#swollen veins in leg Chicago

[sheetsonfire]

Hostage | Part 2

Summary: Y/N is a Firefighter at Firehouse 51, they get taken hostage inside the Firehouse with Casey's niece, Violet.

Fandom: Chicago Fire / Chicago PD / Chicago Med

Characters: Reader x Kelly Severide, Sylvie Brett, Stella Kidd, Connor Rhodes, Ethan Choi, Maggie Campbell, Jay Halstead, Will Halstead, Firehouse 51, Chicago Med.

Warnings: Swearing, violence, injury, medical trauma

Word Count: 2882

This is Part 2 | Here is Part 1

You're vaguely aware of the commotion around you, Sylvie immediately making sure you’re hooked up to the monitor, taking in your vitals as Kelly, with gloved hands, is pressing firmly to keep the blood flow from your thigh to a minimum, the gauze applied at the scene now sodden in a rust colour. You feel like the sirens only drift further from your ears as your body fights to stay awake, shock and blood loss making itself known. You're so used to being on the other side of all this, it feels like a bad fever dream.

Sylvie’s flying through the motions as she does every check she’s supposed to, keeping an eye on Kelly who’s putting pressure on the gunshot wound.

You were desperate to feel warmth again, instead, it was a cold rush of fear in your veins, Kelly's too. You wish could take that all away from him, you want to speak reassuringly, but it comes out in a stunted gargle of pained gasps.

"Hey, don't speak. Just let Sylvie do her thing, I'm right here, baby. We're here." His voice is so soft, it’s like a lullaby.

Kelly’s beautiful blue eyes are burning with unshed tears, those eyes never leaving your shaking body.

Shuffling past Kelly to get to your feet, Sylvie carefully loosens your boot and pulls it off in one swift motion as she cuts open your station gear to look at your thigh wound more clearly. It was a mess. The gauze sticking to your skin in either direction of the bullet entry, a deep purple web of bruising.

“Kelly, get a tourniquet and the second set of gauze, it’s in that compartment over there. We need to stop that blood flow.”

“Okay, yeah… yeah, I got it…” Sylvie takes over pushing against the old gauze on the wound, then Kelly reaches and snatches up a tourniquet and secondary gauze pack.

He wastes no time in doing what is required, tearing the seals open and waiting for Sylvie’s go-ahead. Kelly listens to Sylvie as she guides the process, he packs down the gauze as he brings the tourniquet under your thigh and over the top, twisting the aluminium handle into place; allowing Sylvie to let go and let the newfound pressure on your leg do the work, she then adds a final layer of a trauma bandage, securing everything in place.

Your eyes flutter, skin pale and breathing shallow, it’s hard to breathe.

“Y/N, stay awake. Please look at me. Can you squeeze my hand?” Sylvie commands you, her voice cuts through the white noise of your mind, somewhere in your thoughts you register how authoritative she sounds. You try making eye contact, but you can’t help the rapid dizziness that overtakes you entirely. You can’t even bring yourself to wiggle a finger. It’s only a few more flutters, a sense of freefall before you give in. Darkness swooping in to catch you.

Sorry, Sylvie. I tried.

“Y/N, honey, honey you gotta keep awake, baby. Come on… Sylvie?!” Kelly calls out urgently, looking to your friend; Sylvie glances in his direction, mouth pressed into a tight line of concentration and worry; she feels for your pulse, silently thanking all deities when she feels it. Not as strong as she'd hoped, but it's there. Her next worry is your oxygen, she can’t get a good angle to intubate, and you can’t breathe properly alone. Time was rapidly running out. She calls out to Stella in the front.

“Wound is secure, bleeding has slowed...but she has a GCS of 7, her nose is too damaged and swollen, she can’t manage to be unconscious with just the rebreather or intubation… I would have to cric her… We need to start pushing fluids too.”

Stella is nervously glancing in the mirror from time to time but keeps her mouth shut, holding her breath as she drives. She can’t lose you, just as you couldn’t cope with losing her.

“We’re here! Rhodes and Choi are waiting, hang in there,” Stella yells, smoothly swerving the ambo outside the doors of the ED ambulance entrance.

…

The doors open, your pale and ashen body unmoving on the gurney that’s moving at speed as Kelly and Sylvie pull you into a flurrying crowd of Connor, Ethan and a few nurses. Stella is following quickly behind the group, standing nearer to the nurses' station to give space for them to take you through.

“Baghdad!” Maggie hollers,

“No! She can’t wait, I couldn’t intubate or cric her in the ambo, she has maxillofacial trauma.” Ethan and Connor understand that you need oxygen again, and fast. They're guiding the pack as you are immediately steered towards the hybrid OR instead of the intended trauma bay. Will can only glance fleetingly with wide eyes as he’s called into another patient’s cubicle.

