave her so much as a sliver of an opportunity, I promise you that she took it.”

“And killed all of them?”

She looked around the room, a casualty of Luca’s wrath undoubtedly after he learned the news of Winters’s escape. Her mind wound back to when Lucy Winters first arrived in Small Heath. The stories that had soon began to follow her. “She’s done it before.” She turned her gaze back onto her son. “You should have just killed her when you had the chance.”

“We’ll get her back.”

“No, you won’t. Thomas isn’t going to let her out of his sight now.” Frustration mounted in her veins, making itself known through a venomous look thrown Luca’s way, shaking her head. “You had the opportunity of a lifetime. You had her in your clutches. Do you understand how profound of an effect her death would have had on Thomas? They say he went half mad with grief over his wife’s death. What do you think killing Winters would have done to him? It would have crippled him. Or we could have used her as a bargaining tool. Or bait. Something.” She stood, towering over him, her disappointment mounting with every passing moment. How could he have been so stupid!? “And you just wanted to play out some silly little revenge fantasy. Instead of actually using your victory to your advantage. Your father and I taught you better than that.”

“Isn’t that what this all is? Revenge, mother? I was paying her back for all the pain she’s caused. She was there when they tortured my father. She’s already killed more than a handful of our men. She deserved to know what it felt like. Besides, she’s not going to be much use to Shelby at all with how badly injured she is.”

Audrey shook her head. No use. He really thought that the woman who likely kept Thomas Shelby standing upright with her mere presence was of no use to him. “You have not listened to a single word that I’ve said, have you?”

Luca looked up at her, hurt cracking across his eyes. “I’ve done everything that you’ve told me to do.”

Head shaking back and forth, she went to the door.

“There’s the boxing match next week. We’ll strike a blow, then,” Luca called after her. 

“Better pray it’s a big one, then. Because you’re running out of time.”

∗ ∗ ∗

Lizzie pushed the door to the bedroom open with her fingertips, peering in to find Lucy asleep, curled on her side in bed, a quilt pulled up over her chest, bandages wrapped around what looked to be most of her body. Tommy was hunched over in a chair at her bedside, Lucy’s hand in his. Ada was standing next to him, her hand on his shoulder while she looked down at Lucy’s sleeping figure. 

“How is she?” she asked. Tommy cleared his throat, wetting his lips. 

“Her back is…shredded. He whipped her,” Lizzie saw his hand tighten where it rested against his knee. “He reopened all her scars from…” he paused as if unable to bring himself to actually say it out loud, “from what happened to her in London before she came to us.”

“Jesus,” Ada breathed, a hand going to her lips. 

“She took a bullet to her shoulder. I removed it. Cleaned and stitched her up. Gave her something for the pain and to help her sleep.” He rubbed a hand down his face. “She said that he bound her from the ceiling so that she was dangling with her arms above her head for days. I don’t…” he had to pause to get his voice under control. Ada rested a hand on his upper arm while he bowed his head. “I don’t know what kind of permanent damage that might’ve done.” 

“But she’s alive.”

“Yes,” he agreed, though there was something in his voice that seemed to indicate that he wasn’t wholly confident in that statement. 

“I’ll take Charlie for a few nights. He shouldn’t see her like this.”

“Thank you.” 

“And Polly and Arthur will deal with everything else for the time being. You don’t need to worry about it. There’s still Bonnie’s boxing match with Alfie’s boy, but…”

“Someone needs to call Alfie and tell him we found her.”

“Already done. He said to tell you that he’ll deal with the last few arrangements that need to be made for the fight.”

“Right.”

“Doctor Evans will be here within an hour.”

“Good.” Lizzie wondered if the doctor was going to be in for a good scolding for not coming right as soon as he was called.

There was the clack of nails against the hardwood floor in the hallway, and then Asher was squeezing around Lizzie’s legs, nosing open the slightly ajar door to wander into the bedroom. Bypassing both Tommy and Ada, he raised his head to sniff at Lucy’s face. His tail drooped, ears falling downwards as a small whine left his throat. Tommy reached out to stroke the dog’s back. 

“I know, boy. I know. She’s okay.”

Asher looked back at him, then to Lucy, whining again. Tommy drew him away gently.

“Let her sleep, Ash.”

The black shepherd let out another soft whine, laying down next to the bed with his head on his paws, his dark brown eyes fixed dutifully on Lucy, watching over her protectively.

“Do you need anything else?” Ada asked, hand smoothing up and down Tommy’s back.

“No.”

“Call me if you do. I’ll gather up Charlie and head home. I think Polly was planning on sleeping over in one of the spare rooms.” She stood. 

“Ada,” he called, mindful to still keep his voice quiet enough that he would not wake Lucy. She turned back to him. “Thank you.”

She gave him a tiny small and a quick nod, before going to the door. Her grave gaze met Lizzie’s, reaching out only to give her a squeeze to the arm before heading to the stairs, leaving her standing in the doorway alone. 

Hands ringing together, Lizzie turned back to the bedroom, taking a cautious step forward into the room. 

“Tommy?”

He started at the sound of her voice, head raising. His eyes looked red rimmed and tired. “What?”

She ignored the bite of hurt at his sharp tone, reminding herself that he’d had more than a trying couple of days. “I’m going to go home.” 

His gaze sharpened. “Luca knows where you live.”

“I know, but I don’t think he’ll come after me right now. And…” she looked at his hand still clasped tightly in Lucy’s. Her heart twisted and fractured in her chest. “I can’t stay here.” I can’t watch you love someone else.

Tommy’s eyes searched hers, and she swore that she saw a spark of guilt as he read what was likely obvious in her gaze. “Does your house have a spare room?”

Her annoyance flared. “You’d know if you actually came to visit.”

Tommy looked away, jaw tightening. She took a deep breath.

“Yes, it does.” Her voice was softer.

“Skudboat will be sleeping there until the vendetta is over. And I’ll have multiple armed guards watching the house at all times. Isiah will be re-vetting all of your staff too, before they come back to work.”

“Fine.”

“All right, then.”

That was clearly her cue to leave, but she hesitated, gaze shifting to the tiny figure curled up on the bed. “Is she going to be okay?” she asked, voice hardly a whisper. Tommy’s shoulders heaved, and for a second she thought that he wouldn’t answer. 

“No. No, she won’t.” His voice was low and mournful, as if she had died and was gone forever rather than asleep right in front of him. A shiver went down Lizzie’s spine, looking in slight alarm at the woman who’d caused her so much emotional turmoil. 

Three days of brutal torture. That was enough to leave anyone scarred in and out for life. She wondered in what ways Lucy would be changed after this.

Chilled by the thought, Lizzie quickly made for the door.

∗ ∗ ∗

“Lucy.”

She sat on the edge of the bed, hands resting on the mattress on either side of her, eyes staring blankly at a spot on the floor. Tommy pushed the bedroom door closed with a click behind Doctor Evans, leaving Polly to escort him out while he came to sit down beside her. 

“Sweetheart?”

A choked off sob left her lips, hand flying to her mouth a second too late to try to contain it. 

“Hey,” he wrapped his arm around her carefully, pulling her into his side. “It’s okay.”

She shook her head furiously from side to side, turning her face to bury in his shoulder.

“It’s gonna be okay, baby. Doctor Evans said that all those cuts will heal…”

Yes, to leave disgusting, raised scars in their wake. 

But that wasn’t even what was really bothering her. 

“My-my shoulders…” she managed to whimper out, and she felt Tommy tense a little against her. 

“He said with time and the right exercises, you might be able to minimize the long-term damage done to them…”

She shook her head. She’d seen the look in Doctor Evans’s eyes, same as he had. That much time spent with her arms positioned over her head, with her entire body weight dangling from them, had likely done catastrophic damage to the nerves. And yes, he may have given her a set of exercises and stretches to do once the inflammation went down and her cuts healed enough that she wouldn’t risk reopening them, but she had seen it in his face. It would never be the same again. Her range of motion in them would be permanently impacted, and she’d likely have pains in them for the remainder of her life. 

“I can’t…I might not be able to…” Why couldn’t she just get the bloody words out? Was she really so useless now that she couldn’t even speak? “What use am I to you now?” she forced herself to ask in a hoarse whisper. Tommy’s eyes widened, scooting closer to her.

“What do you mean?”

Her mind tumbled over itself with all the potential implications that her injuries could have. “What if I can’t fight anymore? Or the pain gets so bad I can barely function? What if I can’t do my job? Or…or…or…” her chest started to spasm, cinching hard and closing off her ability to speak, sobs and harsh gasps rattling in her lungs. 

