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caustinen · 4 months ago

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i saw this video and the brainrot overcame me and i wrote 2.4k words of secret agent!bucky and bond girl!gale except that actually he’s the son of a mob boss that works as a double agent

tags: smut / feelings / angst / injuries / tending of injuries

enjoy?

hold me like a knife (ao3)

It takes only three simple words, and the pain in Bucky’s wounds seem to vanish at once as he fighst a grin — his first smile for days.

”You look horrible.”

Gale speaks in his matter-of-fact and yet oddly tender tone as always, as if he was just observing facts that had no real implications for him; it’s the very same tone that caught Bucky’s interest in the first place before he ever even saw his face.

He loses the fight with the grin, though it’s quickly overcome with a grimace as he leans to the doorframe and accidentally touches on a fresh bruise. ”I missed you too, doll,” he manages to sound nonchalant, at least to his own ears, but the slight tightening of Gale’s expressions reveals he has been caught. A gentle but determined hand reaches for the collar of his jacket and pulls him into the hotel room, Bucky making sure to kick the door closed behind himself. The lock clicks just as soft fingers run down the less bruised side of his face before he’s guided down so the shorter man can press a careful kiss to his lips. His own hands land on his shoulders, running up and down his biceps and squeezing lightly. He’s like a child who has gotten his favorite plushie back after a vaction, he supposes, as he seeks the comfort of touch with the despair of a starving man.

The kiss starts light, careful, Gale clearly trying to determin how much Bucky is hurting — the lower lip is slightly swollen from where it split to a knife — but as Bucky presses himself closer and tries his luck with a tentative lick between his lips, Gale sighs before opening up to him. Bucky only realizes how tense he has been when his shoulders drop and he relaxes into Bucky’s embrace. The hitched breathes and sighs and wet sounds of their lips meeting fill the silence between them, and Bucky can feel life bleed back into him with each little silent ngh that Gale probably doesn’t even realize he’s making.

The slowness molded by the simple pleasure of the other’s body heat close starts to vanish into real passion, the touch of their mouths getting more demanding, but unfortunately a nib of Gale’s teeth on his tender lip makes him hiss in pain, immediately pulling Gale farther away. Bucky doesn’t let him go far, hands now secured around the small of his back, and Gale doesn’t fight him either. He’s blushed by their effort and his lips are slightly swollen now too as his eyes travel over Bucky’s face once more, no doubt noting each of his visble wounds and calculating how many he’s hiding underneath his suit. His eyes stop on the three hazardly done stitches on his left eyebrow, and Bucky knows he doesn’t need to tell him he’s put them there himself, just now on the plane.

He might tell him later, when they’re cooling down under a single blanket and Gale’s playing with his hair or fingers and he doesn’t have to look him in the face as he talks because he knows Gale will be latching on to each word, not missing a single unvoiced moment of pain and fear from his story that he’s not ready to admit even to himself.

Gale hums. He looks like he’s deep in thought, but Bucky can tell he’s still more alert than most people are when they really put their mind to it, just by the virtue of his upbringing. The thought physcally aches somewhere deep in his insides and Bucky realizes more than ever what a bad idea it was to come here like this, he’s clearly too in his feelings to be acting rationally, too raw from the gruelling assignment and worrying about Gale. His arms around the smaller man tighten without his permission but Gale doesn’t comment on it, still carefully mapping out his face with his gaze and fingertips.

”You should be at a hospital,” he finally says, whispers, really, the worry and relief he’s still at one piece battling each other over every syllable. Bucky swallows the lump from his throat and forces a grin. They don’t have long, they never do, and he’ll be damned if he made it all the way back just to crumble at his feet.

(Gale would let him, and pick him back up and put together no matter how many pieces he’d be in, and that’s why he won’t.)