Sylvie stands at the tannoy that leads to the hybrid OR; rattling off your condition and injuries in quick succession,

“Y/N, Y/A, female, gunshot wound to the upper right thigh, no femoral bleed but still heavy blood loss, it’s not a through and through, lost consciousness as we were arriving, suspected severe nasal fracture, unable to intubate or cric, only received partial fluids in the field, other injuries include contusions to the back of the neck and scalp, heavy bruising on the ribs and chest…” Sylvie’s voice cracks as she stumbles away, meeting the comforting embrace of Stella who embraces her. Kelly stands next to them looking utterly lost and broken.

The sound of the doors to the ED opening catch Maggie’s attention, it’s Jay and Hailey who are next to arrive, both of them making a beeline to Kelly, Sylvie and Stella. Maggie has tears in her eyes, seeing all of her friends so distressed, and seeing you so broken, it was a lot to take. She quietly guides all of your found family into the waiting room, freeing up her ED once more, leaving Connor and Ethan to work on you.

…

It doesn’t take long for the rest of Fifty-One to show up,

"In here guys…" Maggie shows the rest of Fifty-One into the waiting room, Casey and Boden instantly seeking out Kelly to comfort him.

His head is in his hands, shoulders shaking with quiet tears. Mouch, Herrmann and Joe come to comfort Sylvie and Stella as they wait.

Chief rests a hand on Kelly’s shoulder, eyes closing as he finds the words,

“Kelly… I’m so sorry, I-”

“Chief… please don’t, she wouldn’t want you to. And I don’t either. You had to call PD, those animals were gonna hurt them either way… You saved her life… and Violet’s.”

“He’s right, Chief. There weren’t too many ways around this. Y/N wouldn’t hear a word about it.”

Chief doesn’t quite know how to respond, only knowing that in his time coming to know and work with you, the firehouse couldn’t afford to lose you. Especially not Kelly. He sits by Kelly’s side, a stoic silence falling across the waiting room as Fire, PD and Med alike, all sitting in for a long wait.

…

Jay and Hailey approach Kelly’s corner, turning to speak to the entire room, now including Will who wanted to be with the rest of your friends.

"It's gonna be a cut and dry case, they're gonna rot," Hailey reassures.

"We're filing the paperwork back at the 21st as we speak, Voight is probably calling in a thousand favours for their stay at Stateville,” Jay adds.

…

In the OR it’s organised pandemonium, Connor reels off a list of instructions, checking your pupils, as Ethan listens to your chest, Ethan then chimes in, “Diminished breath sounds…”

Connor swallows down his fear, “We have to cric her NOW, we’re gonna need ENT to come and take a look at that fracture, and trigger the MTP, then let’s get an X-ray of that leg, find the bullet, I want a FAST scan.”

“Let’s move!” Ethan calls out, overseeing that everyone is in their correct position and doing the correct things.

They’re cutting away the last of your uniform, the true extent of your beating becoming clear; Connor shares a look with Ethan, muttering angrily, “What did they do to you, sweetheart…”

“We’re gonna get you fixed up, Y/N, you can bet that.” Even Ethan is reassuring you, despite the fact that you weren’t awake.

Connor falls silent, only to request the tools he needs to disinfect the area on your throat, feeling for the right point to create the incision and begin reoxygenating your body; the team in the OR are moving in tandem with the relevant machinery as they get ready to help Connor perform the bullet removal and thigh repair.

…

Hours pass as you remain in surgery, some of the firehouse are sent to go home and get some rest, with promises that they'd visit in the morning.

Remaining in the waiting room are Kelly, Jay, Will, and Stella. Sylvie protested about leaving, but Casey convinced her to at least take a shower and a nap, she was shaking like a leaf after you had left the ED, adrenaline finally wearing off. Your captain would come back with her as soon as possible.

"Will… do you think they'll be much longer?" Jay asks quietly, a hand reassuringly resting on Kelly's shoulder.

"Connor's the best, there was a lot of damage to repair, but I don't think they'll be much longer. I'll go check their progress…"

Kelly lifts his head halfway from the floor, murmuring tiredly. "Thanks, man."

Will nods, "No sweat."

Stella is sitting on the other side of Kelly, rubbing his back as he resumes looking at the floor, letting out a long shaky exhale.

"I can't lose her…I can't do that…she wasn’t getting enough air, she… " He looks at Jay and Stella with pleading eyes.

Jay's eyes have a pained expression, it's tough seeing Kelly so cut up like this. But he understands it, you were special to Jay too.

"Bud… You're not gonna lose her. We’re not gonna say goodbye today. She's safe, she's with the best doctors this city has. She's making her way back to you, back to all her friends. She's a fighter."

Kelly nods, trying to shake himself out of his spiralling gloom. "Yeah...yeah, she is."