“Lucy, Lucy, Lucy…” Tommy gathered her up in her arms, pulling her in close to his chest. “Shh,” he started to rock her from side to side, hand cradling the back of her skull protectively. “It’s okay. It’ll be okay.” There was so much confidence in his voice that she was in danger of actually believing him. “I’ll take care of you. If you need physical accommodations for anything, we’ll sort them out, all right?”

“But–”

“Love, you’re useful for far more than just swinging fists.” Tommy tried to reassure, leaning back to smooth away her tears with his thumbs, cradling her face in his big palms. “Don’t worry about any of that right now. There’s nothing that could ever make me toss you aside, okay?” His lips brushed against her forehead. “All you need to focus on is healing and resting, eh?”

She swallowed, nodding shakily, taking a deep breath to try to steady herself. Gaze fixing with Tommy’s, she let the deep blue of his eyes ground her, reminding her that she was safe and looked after. Tommy gave her a small, reassuring smile. 

“Good girl. C’mere.” He guided her gently into laying back down on the bed on her side, and she felt a pulse of fondness at the way he immediately began fussing over her. Fluffing her pillow and pulling the blankets up to her chin. “What do you need? Are you hungry? I think Ada or Polly made soup, if you want some.” He stood at her bedside, ready to jump at any request she might give him. 

“Could you just come lay with me for a bit?”

His eyes softened, nodding and climbing in under the blankets next to her. He rested his arm lightly around her waist, taking care not to touch her back or jostle her bandages.

“I’m sorry,” she rasped, cheeks warming at her little meltdown and how frantic and irrational she probably had seemed.

“Oh, sweetheart, no. You don’t have to apologize for anything.”  

Resting her hand on his forearm, Lucy rubbed her thumb back and forth against the soft material of his undershirt. He had changed into just a white Henley identical to the one he gave her to pull over her bandages, and a pair of trousers.

“I’m so sorry that I didn’t find you sooner,” he said, thumb stroking her cheekbone. 

She shook her head. “I know that you did the best you could.” Adjusting herself, she stifled a wince at accidentally placing too much pressure on her bruised ribs. There wasn’t really any part of her that she could lay on without any discomfort, but being on her side was significantly better than being on her back. “How did you find me?”

“Our boys found Lizzie’s gardener who sold you out. His name was Paul Smith. Xavier Smith’s father. You remember Xavier Smith, right?”

Ah, that explained why the old man gave her up, then. “Yes.”

“I got him to talk.”

“How?”

He looked down. She inched her face closer to his in encouragement, until their noses almost brushed. 

“I pulled out both his eyes.” The way that he looked at her suggested that he expected her to recoil in horror, but she did no such thing, hardly even blinking at the revelation.  

“Is he still alive?”

A tiny, half sheepish smile crossed Tommy’s lips. “No. Not unless he can live with his head nearly sawed off.”

“You did that for me?” she asked, eyes wide.  

“Of course,” Tommy said, as if there had never been any question in his mind that he would. “I had to find you.”

She put her head on his chest, weak arms looping around his middle. He rested his palms on her gingerly, careful not to pull at her bandages when he held her.

“Try to get some more rest.”

“When’s the fight between Bonnie and Goliath?”

“In a week.”

“I want to come.”

He drew back to look at her worriedly. “Are you sure? I don’t want you to overdo it.”

“I’m sure. I…” biting her lip, she glanced towards the window, then back at him. “I don’t want to be alone right now.”

He looked her up and down. “Okay.”

“Thank you,” she put her head on his chest, blinking slowly as exhaustion took hold of her once more. Tommy’s hand continued to pet at her hair. 

“Get some sleep, love. I’ll be here when you wake up.”

And he was, when she woke but only a few short hours later, screaming. 

Her brain was fogged over with panic, hands scratching and scrabbling, legs kicking to try to fight off the monsters that moments ago she had been certain were surrounding her.

“Lucy! Lucy!” 

Her eyes darted around the room madly, searching for any signs of Luca looming in the dark corners, wicked grin pulling at the corners of his lips as he prepared to elicit more pain onto her.

“It’s okay. You’re safe.”

A hand rested lightly on her shoulder, and she thrashed violently, crying out, swatting with flailing hands. 

“Get off of me!” she screamed, trying to scramble away. He was here. He was here and he was going to hurt her again unless she managed to get away…

“Lucy.” Two strong arms wrapped around her waist, pinning her arms to her sides, keeping her from rolling away. She tried to kick out, one foot colliding hard with the wall to her left with a bang. “It’s me. It’s me. Come here. Come here.”

Her breaths were coming out in fast, frantic little bursts, eyes bulging in their sockets. 

“Deep breaths,” the voice behind her commanded, and she felt a stockily built chest rise as its owner’s lungs filled with oxygen, then slowly lower as he let the breath out. “Match my breathing, come on.”

Her mind finally managed to catch up with what was going on around her, or at least enough that she was able to recognize that the voice rumbling her ear very much was not the hissing murmur that belonged to Luca Changretta. 

Her lungs stuttered, then almost unconsciously started to match the deep rise and falls of Tommy’s chest against her. 

“That’s my girl,” he said, at her growing still. “Do you see the pictures on the wall?”

She had to squint to make them out in the darkness, but across from the bed she found the painting of a horse standing in a forest, the leaves changing colors with the seasons and fluttering to the grass that the mare was grazing upon in a layer of reds, oranges, and yellows.

Tommy’s cheek was resting against hers, his breath warm against her ear. She could feel the rumble of his voice in his chest when he spoke again. 

“The items on the nightstand?”

Her gaze cast over. To the little lamp. A half filled glass of whiskey. An ashtray dusted with black ash, with too many cigarette butts to count smashed in its center.

“Uh huh.”

“He doesn’t have you anymore.” She felt Tommy relax as he felt the tension in her start to slip away. “You’re safe,” his lips just barely ghosted across her temple. “You’re safe, Lucy. There you go.” 

Certain that she was actually lucid and calmed, he loosened his grip on her, pulling away slightly to flick on the lamp, washing the entire room in its dull, golden glow. Lucy cringed and squinted at the sudden change in brightness. 

Sinking down into the mattress, she drew her arms up to her chest, tremors starting to wrack through her body, eyes welling with tears. Her back connected with the bed, and she sharply jerked away from it with a yelp. 

Whether it was that action that caused the following hurricane of pain, or just what drew her mind’s attention to it, she wasn’t sure. It didn’t entirely matter, the result was the same. She was suddenly deeply aware of just how much everything hurt.                 

It was howling within her, her wounds screaming and muscles aching. Her back once more felt as though it had been set ablaze. Her split skin throbbed. Her shoulders hurt so badly it sent sparks of white flaring across her eyes. 

A sob left her lips, twitching as though she might be able to wriggle away from the pain. But moving only made everything worse. 

“Luce?” And then Tommy was there, leaning over her with wide, worried eyes. “Sweetheart, what is it?”

“H-hurts…” she barely could get the word out, but it was enough. Tommy shot up, reaching for the nightstand, pulling from the drawer the bottle of morphine that the doctor had left for her, along with a prescription for more if she needed it. He snatched up the glass of whiskey, downing the remaining of the amber liquid, then pouring a small amount of her medicine into the glass. 

“Drink this,” he held it to her lips. The morphine was cold as it touched her tongue and slid down her throat. “Come here,” setting the glass aside, he reached out for her, smoothing his hand along the side of her face. “Look at me. Focus on my voice. Just give it a few minutes love, hm? You’ll be okay.”

Just as he said, it took only a few minutes, and the pain was dulled, her eyes starting to feel heavy again. 

“Sorry,” she mumbled, sniffing. Tommy shook his head. 

“It’s okay.”

With a sigh, she let her head rest on his chest. “‘M a fucking mess,” she lamented sorrowfully. 

“No, honey. No, you’re not. You’re just recovering. It’s alright. I gotcha.” He put his arms around her. “Light on or off?”

“Off.” It was too bright with it on. She felt his muscles flex against her as he reached over to flick it off. “You’re a good nurse.”

His chest buzzed pleasantly against her ear with a quiet chuckle. “You’re high as a kite, love.” He kissed the top of her head. “Go back to sleep.”

“You don’t have to stay.” She desperately wanted him to, but she didn’t want him to feel like he had to continue to stick around and gather up the pieces every time she fell apart. There was no doubt in her mind that she’d be waking up screaming and thrashing from nightmares probably for the foreseeable future. He was probably exhausted. He needed to rest too. “I’ll probably keep waking you up…”

“Good.” His thumb stroked her cheek. “I want you to wake me up every time that you need something.”