”Nah,” Bucky says, satisfied with how truly carefree he does sound that time, ”I had to come see my baby first.” The endearement works wonders like always. Gale let’s out a silent breath and his eyes soften despite shaking his head slightly before reaching for another kiss. It’s softer, again, taking them back to the start, and that’s fine with Bucky, he’s too tired and tender for all these emotions right now. ”Well, you’re not gonna bleed all over my sheets,” Gale tells him as he pulls back again, ”c’mon, let’s get you cleaned up.”

Bucky lets his mind fade into a pleasant hum in the background as Gale unburdens him from his suit layers, biting his lip unhappily as he uncovers the bruising and cuts all over his torso but not saying anything. Bucky’s merely an observer as he’s pushed into the shower, the water pleasant rythm on his tired body. He leans to the cold wall and closes his eyes, unsure how long he just stays there taking it in before the door opens and closes with silent clicks and a smaller body presses against him. He keeps his eyes closed when Gale washes his hair, humming in content, following the gentle guidance of sure hands he trusts with the essances of his soul. He opens his eyes when Gale’s hands make a long stop on his cheeks again after rinsing the shampoo of. He finds his doll eyes looking at him, thoughtful and scared and thankful and suddenly Bucky feels chocked up again so he takes his face between his hands and presses his lips to the blonde’s forehead and tastes the clean water there.

After quickly washing his own hair under Bucky’s interested eyes Gale drags them out. For himself he pulls on a bathrobe before taking using one of the towels for Bucky’s curls and then the other for delicately tracing down his torso between all the marks of violence. Bucky stays silent even when he starts to disinfect the cuts, giving away his exhauston completely, but the silence is soft like a protective cushion between them and the world.

Once he’s happy Gale takes him by the hand and pulls him after himself. Bucky’s back hits the mattress and he suddenly feels all the tiredness at once at the soft embrace of the clean sheets, and then immediately after wide awake again as Gale’s thighs settle on both sides of his lap, hands automatically coming to rest lazily on his hips as Gale leans over him on all fours to press airy pecks all over his abused face — his temples, cheekbones, eyelides, side of his nose, the sharpest edge of his jawline — as if trying to force a protective spell, or a blessing, upon his skin.

”Sweetheart,” Bucky murmurs dreamily as the other keeps going down from his face, pressing his face into his neck and collarbones and inhaling him like an addict looking for his fix. Gale hums in answer absentmindedly and kisses his way further down. He kisses each of the bruises softly, nibbing at the parts of his skin that are not injured, letting the skin go up and down with his teeth, never biting hard enough to actually hurt but leaving his little signatures everywhere on his abs, navel, hip-joints.

Bucky’s hands have found reign in his hair at some point, long fingers twisted in wet strands and pulling just a little when Gale breathes against the base of cock, pressing his lips there and giving the sensitive skin between his dick and balls like it was something sacred. Bucky hisses in want as Gale guides both of his knees over Gale’s shoulders when he gives more admiring kisses to his manhood, asking to be pressed down to the bed with Bucky, to be let to be lost in their pleasure for just a moment.

Gale goes down on him like he wants to regain him, almost like he wants to hurt him too to replace memories of everyone else hurting him. Bucky groans as his throat clicks when he gags on him, and then moans immediately after, doing it again and again. It’s lewd and dirty and perfect. John can do nothing else but take it and whisper soft praise, ”So good for me darling”, ”Just like that”.

Gale pulls back to breathe properly, and Bucky drags him sitting up by his hair, making Gale whine with a wide smile on his face. ”Show-off,” Bucky accuses him quietly, with a fond little smile, their dicks rubbing together as Gale sits on his lap again. The blondie laughs into the kiss as Bucky turns them around, backing Gale up until the top of his hair is touching the metal frame of the bed.