Jay gently nudges Kelly, "Besides, she'll kick our asses if she catches us moping around…"

Both Kelly and Stella let out a half-laugh, half sob, nodding.

"That she will."

"Oh, you bet."

…

It’s another half an hour before Connor comes into the waiting room in his operating scrubs, he looks exhausted, all four of the watchful vigil stand to hear the news. Connor exhales.

“It went as well as we could have hoped. Keeping up with the bleed was a challenge, it was touch and go-”

Kelly’s face is contorted in anguish, Connor hurries his sentence.

“But she’s stable for now. We’ve got her sedated and undergoing an extensive course of reoxygenation. ENT said that the nasal fracture was significant, but not life-altering, it’s been splinted and is being iced periodically to reduce the swelling. As for the bullet, I removed it and repaired the damage to her thigh. She’ll be in the ICU for a while, depending on the neuro exam when she wakes up we'll know just how badly her brain was affected, but she’s a tough one, I’m optimistic.”

“Connor, thank you so much, man. I don’t know how I can-” Kelly is a flood of verbal nervous energy as he pulls Connor into a tight hug.

“It’s all good, it’s my job. She’s a dear friend, it was never a question that I’d have to get her back to you in good condition.” Connor smiles brightly at Kelly’s hug, patting his back reassuringly.

“I’ve asked that Maggie come and take you to her soon.”

“Thanks, Connor. Appreciate it.” Will nods at his friend, receiving a nod back as Connor turns to get changed and do his last rounds.

Will turns to Kelly, “I have to go check on some patients, as soon as I’m done how about I take you to her room?”

Kelly nods, touching a grateful hand to Will’s arm,

“Thanks, yeah… sounds good.”

“Great, I’ll let Maggie know, see you in a bit.”

Kelly sits back in his chair, his whole body vibrating with anxiety and relief at the news. You were going to be okay, but you were without oxygen for a period of time, and there’ll be a neuro exam and he couldn't help but wonder how would that turn out? He had so many unanswered questions still, but at least you were here, still with him.

Stella stretches and stands, wishing her own anxiety would quieten down. She turns to Kelly and Jay,

“I’m gonna get us all something to eat and drink, sit tight.” She leans forward to kiss Kelly on the head, and then she turns, needing a moment to have her own emotional debrief now that she knew you were as okay as you could be right now. She couldn’t wait to give you the biggest hug of your life.

Jay’s phone rings, he glances at the caller ID, it’s Hank. “It’s Hank, I’m just gonna take this.”

Kelly shoos him, letting him go deal with his own business.

…

Will comes back as promised, escorting Kelly up to the floor you were recovering on; Kelly’s breath escapes him when he sets eyes on you, your colour had improved marginally but you were still unsettlingly pale, the monitors beeped and blinked in reassurance to him, but it all looked so severe with the cricothyroidotomy in place, a ventilator supporting you.

As it was described, your nose was indeed currently set in a splint, your under eyes were a deep dark shade of bruising. Your injured thigh was thoroughly bandaged, and you were still undergoing the last of your transfusion to replace the blood you’d lost. Your beautiful face is covered in bruises, cuts and grazes littering your body from where your attackers had manhandled you.

As Kelly sits heavily in the chair beside you, Will silently assesses you and, satisfied that everything was in fact in the right course of action, kisses the top of your head before heading back towards Kelly’s side, a gentle hand on his shoulder.

“I’m gonna get home, shower, change, eat and nap. Then I’ll be back for my second shift, I’ll swing by again then. If you need anything, anything at all, call a nurse, or me or Jay. Whatever you need, Kelly, you got it.”

Kelly looks up at Will, tears falling quietly,

“Yeah… yeah thanks, Halstead.” With one last squeeze and a glance at you, Will turns to leave.

…

Kelly doesn’t know how long he sits and just stares at your chest rising and falling, with every steady beep of your vitals he lets out a relieved breath for himself. His hands are gently clasping one of yours, thumb stroking across your wrist the way it had the morning before…

His voice was hoarse, mouth dry and cried out, “I can’t do this without you, Y/N. Just take the time you need, rest up… but please, please just make sure you come back to me.” With a soft hiccup of a sob, he lays his head by your side, still holding onto you.

That’s how Stella and Jay find him, they had given him some time alone with you before not being able to hold off any longer, desperate to see with their own eyes that you were doing as okay as possible.

Stella cards a hand through Kelly’s hair, he wakes up with a small start, eyes immediately going to your still prone body in the bed, everything the same as when he fell asleep,

“Hey, it’s alright. She’s going strong. Jay and I brought you some water and some snacks…” On cue Jay gently places the goods down on the table near your bedside, rubbing Kelly’s back for a moment.

Kelly murmurs, eyes still refilling with brimming tears, “Thanks… I’m not hungry.”