Her lips pouted with the desire to cry again at how nice he was being towards her. She stroked her fingers lazily across his chest, feeling how warm and strong he was; reassuring herself that she was probably as safe as was realistically possible when in the circle of his arms. 

His fingers curled under her chin, tilting her face up to look into his. “I love you, Lucy,” he kissed her softly, lips soft as a pillow against hers. Tears filled her eyes.

“I love you too.”

He smiled at her gently, placing another kiss between her brows. “Sleep,” he said, and encouraged her to snuggle back down into his chest. 

∗ ∗ ∗

Lucy stared at her reflection in the mirror in the washroom, hands gripping either side of the sink’s basin, knuckles white, lip caught between her teeth. Glassy, dead green eyes looked back at her, their judgment harsh and sharp. 

God, she looked fucking awful.

The bruises on her face had faded into unflattering shades of purple, green, and yellow. Her skin was sickly, eyes bloodshot and surrounded by dark circles.

And that wasn’t even taking into account the rest of her. She looked like she had been patchworked back together, like a blanket with dozens of holes in it that had been mended with other various scraps of fabric. Or maybe like a crude attempt at dressing up like Frankenstein’s monster. 

She knew that the other women–Polly, Ada, Linda, and Lizzie–had all planned to get dolled up in elegant, beaded dresses and expensive jewels and furs for the occasion of Bonnie’s boxing match. There was no way that she could go out like that. The best she would be able to do was dress in layers that would prevent her bandages from getting disturbed too much, and hope that she could hide most of the bruises on her face with makeup. 

Tugging at the white button down and trousers she had already pulled on earlier with Tommy’s help, she frowned, pulling her belt a few notches tighter to cinch more securely around her waist. After three days of being fed only tiny scraps of bread, she had lost weight. Also probably not helped by the fact that she’d barely had the appetite to eat anything save for small servings of chicken noodle soup for most of the past week.  

Leaning closer to the mirror, she dabbed a little more makeup over a bruise on her cheekbone, trying hard not to wince at the way that the movement pulled tightly at her shoulders. 

She did not realize just how much she raised her arms up over her head until she was practically unable to. She couldn’t even grab her favorite mug from the cupboard because it was on a high shelf.                  

A soft knock sounded at the door. “You okay in there, love?” Tommy’s voice called. Lucy sighed, rubbing at her face.

“Yeah, I’m fine. Be out in a second.”

He had hardly left her side for the last week. Even getting him to let her use to loo on her own had taken a significant amount of convincing. But she appreciated the worry. Frankly the idea of not being close to him was enough to have her teetering on the edge of a panic attack. 

Wiping her hands on a towel, she looked herself up and down one last time in the mirror, sighing and determining that this was probably about as good as she was going to be able to manage at the moment. 

When she stepped out into the hall, it was to find Tommy leaning against the opposite wall, turning a cigarette over and over between his fingers anxiously. He straightened when he saw her, wedging the cigarette between his lips and holding out a hand to help usher her back into the bedroom. 

Her fingers fiddled together as she stepped towards the bed, picking up her waistcoat and shoving her arms through the holes, thankful that it buttoned in the front so she wouldn’t have to raise her arms to get it on. Tommy approached her, reaching out to do up the buttons for her, then helping her into her matching suit jacket and coat. 

It felt strange to be in her normal clothes after over a week spent in bed in little more than one of Tommy’s shirts. Not exactly a bad strange, though. It would probably do her good to return to a routine.

Tommy smiled down at her, brushing a fallen curl back behind her ear. “Ready?”

“I look like shit.”

His brows pulled together, thrusting out a hand for her to take so he could draw her closer to him, head angling down to kiss her. “You look beautiful. C’mon.”

His fingers squeezed around hers as he led the way down the stairs and to the door. The fresh air, no matter how smoky, felt good on her cheeks after so many days spent cooped up inside. 

“You know, you don’t have to come if you aren’t feeling up to it. I’m sure Ada would be happy to stay with you,” Tommy said as they walked. His gait was noticeably slower than usual, to make sure that she wouldn’t struggle to keep up. 

Lucy shook her head. The idea of not being with him left her feeling panicky. 

“I want to stay with you.”

“Okay,” he didn’t question her. “But you let me know if you’re in pain. Or if you need to go home.”

“Okay.”

Once they got to the boxing ring, she stood at his side, keeping her cap on despite them being indoors, her head angled down to let the shadows it cast partially hide the bruises on her face. Her arms looped through his, hoping that it looked more like she was just lingering close to him as she so often did, and not because she needed to lean on him for stability. The shouts of men and the crush of bodies crowded together seemed louder and more overwhelming than usual. But that may have been because she was pretty sure that if someone jostled into her too hard, she would tip over.

Just before the first round started, Tommy drew her away, his grip firm to help support her as they weaved through the tight maze of hallways that made up the backrooms.

“I thought it would be good for us to sit somewhere quiet for a minute,” he explained, guiding her to a bench in one of the locker rooms. “How are you doing?”

“Fine,” she took the cigarette that he offered her, leaning into his side when he sat down beside her. He gingerly wrapped his arm around her, resting the side of his head against her hair. 

Her physical ailments aside, what unnerved her the most was her mind. That feeling of numbness and desolation that had overtaken her the day that Tommy brought her home had not abated. Had not even eased at all, really. 

Was this what her mind was to be like, now? Aching and constantly overstimulated? Both simultaneously feeling everything and nothing? 

She did not want to live like that.

“Lucy?” Tommy asked, thumb stroking her shoulder through the material of her coat.

“Thank you for taking care of me,” she blurted out. It really meant a lot; she knew that she wasn’t particularly fun to be around right now, and with the thousands of other things he had to worry about, that he’d chosen to prioritize her was no small thing.

“Love, you don’t have to thank me for that. It’s what we do.”

She allowed herself a small smile at that, despite the unending anxiety that plagued her; that feeling that there was yet another piece of her that had died in that church. A part of her that was lost forever. 

Previous Chapter • Series • Fic • Next Chapter

Thank you for reading! Please consider leaving a comment, reblog, or like. I always appreciate feedback and love getting the opportunity to interact with you and hear your thoughts!

[logansgaar]

the more I'm thinking about this "Bucky Barnes is a mutant who just happened to have a mutation that kinda looked like the super soldier serum's affects" AU the more it makes plausible sense with everything we know about mutants across the marvel cinematic omg

Dormant mutant genetics can be triggered by one of two things: extreme torturous circumstances or exposure to an Infinity Stone (evidence: this is how Wade Wilson and Wanda Maximoff respectively had their x genes triggered.) Pick your poison, Bucky was exposed to both of these things around the same time. He was literally forced to build weapons made from the Tesseract's energy like all the other POWs were, Bucky had extensive exposure to Tesseract radiation (also something Shuri canonically confirms). Bucky was also undergoing extreme conditions being worked to death, he had pneumonia before any of Zola's experiments even began and was on deaths door... how did a man who was practically dead already survive the intensely traumatic experience of having the serum when many men had died on Zola's table before him? Even before Bucky makes it onto Zola's table, a guard beats him nearly to death, breaking his ribs, because he's not strong enough to work anymore due to his pneumonia.

Why did Zola pick Bucky? Out of all the able-bodied men available, after a string of previous stronger men, Zola picked the one who was basically already dead? He risked exposure to a guy with an infectious disease no less who'd just been brutally beaten within an inch of his life with a fucking empty bomb shell thing?, to the point warring inmates teamed up to murder the guard in front of the whole camp, damn the consequences? Gabe Jones didn't think Bucky was going to make it another day and yet he survives without medical treatment, in awful dirty cold damp conditions in the cell, and even less food due to the group punishment for the guard's death for an indeterminate length of time before somehow ending up in Zola's lab.

Unless Bucky was already displaying unusual phenomenon. He was suffering with extreme exhaustion, pneumonia, broken ribs, deep contusions, likely the beginnings of body wasting through the disease and lack of food...his survival is shocking, I think anyone would be shocked to see a man with all that going on getting up and just continuing to live for who knows how long, Zola actively working on replicating the serum might've taken an interest because of this.

What were the Soviet soldiers doing all the way out there where they picked up Bucky? Why did they pick him up? Someone smarter than me also deduced that Bucky likely got himself out and walked some distance before the Soviets found him. Zola hadn't had time to get any messages out as far as we know and his deal with the Colonel didn't start until after Bucky was "gone". Unless the Soviets saw some real freaky shit going on with this random American soldier missing an arm, potentially the same thing Zola saw in the prison camp, and thought hmm we're not sure we want to give him back to the Americans who already have their super soldier (proto cold war with super soldiers instead of nukes...)