They stare at each other there for a moment, Bucky taking his time now to look at him, pressing the image to his mind for moments when the warmth of the younger is just a distant memory. Gale bites his lip again, but this time with a happy grin, as Bucky bullies his thighs apart with his own and then presses down on him until his calves are trapped between them. ”Are you sure?” Bucky scoffs, shaking his head. ”Sweetheart. The day when I respond to that ’you know what, I’m good actually’ I want you to end my life with a tool of your choice.” Gale makes a disapproving clicking sound with his tongue but reaches to play with Bucky’s curls again with his left hand, softness in his eyes that makes him look younger. Pain swirls through John at the sight. ”I’m really okay just having you close-” Bucky shuts him up by licking at his lips. ”Shh. Let me, baby.” Gale falls silent, looking up at him with stars in his eyes, and it scares Bucky he knows how much he trusts him. ”Please, let me,” he whispers against his lips again. Gale nods.

John takes one hand to each of his own and presses them gently to the headboard. A soflty whispered ”stay” and then ”good boy” as Gale wraps his slender fingers around the metal there makes the blonde’s breath hitch. John keeps his hands there for a bit before running them down his arms, lips locked in a passionate kiss, the little noises Gale makes into it driving him wild. His own cock is aching and Gale’s drying saliva is cooling and making him extra sensitive, but he still takes his time prepping Gale carefully, taking care of him like he took care of him earlier in the bathroom.

He pulls his three fingers out when Gale’s sounds get loud and keening despite his best efforts of muffling them — there’s no need to be quiet here, but old habits die hard. He lubes himself up and sits up straighter on his knees between Gale’s legs. Gale is breathing hard, chest heaving between them, his hands still around the metal. John leans down to kiss him to not tell him how much he loves him and then pushes into him as Gale’s moans fill his lungs.

He can’t keep kissing him for long, the sudden need to take him hard overwhelming and immediate. There’s spit connecting their heart-shaped lips as Bucky presses his hands on the mattress on both sides of Gale’s head and puts his back into it, his pain, his frustration, and Gale throws his head to the side and smiles, and Bucky’s heart aches again so he fucks him harder, drinking in the happy sighs with his eyes and ears alike.

He notices that Gale’s arms are shaking with the effort of keeping them against the frame so he slows down for a moment, reaching for his hands again and carefully pulling them towards the core of them, waiting for Gale to have them wrapped around his neck before he drives into him slower but deeper. Gale’s gasping for breath with each thrust, his eyes closed and face focused on pleasure, and Bucky would like nothing more than to drag this out until the morning but he knows he needs to rest, and he’d rather fall asleep with Gale wrapped around him than see him leave at dawn to return for the shadows assigned to him.

Gale opens his eyes and they stare at each other, Bucky momentarily posessed by the hazy blue that looks up at him in melancholy, in need, in hope, in love. Bucky is immediately resigned, he wants to tear up his chest and stop feeling or stop the time and stay like this forever. He will give Gale anything he needs, anytime he can.

”In me,” Gale pleads him, and Bucky presses his lips to his forcefully now, overcome by the image of Gale pulling on his clothes and going back to his betrothed with Bucky still dripping from him. He whines aloud at the thought and gives it to him harder, better, louder, and Gale murmurs praise and gratitude into his open mouth before throwing his head back and coming between them. Bucky follows him there and then the room is silent again, both of them breathing hard, the sweat cooling between them. Gale has hidden his face to Bucky’s hair, away from the world, his arms hugging tightly around his neck, wanting to morph into this moment and only breathe the cheap hotel shampoo for the rest of his days. Bucky mouths at his neck, yearning to mark the pure skin that’s not his to claim, at least if he cares about keeping his Gale alive.

Bucky turns them carefully to their sides, slipping away from him. Gale feels suddenly cold and pushes himself closer so he can stay away from the room and the world beyond it for a moment more. Bucky makes a soothing cooing sound for he can’t say to him anything to make it better, and hugs him thight when he feels the first sob force it’s way out of his lover. He’ll hold him close for as long as he can, caress the perfect valleys of his back, and pray they both live to have this fleeting moment again.