From what we know so far, none of the serums currently in use come from Bucky's blood. They come from the multiple different attempts to replicate Steve's serum. The CIA developed a lot of them and Isaiah Bradley's was just the one that happened to work, and Isaiah came before Howard's, and we can infer from that that all current serums stem from Isaiah's blood. Alexei says his serum was developed from stolen blood from a "semi-stable" CIA test subject, which was most likely Isaiah, since not only is Bucky's considered the most stable serum after Steve's, it's hinted that Zola lost whatever he might've done to Bucky when the facility exploded. He was given no time to pack anything up and would've had no way of knowing a possible serum used on Bucky worked at all given Bucky was still strapped down when Steve arrived. It seems unlikely HYDRA never tried to replicate Bucky's serum and it seems they weren't able to, I have two theories about that: they didn't have an Infinity Stone anymore, which Shuri believes was used in the place of Vita Rays, so they couldn't get whatever Bucky's got cooking to work on anyone else for that reason, or Bucky was never a super soldier at all, with no serum in his blood to attempt synthesizing from.

Just for fun: Bucky teleports. He just...pops around. This is complete crack but a common thing with Bucky is him just disappearing and reappearing in new locations that are implausible to reach even for a super soldier. And it's not just weird editing post-production either, characters react to it, it's a deliberate plot detail. Bucky's somehow able to disappear in seconds in front of T'Challa, the Black Panther, and a lobby full of people and none of them know where he's gone. It was a helipad btw. He somehow ended up on the helipad... dunno how he got there. Bucky jumped off a building with nowhere to go and a second later Steve looked, had a clear unobstructed view, and couldn't see where Bucky went. He does it more as WS than Bucky, so maybe as Bucky he's just not consciously aware he can do it so he doesn't, like the whole "I'm right handed so I don't always think to use [the arm]" thing whereas WS uses everything available to him.

Going with the Infinity Stone exposure theory, the stone Bucky was exposed to was the space stone, and the one Wanda was exposed to was first off the mind stone, and she had mind powers (along with the energy we've seen from all the stones) up until after the Infinity Wars where she came into contact with all the Infinity stones then boom, upgrade. Bucky gets shot once by the Power stone, that's it.

[undiscovered-horizon]

🙌🙌🙌🙌 Just read the one you did for me and holy shit, you are such a good writer 😭❤❤ now if it is okay I am going to do angst or on the verge of angst. One with the ragnarsson family ( both female and Male, maybe even ragnars brother if that is okay?). Their reaction if you got seriously injured maybe even dies when they left their house/town for like an raid??? ❤❤❤

Vikings preference: You get injured while they're gone

Ragnar On the outside, he appears relatively calm and collected, asking you what exactly happened. Once he makes sure you're alright in general terms, he goes out to search for whoever did this to you. Tells them that if they have a dispute with him, they could have simply talked to him but now that they have committed to a violent way, Ragnar challenges them to a duel. Fairly obviously, he wins but decides to spare the offender and instead of taking their life, he takes one of their limbs. Having children with him wouldn't really influence his actions, only the severity of his anger and the damage he does to the culprit.

Bjorn He's seething. Bjorn is very well aware that because of who he is, there are many people out there who don't need any more reason beyond that to spill blood. Apparently, if they can't spill his, yours is just fine. His method of solving the problem is finding whoever did this to you, dragging them out of their house, making a huge scene with an exalted speech, only to kill them in one strike in the end. Until you're alright, and he's very sceptical about your assurance, he visits you during the day but never lingers for too long. Bjorn think he should be out there to catch any scheme in the making. If you have a son of age, Bjorn will take his anger out on him partially: the boy was, after all, told to look after you when his father can't. But if you have smaller children, he's definitely not letting them out of his sight for the next month or so. Also prohibits them from spending time with strangers, just in case.

Ubbe Being a prince, part of him expected something like this to happen, so he's not exactly surprised but still, he thought people had more respect towards him and his family. No matter the severity of your injury, he's off to have a 'stern talk' with the offender, which means more or less that he's going to beat them within an inch of their life while making very believable threats of what happens should they try something like that again. Until you get better, only Ragnarok itself can force him to leave your side. But if you have children, the scale is tipped instantaneously and he's not afraid to decrease the population of Kattegat. He's very family-oriented, so a threat towards his offspring is a threat towards him personally.

Hvitserk Grabs Ubbe to get the problem 'sorted out' which comes down to Ubbe holding down the culprit and Hvitserk going absolutely berserk on them. If anyone asks, neither of them knows what happened. Suspiciously, the culprit themself doesn't speak up about how they got beaten nearly to death. Despite the suspicious obliviousness, everyone and anyone who once wished ill will on you are having second thoughts. If you have old enough children, he considers that 'incident' a sign to start teaching them to fight.

Sigurd More baffled than angry. Out of all the Ragnarsons, he's the least notorious, so why in Gods' names did someone specifically go after you? He figures that the offence wasn't really aimed at him but rather at his entire family and the culprit went for whoever was the easiest target. Which doesn't really make him feel any better: you got seriously hurt by random chance, only because you decided to settle down with him and you, apparently, were at the wrong place, at the wrong time. Depending on how severe your injuries are, he's willing to ask Ubbe and Hvitserk to join him in going after the culprit. After that is dealt with, he begins seriously considering moving away from Kattegat. If you have children, he both decides it's time to teach them to fight but if you have a son, he's going to get the short end of the stick: Sigurd will constantly remind him that when he's gone, it's your son's responsibility to defend you.

Ivar He may be a deranged individual but he's not stupid, so he doesn't storm off to fight the offender in a duel - Ivar knows his chances are slim at best. So he thinks of a perfect ruse, something that would lure the culprit into their own demise. It, quite obviously, ends up working and all of Kattegat gets to marvel at his horrendous and yet impressive genius. Whoever dared to raise their hand against you is not publicly begging for death as some of the bravest men around grimace in disgust. The message to his enemies should be considered received. For most of his life, he was quite convinced he couldn't have children so when he finally has them, he's horribly protective of them. And that means his ruse becomes slightly more unhinged.

Aslaug She can't retaliate in an equally violent way but that doesn't really matter - she has her own way of making life Hell for the offender. Aslaug exiles them publically, making sure that all of Kattegat heard about their wrongdoings. As a queen, she can go even a step further and ensure that all of Norway knows what they had done and no family or jarl will ever give them shelter.

Lagertha Publicly promises to kill them but not before a fair trial. It's not really about justice but rubbing their punishment in - in other words, she follows the way of the Gods to make sure that the culprit goes through absolute torture in this life and the next one. Once the verdict is announced, she spares no time in driving her sword through their chest. Similarly to Ragnar, having children doesn't really influence her choice of actions but only how much anger she expresses and the unsavoury language she uses.

[its-in-the-woods]

Chapter six (Final for now), Life's Too Short

Chapter one , two, three, four, five, <- if you missed it.

Cooper howard/The Ghoul x Lucy Maclean

Post end of season 1

No beta.. I tried to edit 🫠

Leaving it here from now.

⚠️ Warning ⚠️

This is fluffy and a lot of smut. Biting, riding, finger fucking, leaving marks, screaming.. it goes on. V and P. Deviates from canon clearly.

🚨+18 only - MDN🚨

Slow burn is over!

Please be nice this is my first fic in almost a decade 🫣

Will eventually post on AO3 once I can get access... or where suggested 🤷🏻‍♂️ Like please tell me I am old and don't know things anymore.

Getting out of the Deathclaw’s territory proved to be tricky. Particularly with a Brahma, the beast was not really happy about being dragged along. There was also the Deathclaw’s head strapped to it. Making sure it got water and something sort of like food was difficult. It made the traveling slow.  By the time they got to the next outpost, Lucy was out of water and Cooper was dangerously low on chems. They had gotten a lot of looks as they walked through the big pieced-together gates. Most went back to whatever they were doing. But some stared. Lucy made sure to keep herself close to the Ghoul. They hadn’t really discussed anything since the warehouse, much too busy trying not to die. But something had changed, the leather-cladded man didn’t scoff when she ran into him. Didn’t mind when she snuggled up to keep warm overnight. The idea of a bed and not being hunted by giant damn monsters sounded amazing. 

The head of the Deathclaw that Lucy had blown up hit the front desk of the outpost hotel. Well if you could call the two-story pieced together building that. The small man looked at the head for a moment, then back at the two of them. 

“I am guessing you want a room?” He raised his eyebrows at the two, his glasses perched on the end of his nose. 