#genuinly no idea where this came from and i don’t even know if i like it i’m so bad with angst (and smut)#buck x bucky #clegan #mota #masters of the air #gale cleven #john egan #gale’s dad sold him to marry the next in line of anlther gang to settle his debts #and he made a deal with the fbi to help to bring them all down but that means he’s stuck in the double life for now #and everytime clegan meets it’s playing with both of their lives but esp gale because if his man finds out???#kinda wanna write a super dark continuation like that where bucky would save him at the last minute #writing #agent/mob au #buck #bucky

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good-beanswrites · 10 months ago

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I can't stop thinking of Kyanako's Order of Attack au... there's something so moving to me about how things getting so much worse could be what finally causes Amane to get better -- seeing Fuuta dying may be the final straw of getting her to rethink her rejection of medicine. Been a while since I've attempted something whump-y, this was fun to work with.

Tw for mentions/contemplation of death. I don't go into detail about the cult but the doctrines are implied through it all.

Fuuta was not a big fan of dying.

When he imagined his own death, he always pictured it as something dramatic and fast. Action heroes going out in a show of explosions and gunfire. Fantasy characters meeting the shining end of a blade. Even when he accepted his place in Milgram, it filled his mind with images of gallows and electric chairs.

Whatever this slow, lengthy fever was, it was pissing him off.

He’d lost all sense of time. He could no longer tell which hour the prison bells were marking -- morning and night blended together. Dreaming and waking blended together. His head injury and broken leg and broken bones blended together. It was all just pain at the end of the day. He had nonstop visitors that kept him awake and asked him too many questions and prodded his injuries and made his head spin. Somehow, he was simultaneously alone every time he rolled over to talk to someone. Painfully, suffocatingly alone.

If Kotoko was going to kill him with those ridiculous emo boots of hers, she should have just done it. He was losing his mind here: devoid of all energy, suffering through broken bones and a cracked head, and boiling in an increasingly fiery fever. Maybe that was the reason he stopped commenting when he watched Amane pocket the medicine Shidou had left him. Maybe that was why he’d stopped following Shidou’s instructions himself. Even after losing an eye and taking a beating herself, Amane always looked at peace. He was tired of dealing with all of this. He wanted a bit of that peace.

Regardless of why, it was working. His fever had quickly gone from the biggest pain in his ass to the very thing that dulled his racing thoughts.

He awoke suddenly, or maybe he’d already been awake. He couldn’t feel anything in his limbs. There was only a breathless heat around him. He raised himself into a sitting position, looking for a drink. Moving his head felt like one of those glitching computer windows that leaves a trail of copies behind it. The room swam around him. His eyes moved absently around him.

Fuuta picked up the glass that someone had left him. His fingers were clumsy, and it immediately went crashing to the ground. He hardly heard the noise as it broke apart on the concrete below.

He swung his legs over the side of the bed. He’d just go get a drink himself. Shidou told him not to get up without help. But what did he know? Thinking of the man ordering him around only drove Fuuta to step out of bed even quicker. He cried out, pain shooting through his leg. That was right, it was broken…

Fuuta looked down, finding himself on the ground. It was so hot. Maybe this is what she felt, he thought numbly. Was it this slow for her too? Probably not. She had no regrets to fill the time like he did. The heroes got quick, beautiful deaths, and it was the villains who had to suffer the long ones.

He lifted his right palm from where it had caught his fall. The shattered glass on the floor had cut into it. Shattered glass? What had broken? He stared blankly at the blood dripping down.

He didn’t have the strength to raise himself up. He was burning. Why was he on the ground? Was he bleeding? He could barely breathe. What was he doing here, anyway? He just wanted to curl up and sleep. He was so weak... just to lie down... he wouldn't have the strength to get back up again. Was that such a bad thing...?

A voice caught his attention. His eyes struggled to focus on the figure who’d come running into the cell. He couldn’t understand a word of what she was saying, but he was happy when she pressed her cool little hands against his forehead.

He allowed her to prop him up next to the bed. She held onto his hand, squeezing it tight. Why was she holding it like that? That hand was bleeding. When did that happen?

Her arms wrapped tightly around him. He wanted to shove her away -- it was too hot -- but couldn’t. In his ear, he could make out her words. “I’m sorry. I’m so sorry. Please, Fuuta. Don’t leave me alone. I’m so sorry...”