Cooper also grabbed a paper from beside the hotel manager's head and slammed it down beside the head. “Also take the caps for its bounty, and where we could offload a Brahma.”

“Well,” The man looked up over his glasses at Cooper. “The bounty is for the full body of the Deathclaw, and the beast can go to the farm east of the town.”

Cooper leaned closer to the little man. “Want me to ‘ive yah directions to the thing? Or should I walk yah over to the corpse ‘yself?” 

The man had tried to lean away from the Ghoul but he had followed him. Making sure his face was within the inches of the man. Lucy bit her lip, something about watching him take charge did-. Well, it made things get hotter in the room. 

The man stammered, “Let me get my manager and we will sort your caps.” 

Cooper stood up and gestured dismissively at the small man, as he scuttled away. Coop leaned against the desk as Lucy watched the door hand on her pistol. The man came back looking flustered and plopped the bag of caps onto the desk along with the room key. Cooper snatched it up, tipping his hat at the man. 

They walked back into the town, Lucy bartered some of her bits and bobs with a merchant getting herself some radaway and a few stimpaks. As well as some better-fitting clothes, and a new poncho. Then she and the Ghoul walked a little ways outside the camp to trade the Brahma. The farm had looked a little flustered but offered to give them a good supply of dried foods and moonshine. They didn’t want to owe Ghoul but a Brahma was something sorely needed. Cooper had accepted the offer as he was not interested in hauling the animal around. 

Then they were back in town with all the eyes on them. Cooper had disappeared into a particularly shady spot. Dogmeat standing guard in the dingy alley. She made sure to keep her wits about her. The place wasn’t bustling but it wasn’t quiet either. Women sneered at her muttering about Ghoulfuckers. It made her stomach flip again. Was it that obvious? After being on the road for weeks, being beaten to shit by various creatures. She figured she’d had to have started to blend in a little. She looked around again. A couple more men had walked out to look at her. She moved closer to the alleyway entrance, her finger on the pistol. 

“Come on Coop, get the chems.” She muttered her hands mindlessly running over Dogmeats soft fur. 

The longer she stood out there the more people she saw looking at her. She licked her lips, they had become permanently chapped at this point. Maybe they'd be callous over time, like the rest of her. The wounds in her back and thigh still ached. The mark on her shoulder had healed, for the most part, but it still aches if she overused it. A hand touched her hip. She jumped hands on her pistol as she turned Cooper’s crooked grin greeting her. Her shoulders sagged as she leaned against him. 

“Come on Vualtie, let's go see what accommodations we got.” He guided her back toward the hotel.

***

Coop locked the door behind them as they got into the room. It was more of a closet with a somewhat functional toilet and standing shower. But at least they weren’t hiding from any deathclaws tonight. Maybe some pissed-off townsfolk but they’d take that as they came. Right now his eyes were on her. He had gotten a nice stash of Chems from the backdoor pharmacy, they had water and some decent food. As far as wastelanding went they were better off than most. Dogmeat had already settled into the bathroom closest to the door. 

Lucy had placed all their weapons within reach and laid out some food. She had even drunk a good slurp of water, and they could get more too. 

“What do you feel like? They said this was mole jerky, but I don’t know how reputable the vendor was. Plus I haven’t seen a mole that wasn’t glowing in a long time.” Lucy rambled, waving the offending jerky in the air. 

“Not really feeling like eatin’ food,” Cooper stated licking his lips. 

Lucy turned her brows furrowed, she looked up at him. “Oh. Well.” She looked back down at the food and then back up at him. He could see her piecing it together. 

“Oh. Oh. Do you mean?” Lucy blushed and looked down at her feet. 

“Don’t get bashful on me, killer. You nearly blew me up with a grenade and dragged me across the desert barefoot. Stripped me down to my unmentionable and pulled out a damn piece of bone out of my chest. You don’t get to play coy with me anymore.” He stated plainly as he walked towards her, his hand tilting her chin up so he could look at those big doe eyes. 

Lucy licked her lips looking up at him. He didn’t know what she saw in him but whatever it was had her melting in his leathery hands. 

He couldn’t fuckin take it anymore his free hand grabbed at her hips pulling her into him. His mouth clashed against hers as he kissed her. Not gentle like the first time, or even the second time. No, this was hungry. The months of being together, watching her move and change. Her lying on the floor of that fuckin warehouse. No, not anymore. He wanted her and he wanted her now. He wanted her more than he had wanted anyone in two centuries. 

She started pulling at his duster fingers, shaking as she pushed the leather off of him. He grabbed the hem of her shirt and dragged it up off of her. She untucked his shirt and pulled it up over his head. Hat falling onto the ground behind them. Lucy giggled and snatched the hat placing it onto her head, before leaning back into kissing him. She pushed him down onto the mattress sliding herself onto his lap. He groaned as she ground her hips down onto his crotch. He grabbed her hips rocking up against her, eyes rolling back in her head as she felt him press. 

He grabbed one of her breasts in his hand rubbing against the smooth flesh there, fingertips rolling nipples that had Lucy biting her hand trying not to cry out. Cooper batted her hand away. 

“No, no, I want everyone to hear you.” He hissed, pulling her down so he could bite at the top of her breast. 

A small cry squeaked out as he left an indent on her skin. She ran her hands over his head holding it against her skin. He rolled her so he was on top, leaving a trail of fresh bite marks that had the Vaultie rolling underneath him.

His hands trailing along the edge of her pants, she tried to wiggle free of her pants but he held her firm. Licking and kissing along the top edge. Tomorrow if her shirt rode up everyone would see the marks. He wanted them to see the marks. To know that her screams came from him. He bit hard right below her navel and she bucked 

“Oh, Oh, dang it that hurt.” Lucy groaned and pushed his head down. 

“Come on darlin’ tell me whatcha want.” Ghoul grabbed at the edge of her pants pulling them slowly down.

“Just-” Her voice cracked.

“Come on. Say it.” He growled, pulling them a little further down. Her hips moving and wiggling trying to get him to take them off.

“I want you to lick me.” She swallowed looking down at him eyes so dark 

The man grinned, yanking her pants down. Leaving her underwear on, he pushes his shoulder in between her knees pressing his face against her. Breathing her in, she smells so good. 

Lucy lets out gasp her knees pushing against the side of his head as her ankles lock behind his head. His tongue flicked out to go over the thin fabric. 

“Come on, tell me. Tell me what you want me to do.” 

Lucy let out a few strangled sounds as her hands grasped for purchase. He sucked at the wetness coming out through the underwear. 

“Say it.” 

“Ohmy, if you-” She choked again as he kept sucking. “Please- ughn- I want to feel your tongue in me please.” 

“Good girl,” He grinned using a finger to push the thin fabric aside he leaned in and ran his tongue along her. She tasted so good, he groaned and sucked on her lips. Before sliding his tongue down using his fingers to separate her folds, she was dripping as licked in there. Her fingers gripped the sides of his head, as her back arched up pushing him forward. He moved his hands under her ass, lifting her hips towards his face. 

“Oh, don’t stop.” She trembled her body, vibrating as he licked inside of her. 

He pulled his head away licking at his tattered lips and sitting back to admire her. Lucy’s legs trembled as he pulled her underwear off, leaning in to nip at her thighs. She cried out as he left a line of marks up where her thigh and hips met. 

Lucy pushed herself up, staring at him, her eyes lidded, lips red and swollen. “If you don’t-”

“Don’t what?” Cooper hummed, taking his fingers to run up and down between her lips.

Her eyes rolled and she shuttered,” Torturing me,” Her words were stuttered and hardy formed as a finger sunk into the wetness. 

“Not torturing you,” He hushed, “No gulper bait here.”

She gasped as he pushed back and up, hitting a soft spongy spot that made her toes clench.

“Motherfucker,” Lucy gasped as her hips started to push down onto his finger.

The Ghoul leaned forward sucking at her clit as he pushed another finger in slowly. Purposefully dragging it out, making her keen and grabbed at the bed as he scissored and edged her. He watched her for a moment more before he began to a steady pace the wet sounds filling the tiny room. Her hips rolling with him, insides sucking him further in and squeezing tightly.

“That’s it, let it go.” He murmured licking and sucking against her clit. 

Her legs began to shake as her fluids gushed forward as his fingers kept going until she was trying to push him away. 

—

Lucy was a puddle, and there was actually a puddle under her ass at the moment. The damn man between her legs was going to kill her. Nothing in her very small sexual history had felt like that.

Cooper rested his bald head against her thigh as he lazily made circles around the bruises. Then he was moving before she had time to recuperate, his pants clattering to the floor as he snatched that hat off her head. 

“Think this belongs to me, little lady.” He grinned down at her, gold eyes almost black as he pushed his hips forward against her. 

Reaching up she pulled him down on top of her, she was so overstimulated but the hard line of his cock against her was making her want more.  Damnit if she didn’t want it right now. She rolled her hips up and kissed along his jaw. She could taste herself on him, they tasted so good together. 

“Fuck me,” She whispered into his ear taking the lob into her mouth, her hand found away between them fingers running over his hard length. 

“Come again,” He grinned and sucked at a new mark along her neck. 

Her toes curled as she stroked him, fingers pushing at the slit on top making his hips stuttered forward. 

“Fuck me, Cooper,” She said into his ear as her hand tried to get him where she wanted him to be.

He leaned back looking down at her like he had never seen her before, as if he was trying to memorize her features. Then he pushed his way in, and both their mouths opened slightly. The girth made her inside ache as he seated himself as deep as he could go. They stretched a hot fire that made her inside shiver. 

“Fuck, you are so beautiful.” He groaned and began to pull out, Lucy immediately wrapped her legs around his hips trying to get him pushed back in. 

“Nuh-uh,” He grinned as he grabbed her legs and bent her in half. He slid back out and then slammed himself back in making Lucy see stars as he bottomed out. “I am in control here.”

Each word was punctuated with a snap of his hips, Lucy felt like her brain had gone foggy, her mouth hanging open as she pushed back against him. His pace started to increase as he held onto her hips bouncing off of her hips, her breast bouncing. She let her fingers grab at her nipples pulling at them, how was she so close already? Heat spills into her stomach as another orgasm builds up again. 

“I am gonna-” 

He pulled himself out, making her scrambled to try and get him back. The Ghoul placed one large hand on her stomach holding Lucy in place. Cooper grinned from under his hat the tip of his penis sitting right at the entrance. 

“Told you, Princess. I am in control.” 

Lucy growled fighting herself up from under him rolling so that she was on top of him. She grabbed his cock without a second thought and pushed it back in. 

“Oh, oh yes,” Lucy groaned, tipping her head back as she started to move her hips in circles. His hands grabbing at her breast, squeezing, started to move his hips up against her. She tucked her legs a little, hands on his scared stomach pushing herself up and ridding him as he fucked her. 

The heat built as the man’s fingers rubbed at her clit. There was no stopping it now heat uncoiling as her hips moved wet making his dick slip in and out with slick wet sounds. Lucy’s voice came in as she called out his name, her second orgasm making her tremble and bite her lip hard enough that she felt blood. 

Cooper took the opportunity to roll them again, one hand grabbing both of hers and pinning her to the bed. He bit onto her collarbone hard enough to make her wonder if he was going to take a chunk out of her. His hips snapped so quickly as his other hand held her hips close, his eyes rolling close as his own pleasure slipped deep into her. Hips stuttered from overstimulation in jerky motions till he stilled. The Ghoul let go of his bite, a deep mark blooming, his head resting over her pounding heart. His tongue licked out over his lips.

Then he was up, Lucy groaned. Trying to get him to come back, she watched as he walked over to his saddle bag. Muscled body moving swiftly as it dug around for something. She sighed staring up at the ceiling. Her body hurt in many different ways. The marks would be visible for days. Lucy’s fingers came up and felt at the one on her collarbone, clear indents where his teeth had sunk in. Her face flushed realizing that everyone would be able to see that.

The bed dipped and Cooper handed her a bottle, the label was barely readable ‘Rad-x’. Reaching across he also grabbed the flask with water.

“Take two,” He said firmly before getting up again despite her small whines of annoyance. 

She looked the bottle over and uncapped it, taking out two of the pills. They smelled awful, not nearly as awful as some of the bugs she’d eaten. She popped both in and swallowed, they burnt a little but it could have been worse. Sighing she stared at the ceiling, it was stained. Lucy rubbed her face as Cooper came back in with a towel. 

His hand grabbed her ankle and he dragged her to the edge of the bed. She squeaked as he spread her legs and started to clean her. Biting her lip she watched as he carefully wiped her down. Leaning in to kiss the bruises before he tossed the rag into a corner. 

“Thank you,” She giggled, reaching for him, he climbed in dragging her to his chest.

“Anything for you. Life's too short."

I may come back to this, I haven't decided yet. But I like it where it is fo now.  

Let me know! Thanks for reading. More to come <3

[diagonal-queen]

Oh yes please! Something where an enemy of the Port Mafia ambushes reader and leaves her for dead in an ally or something (but obviously Chuuya finds her and she doesn't actually die)

hello again my love, thank you for this! your wish is my command. (btw for context for anyone else who sees this this is the anon who sent me that one tumblr post!)

On the Verge

♡ pairing: Chuuya Nakahara x fem!Reader

♡ synopsis: After being attacked by an enemy of the Port Mafia and left for dead, Chuuya finds you face down in an alleyway and takes care of you (and your attackers).

♡ wc: 2.4k

♡ cw: Violence (reader gets beat up by some meanie heads), injuries (black eye, sprained wrist, fractured rib, cuts, bruises and blood), mentions of death, reader passes out for a bit, swearing, reader uses fem pronouns and titles, mentions of murder, mentions of Mori Ougai. Lmk if I missed anything.

note: I've known for a while how this scenario would go in my head but...my brain didn't give me the words to put on the Tumblr. I'm sorry T-T apologies for errors, and apologies that this is so long, pls forgive me anon ily 🙏

You hadn't expected your death to come so soon, and yet like they always said, your life was flashing before your eyes- as was the fist of your attacker. Attackers, to be accurate; there were two of them, and they were both large. Usually if you were gonna hire a goon, they were either large, good with weapons or had a great ability. These two didn't appear to have any weapons or abilities.

As a mafioso, you'd come to learn that on a regular basis the line between life and death was rather thin. Of course, you didn't go on missions extremely often as an intelligence operator, but even then, simply going out on your own was a risk. Fortunately enough, you were dating Chuuya Nakahara. Most of the time you were rarely anywhere in public without him (or at least without another member), but there were times in which you didn't have a choice.

You had actually been instructed by several higher ups within the organisation to not go out on your own, even if you felt you had to. You didn't listen, though. You and Chuuya had been working on dismantling an organisation rivalling your own, and you were certain that you'd found one of their hideouts that were speckled throughout Yokohama. Unfortunately for you, you were completely right.

Your timing had been rather poor, considering two of their own, clad in their masks that acted as identification badges for members, were on their way to said hideout right when you were. Of course, there was an altercation; you'd been expecting something like that. But you were sure you could get out of there before anything bad happened. That hubris was probably the sole reason you were in your current position.

Laying down on the grimy cement of the alleyway which led to the hideout, bruised and beaten to what you felt to be within an inch of your life. You weren't necessarily used to sustaining serious injuries, even as a mafioso, but you were sure it wasn't good that your eyesight seemed to have deteriorated slowly over the few minutes you'd been on the ground. Not only that, but you felt as if your breathing was rather laborious as well.

You weren't sure if you were going to die, but it sure felt like it. You certainly didn't want to die; you were young, you had a stable career and a great boyfriend and everything was going well. There really couldn't have been a worse time to die, in fact. But as blood spilled from your mouth, and you realised how isolated the area you were in was, you realised that you probably were going to die right there, alone in a dirty alley.

You supposed that at least someone might find your body, and it couldn't be any worse than something like being tossed into the ocean-

"Y/N! Fuck, oh god..." That terrified voice belonged to Chuuya. He sped down the alleyway quicker than lightning, kneeling down to quickly examine you before taking you in his arms and squeezing you. "Oh my god, Y/N- are you alright?"

"...Chuuya..." you whispered, in relief. He was here. He was here now and you were gonna live. You suddenly realised how exhausted you truly were, and almost shut your eyes to sleep at that moment. But you needed to tell Chuuya what happened first, so you sat up as straight as you could in your weary state. "I-..."

Chuuya suddenly took your cheek in his gloved hand and directed your gaze towards him.

"Who did this to you?" He growled. His voice was quiet, but it was frothing with pure unfiltered fury. There was a slight waver in his dangerous tone. Your watery eyes glistened as you locked eyes with him, his stare ferocious. Beneath the thinly veiled wrath, however, you could sense worry. Chuuya was truly worried that you might die.

"...i-it was..." you took a deep, ragged breath. "...them, Chu-"

You suddenly wretched and fell back to the ground. Chuuya quickly caught you and pulled you into his arms as you coughed. A trickle of blood spilled from the edge of your lips. You let out a cry of pain as he tightened his grip on you, but he wasn't looking at you. He was staring into the distance, seemingly preoccupied with something else.