As she pulled back, he recognized Amane. Her uninjured eye was filled with tears. Was she upset? He thought he’d been making her happy. He wanted to keep making her happy. He’d never made anyone happy before.

He opened his mouth to say something, but no words would come out. They all scrambled up in his mouth. He felt the cell swirling around him.

Amane raised her voice. She looked desperately upwards. “This can’t be --! This isn’t right!”

Fuuta looked up at the ceiling. There was nothing there.

“I can’t do this anymore.”

She continued talking. Fuuta was too busy studying the ceiling. She was shouting. Or maybe crying. Fuuta didn’t like that she was so upset. Huh, had there been someone there? He surveyed the empty cell. What was he doing on the ground?

He looked down at his hand. The sheet from his bed had been pulled down and wrapped hastily around it. Why? His eyes felt sticky as he blinked. Everything hurt. It was so hot. What was going on? He was so angry. He was so scared. He wanted to cry. Why was he here? Why couldn’t he just hurry up and die already?

The next time she entered, Fuuta recognized Amane instantly. Her one hand pointed to him, the other held onto someone else. The second figure hurried over to him.

Fuuta was not a big fan of dying. Shidou reassured him he wouldn’t.

—

“You’re wearing the eyepatch,” Fuuta observed.

He was playing a dangerous game, drawing attention to it like that. He was too exhausted, and his curiosity won out over his better judgment. If Amane was going to explode with one of her typical speeches, he’d just let her.

She didn’t.

Amane’s hand drifted up to her eye. It had been hastily covered before, but now it was cleaned and wrapped in professional-grade materials. She simply said, “Kajiyama Fuuta. How do you feel?”

“Like shit.”

“But--”

“-- But I’m better, yeah.”

Amane nodded, her shoulders releasing.

“Oi, I haven’t seen you in a while. Not since…” He wasn’t sure how to finish the sentence. Shidou had told him what happened, but it was difficult to believe. He couldn’t quite trust his own memory of the night. No matter how much clearer his mind felt since receiving proper treatment, those days of fever still muddled together. He heard that Amane had up and switched her beliefs overnight -- she was now complacent about all of Shidou's treatments -- but Fuuta knew people didn't just change like that. He wanted to hear it for himself.

She lowered her gaze in shame. “I… I thought you hated me.” Her voice was steady. “As you should. I almost killed you. I accept any ill will you may feel.”

“I -- what? You’re wrong. You… it wasn’t…” He grabbed his head, grunting in frustration.

After standing awkwardly in the entryway the whole time, Amane took a few steps inside. She made it to his bedside when he finally collected his thoughts.

“It was your fucked up family or whatever that caused everything. They did this. And I went along and made things worse.” He looked away. His next words felt stupid to say to a little kid. He felt like the most pathetic, weak, loser. But it was too important not to say.

“They almost killed me. You saved me.”

#milgram #fuuta kajiyama #amane momose #i am emotional about them!!!#my other drabble between them hinted that fuuta would convince her away from her dangerous beliefs before things got too bad #but i wanted to see what would happen if things Did get bad ya know #we were talking about what could convince amane to think twice about the medicine ban (if anything)#and i think seeing her closest friend is literally on deaths door finally gets through to her #shes sees him weak and bloody and completely out of it and knows this is Wrong #i dont know how long it takes fuuta to realize that it really was all for him that she changed but he does accept it eventually #it helps both of them grow #he feels worth saving (and therefore worth turning his life around) and she is freer from her cult #not completely #but one step at a time #tried to make fuutas narration simpler and shorter to reflect his thoughts but idk if that worked #i thought they were going to do a lot of stuff with mahirus head injury and memory but they never did- i played around with that a bit here #i thought about writing out amanes monologue to her god about how shes not doing this anymore but 1. its more dramatic to leave that to #the imagination and 2. idk if its silly but some things are so personal for a character and i dont wanna intrude... like yeah its my #story but thats between her and god fr #drabbles #tw cults #tw child abuse

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