"...Ch-Chuu...ya?" You managed to get out. Your vision was slightly blurred, and your heart was pounding in your head. He cradled your head in his hand and cast his gaze back down to you.

"You're gonna be alright, honey. You're safe now, okay?" Chuuya reassured you gently, brushing some loose locks of hair from your dirty face. "You're gonna be just fine."

"Chuuya..." you repeated, weakly. "There were t-two of them...

"Breathe," he said quickly, though his eyes were still fiery. "Breathe, Y/N. What'd they look like?"

"...the masks, th-they....one of them had...uh, gree-" you interrupted yourself with a cough, feeling the metallic taste of blood fill your mouth. "Eyes, green eyes."

"Right. Do you remember anything else?"

"Uhm...dark cl-clothes, and...how did you find me?" You seemed to have forgotten the question he'd asked. Chuuya bit his lip with worry.

"You hadn't been returning anyone's calls so I came looking for you. I thought that you might have gone investigating so I came here as fast as I could." He told you. "My god, what were you thinking coming out here by yourself? I didn't want you to get hurt doing this!"

"S-sorry, I th..." Suddenly your head rolled back limply. You felt so tired. All you wanted to do was close your eyes and go to sleep.

"Wait, you need to stay awake!" He urged, tapping your hand. "You can't fall unconscious now- stay awake, alright?"

"Mm..."

"Y/N, you need to stay awake," Chuuya told you. "Hang in there, hon. We'll get you home and all better, alright?"

You made a sound of acknowledgement. Or, at least, you thought you did. Chuuya kept insisting that you stay awake as he got to his feet with you in his arms. You felt yourself being jostled around as he carried you away, but that was it. Everything was quiet, all of a sudden.

You couldn't remember the exact moment you fell unconscious, but you didn't feel like you'd been out that long before you had woken up. It was rather dim in the room you had woken up in, and you quickly realised you were in a bed. Your head was thumping. Your face stung.

"Y/N?" In surprise, you quickly turned to see Chuuya who was sitting on the side of the bed, having changed out of his work clothes. He suddenly let out a huge sigh. "Thank fuck..."

"Chuuya?"

"Are you feeling okay?" He asked, leaning over to caress your cheek. "You were pretty bloody earlier. Anything hurt? Any aches anywhere?"

"I..." Admittedly, you were slightly overwhelmed by the questions. You felt extremely lethargic and you couldn't see too well. You lifted your left hand to reach out for him, before noticing that it was wrapped up in bandages. "...wait, I don't think..."

"Don't worry, it's not broken," he told you. You furrowed your eyebrows before glancing around the room, quickly recognising it as your own. You were in the middle of the bed you shared with Chuuya, a few pillows propping you up into a semi-upright position. One of them, a fluffy one that you used when you got sick, was positioned behind your head.

"...we're home?"

"Yeah. It's a little late, though," Chuuya chuckled. "About four in the morning."

"Wh- four in the morning?!" You turned to face the window, only to see the sky a deep shade of blue, tinted with orange in preparation for the sunrise. "Oh my god. Why haven't you slept, Chuuya?!"

"I was too worried to sleep," he answered. "Besides, I'm pumped up on adrenaline anyway."

"Adrenaline?" You frowned. "You weren't that concerned about me, were you?"

"'Course I was! You're my girlfriend. I'm always gonna be worried when you get hurt, Y/N." Chuuya said earnestly. "I don't care how long I have to stay up as long as it means you're alright."

You tilted your head at him, unable to suppress your smile at his sweet sentiment. Still, though, you felt a little guilty for prompting him to forfeit his much needed rest.

"That's so cute, babe. But you must have taken a nap or something since I passed out, right? I mean, it was like...mid-evening. What were you up to that whole time?" You asked, curiously. Chuuya had seemed so upset when he'd found you, and now he was completely fine, if not a little anxious as anyone would expect him to be. Chuuya lifted his leg onto the bed in order to be able to face you better, then began his explanation.

"Well, first of all, I had to make sure you were alive. I brought you home as quick as I could- somehow none of your bones were broken, but you're all bruised up, winded, I'm pretty sure one of your ribs is fractured, and your wrist was sprained. I put some ice on it earlier before I bandaged it up."

"Right...thanks, Chuu." You lifted your hand and examined it. You and Chuuya were always patching one another up, but most of the time it was a lot more light-hearted and domestic. You knew your left eye had to have taken a hit too- it was rather swollen and you couldn't really see too well from it. You could also feel a faint but very present sting in all the small cuts you had earned earlier.

"You were unconscious, so I cleaned you up and changed you into your pyjamas, and locked you in here while I went back out. I didn't really wanna leave you alone or anything, but I couldn't really just call up one of the others to bring them here, y'know?"

"That's why we need a guard dog, Chuuya," you remarked, making him smile. "But...you went back out? To buy something?" You asked, under the innocent assumption that Chuuya had gone emergency shopping for chicken soup or something of the sort, to treat your poor state.

"Hm? No. I went to find those pricks that left you like that. And I killed them," he said, bluntly. Your eyes widened.

"Wh- you did? How'd you find them?"

"I had help from Kouyou," he answered, and you gave him a nod. "You and I were actually pretty close to closing our investigation. Her input was pretty useful, though- we probably should have asked her advice from the start. We cracked it pretty quick and I got the go-ahead from the boss, and so a squad and I took 'em out almost immediately."

"Is that right?" You asked, impressed. "Well, I'm glad our late nights and all that were worth it. I thought they'd have been a more formidable opponent, though..."

"Yeah, sure. If they hadn't messed with you, maybe they would've been. But I was pissed, especially when I found the guys who beat you up. I'd have let you have the kills but, y'know...you were asleep and shit. So I handled it for you, promised Boss a report by this afternoon, and came back here to see if you were still alright." You blinked at his explanation, incredulously.

"That's...a lot, in a few hours. He gave you until this afternoon?"

"This one operation was pretty impromptu, and you were out of commission. He knew I had to take care of you afterwards, even if you did manage to get out with only a black eye and a fucked up rib and wrist," Chuuya answered, glancing down at your bandaged hand. "Plus, I didn't get any of the details of the attack from you so I couldn't provide that information. He's gonna wanna see you as soon as you're well enough."

"Right...yeah, should've expected," you heaved, shifting in the bed. "The Port Mafia's pretty brutal, huh?"

"Hah...yeah, you're right. But I don't think that's really bad, right?"

"I guess it certainly helps when your boyfriend is a gravity wielder..." you nodded, with a smile. "Are you alright, though? Did you get hurt or anything?"

"Pfft, barely." He shook his head. "I'm fine. I was just worried about you, so I'm glad that you're alright." Chuuya took your hand in his and ran his thumb over your knuckles. "Do you need anything? Hungry?"

"No, babe, it's fucking four in the morning. You need to go to sleep. You're gonna collapse at any minute!" You insisted, taking his hand in your own. Searing pain shot through your arm and you recoiled, scrunching up your face. "Ow! Shit..."

"You alright?" He hastily picked up your forearm which lay limp over the blanket and gave it a very slight rub. "You're probably not gonna be able to use it for a while..."

"Fuck," you cursed. "Well, I guess it could've been way worse. You know what would really make me feel better right now, though?"

"What's that, love?"

"If you got into bed with me and we went to sleep," you answered, patting the spot beside you. "C'mon, Chuu. I mean it. You gotta sleep now, alright?"

Chuuya rolled his eyes, but still climbed under the blanket as you moved aside to leave him some room. You watched as he adjusted the pillows behind you, making it easier for the two of you to sleep there together.

"You feeling okay? Everything comfortable?" He asked.

"Yep! I feel just fine. Aside from the bodily injuries, I mean."

"Aw, honey..." he cooed, bringing you into his arms slowly and loosely so as to not cause any chest pain, and then planting a kiss on your forehead. "Sorry I didn't get there sooner."

"It's not your fault, Chuuya!" You said, softly. "I'm just glad it's all over with now."

"That is a relief, yeah," he agreed. "You don't have anything to worry about anymore."

"Mm..." You hummed, your faces close. "Thanks for fixing me up, Chuuya. Means a lot."

"It's nothin', really. I'd do it a thousand times over if I needed to. Just...don't go out on your own to that place again, alright? I hate seeing you get hurt."

"...yeah, I got it," you answered, playing with his red hair with your unaffected hand and joking, "Next time, I'll just bring you with me."

never written whump fic before so i hope it's okay 🌸 (does this even technically count??) i want someone to take care of me the way chuuya takes care of y/n <3 don't get me wrong i love taking care of people! it's just that maybe it would be nice to be the one who's being taken care of for a change yk 🤧

[weirdbeancurd]

Attempted Apologies, Chapter 2- ULTRAKILL Fanfic

Chapters: 1 2 3

Ao3 (Link)

@vallianttreedreamland i finally did something woohoo, sorry for the long wait, I've been pretty busy and just didn't have much motivation haha

Takes place in an AU where the prime souls live, and Gabriel and V1 live on the surface as apocalyptic roommates. (oh my god they were roommates)

Summary: Gabriel attempts (key word: attempts) to apologize to Minos and Sisyphus for their executions, but it doesn't go as well as he had hoped. Chapter 2 out of 3. (sorry this chapter's a bit short)

Ao3 Link: https://archiveofourown.org/works/54146200/chapters/142518682#workskin

Two kings stand awkwardly around the fallen angel, the only indicator he's still with them is the slow rise and fall of his chest.

“We are not burying him alive,” Minos says, slipping his hands under Gabriel’s limp body. “Though it is tempting, I must admit.”

Sisyphus raises a brow at the questionable remark. Minos did have his occasional mischievous streaks.

“Ah, but I jest.” He chuckles, lifting Gabriel with ease, his helmet lolling to the side. Sisyphus swears he hears Minos whisper, “Or do I?,” but doesn’t comment. He shakes his head fondly, as if there isn’t a badly beaten angel in the other’s arms. Minos glances down at the bundle resting against his chest, who finally appears to be at peace. Perhaps I was a bit harsh on him, he ponders, but that notion is abruptly squashed when he spots his forsaken city through the window. Kind faces of townsfolk flash through his mind, men and women who openly expressed their gratitude with smiles and “hellos.” The renaissance was truly a sight to behold. He recalls the children gleefully placing dandelions in his crown, bowing his head to allow for it. People flocked to him for advice and he gave it freely, and all of it for nothing. His words were null against the edge of an angelic blade. Their voices, silenced forever. He hadn’t even the heart to move their corpses from their beds. Anger renewed, the idea of putting Gabriel in the ground doesn’t seem so far fetched anymore.

It takes the will of a man far greater than himself not to drop them right then and there. Instead, Minos adjusts his hold before begrudgingly carrying him over to a spare bedroom. Sisyphus follows; boredom quickly sets in in the lust layer with its citizens gone, so any source of entertainment is a good one. Placing him gently on a queen-sized bed, Minos’ eyes do a once over on Gabriel’s broken body. Blood is caked to his tunic in several places, painful looking bruises littering his ebony skin. Loose feathers fall upon the bedsheets, stemming from the bare patches on his wings where Sisyphus had manhandled him. The king curiously cards his fingers through the feathers, attempting to pluck a few bloodied ones. Pluck. A whine escapes the angel’s lips. Minos ignores him. Pluck. His wings twitch pathetically, dislodging even more feathers. Pluck. Pluck. Pluck.

“Please, no more,” Gabriel gasps, trying to rise from the bed. “I yield, I yield. Just. Don’t hurt them.” He sounds as vulnerable as the day he was created.

Minos and Sisyphus share a wary look and study the cowering body before them; his unsuccessful attempt to get up left him weak, ordinarily strong muscles shaking from exertion, trembling under their own weight. Or was he shivering? Gabriel’s skin shines with sweat, fingers desperately grasping at the blanket to pull over himself. Minos places a hand against his chest, sensing the heat radiating off of him before his digits even touch down. He feels like the scorching sands of Greed, like his blood boils hotter than the sun. With the way he feverishly tosses and turns, one can reasonably deduce he's delirious. Getting beat within an inch of your life tends to do that to a person.

Gabriel's good wing curls around him protectively, obscuring his face. Minos gently pushes the limb aside, noting how he’s met with little resistance. 

"Wouldst thou explain thy words?" He tries to keep his voice soft, despite the resentment brewing just below the surface.

"Ngh. S-stop. Raphael did nothing wrong,” He ducks his head, body wracked with quiet sobbing. “It’s my fault, I’m sorry.” His fingers twitch, too weak to even grasp at the bedsheets. "I-I beg of you, holy council. Please…" Gabriel's voice trails off into heavy breaths. He's gone limp once more, exhausted by his fitful writhing.

Minos feels an ember of sympathy growing in his heart and quickly tries to snuff it out. However, that little flame is persistent, and no amount of smothering seems to dampen its fiery spirit. He kicks sand at the tinder, he douses it with water, but nothing works. I believe I finally understand why Sisyphus says compassion is my weakness, he laments to himself. It seems the council's abuse was not just limited to hell’s subjects, but to Gabriel as well. Minos could only glean so much from his fever-ridden rambling; something about torture and a name he's never heard before. But whoever they are, they're close enough to Gabriel to be used as leverage.

"I can't believe I'm saying this, but I think I liked it better when he was being annoying." Sisyphus grumbles. Minos manages to give him a strange look despite lacking any facial features. "A weakened opponent makes for a dull fight," he hastily tacks on. If Minos could give him a deadpan stare, he would.

He spends the next hour tending to Gabriel’s wounds, weaving stitches into skin. Sisyphus is engrossed in a novel, handing Minos tools when the occasion arises. As time trudges on, Sisyphus finds himself becoming impatient. He places his book face down on the arm rest, being sure not to crease the pages. His legs ache from disuse as he makes his way over to the makeshift operating table. Gabriel’s condition doesn’t appear to have improved, his tunic still stained sanguine-red. At least he’s still breathing, he thinks.

“How much longer until he wakes?”

“That I am unsure. His healing is much delayed, due to his fall from grace, no doubt. We’ll have to wait and see, my friend.” Minos goes back to stitching the lesion on the angel’s stomach, who squirms in response. 

Even unconscious, he seems…disturbed. Sisyphus’ brows crease, taking in his suffering. Their fingers curl in on themselves, as if grasping for something that isn’t there, trying to catch the wind. Perhaps they’re searching for someone: a someone who is no longer here. He remembers receiving the news of Minos’ execution, the sheer anguish overwhelming his senses. He vowed to avenge them, to tear Gabriel limb from limb, but knowing about them what he knows now, would he still seek retribution? They’re just another lost soul, trying to find themself, driven by fear and threats. It’s all so convoluted that he opts to ignore the clashing, swirling thoughts in favor of clearing his mind. He wrinkles his nose. The scent of iron is becoming bothersome. 

Curious of their health (and for lack of anything better to do), he leans down, listening for their breath, their faces almost touching.

“Sisyphus. What art thou doing, he does not need-”

He hears a sharp gasp in his ear, pulling back just in time to avoid being headbutted. Gabriel wakes up with a start, letting out a scream and desperately trying to scramble away while shielding himself with his uninjured arm. Minos, on the other hand, is fruitlessly trying to stop his graceless flailing; those sutures are fragile, and by the way the king is swearing, he’s definitely torn a few. Grabbing his wrists doesn't seem to be working, the angel wrenching his arms away in sheer panic. Not such a warm welcome back to the land of the living.

“Oh, stop overreacting. My face isn’t that appalling,” Sisyphus huffs. His joke goes unappreciated.

After an infuriating tussle and a few choice words from Minos, he manages to pin his arms to his sides.

“Would…thou…cease thy senseless struggle?” He sounds like he’s gritting his non-existent teeth, frustrated panting interrupting his words. Gabriel starts to untense his muscles, still a bit rattled from the unwanted wake up call.

“W-what happened? What is-”

“You passed out from your injuries,” Sisyphus says. “Keep that blood inside your body next time.” Gabriel bristles, incredulous. He’s too offended to realize the man he’s arguing with could very well eat him for breakfast. Blame it on the blood loss.

“What? You were the one who beat me to a pulp! If anything, this is your fault.”

“Enough with thy bickering,” Minos interjects, making a shooing motion with his hand. “If thou cannot control thyselves, leave at once. Childish squabbling will not aid in the healing process.” Sisyphus has known Minos long enough to know that statement’s targeted towards him. He scoffs, but removes himself without further complaint. Which leaves just Gabriel and Minos. Alone. In silence. He makes an effort to keep his gaze lowered when the other roughly snatches back the needle and motions him to lay back down, clearly in a foul mood.

Oh joy, he thinks. I do hope Minos can suture quickly.

I tried to go more into depth with Sisyphus' and Minos' character this chapter (and the next one). It's going somewhere, I swear!

ok so this fic was originally gonna be 2 chapters, but it's now gonna be 3, since if I don't split it up, the second chapter would be like twice the length of the first lol (and it's taking forever)

Feedback and comments are always welcome! :D