Jay feels a weight in his gut, he hates seeing his friends like this, and he can’t do much to resolve it… “We know, bud. We know… but it’s there just in case, you gotta take care of yourself for her, alright?”

Kelly simply nods, resuming a reassuring grip on your unmoving hand.

Jay and Stella take in the sight of you, both of them taking it in turns to half-heartedly chastise you for giving them a scare, hoping you could hear them somehow.

Jay kisses your cheek goodbye, promising to come and visit again tomorrow, and Stella strokes through your unruly hair, making a promise to help you brush and braid it at the earliest convenience.

Kelly remains vigilant by your side, his back would pay for it later but nothing was going to move him away from you. Nurses come and go, taking notes hourly on your condition, Maggie stops by and places a blanket around Kelly’s hunched shoulders.

It stays that way until the sun rises outside the luminescent halls and walls of Gaffney.

And then it happens, your heart rate ticks up… sedation was wearing off.

...

End Of Part 2

_

Tags: @alldaysdreamers | @iamasimpingh0e | @mrspeacem1nusone | @booklover1108 | @graniairish | @chloe-skywalker | @woderfulkawaii

[yourveinexpertchicago-blog]

The vein experts at Chicago Vein Care Center discuss some of the problems patients may not expect from swollen legs and ankles.

[whereisten]

Don’t Let Me Go (f,m)

(A Johnny fic that’s part of the prompt game posted yesterday, got a few requests for him yesterday so I just combined them into one, hope you guys don’t mind :))

Warnings: a little cursing, smuT: oral sex (m and f receiving, face riding), penetration, size kink, choking.

6. midnight

20. warm soup

27. movie night

30. dreams

———

“It’s too cold out here, babe..we’re going home..”

Johnny drives with one hand on the steering wheel and the other on your thigh.

“So boring, Mr. Suh, aren’t you from Chicago? You should be used to this!” You laugh and look out the window.

The two of you decided to watch the sunset on New Year’s Eve while walking through the city, but ended up leaving early because Johnny couldn’t stop shaking from the cold.

“I am used to this, I just...don’t want you to suffer.” He shrugs his shoulders.

You scoff. “Yeah, right”

Johnny turns to you and smirks as he rubs his hand over your thigh slowly.

“How about we go to Target..pick up a few things..”

“Ahh..Target, that sounds good.”

You turn to him and smile.

He giggles, knowing that you loved to walk around Target for absolutely no reason.

“Right? We’ll get some vegetables and chicken to make you some warm soup, since you’re so cold.”

You rolled your eyes. “Weren’t you the one that said “it’s too damn cold right now, I can’t feel my 5-foot long legs?”

“And we’ll get some popcorn and trail mix and have a movie night!”

“Well, as long as you’re the one cooking.” You place your hand over his.

———

Back at his apartment, Johnny quickly cooked up soup for you. He used his mom’s recipe and put his all into making it perfect for you like he usually did.

You drank it with him while talking about your New Years resolutions.

“I just want to be happy with you... I think we should spend more time together.” He says while taking a sip of his delicious and warm soup.

You nodded. You knew that with your busy schedule and his busy schedule, you rarely had time together. But you still loved each other very much. You both wished you could have moments like this more often, but with Johnny’s life as an idol and your life as a teacher, you could only spend time together on weekends or at nights when he had to sneak out or you had to sneak in.

“We’ll be alright, Johnny..I love you.” Your eyes are warm and kind, that’s the reason why he fell for you in the first place. He felt so comfortable around you, he felt love radiant from your beautiful smile and aura. And you felt the same from him. Everything he displayed as an idol was only magnified behind the scenes.

He was just as soft and sweet as he appeared to be on TV. Sometimes, you couldn’t believe he was real.

He places his spoon down and then rubs his hand over yours on the table.

“Would you...consider marrying me? Like..would you want to spend your life...with me?” Johnny asks quietly while stumbling over his words.

Your eyes widened. “Of course, baby. I couldn’t imagine my life without you.”

Your voice was sweet and sincere, Johnny quickly pulled you into a hug.

“I love you too, baby, don’t let me go.”

———

Later that night, the two of you watched a movie together on Johnny’s bed. He set his projector up so you could lay comfortably in his arms. Almost too comfortably.

You fell in and out of sleep while watching Titanic, but Johnny didn’t bother you about it. He watched your cute face and ran his hand through your hair.

He rubbed circles into your back as well, making you relax onto him even more.

You woke up for the ending of the movie and felt sad when Jack drifted into the water.

“I don’t know why it always makes me sad, we already know it’s bound to happen.” You mutter.

“Just because we know it’s coming doesn’t mean the blow is softened.” Johnny whispers.

The movie ends just before the 1-minute countdown to the new year. You and Johnny kiss right as the fireworks go off at midnight.

They illuminate his room beautifully and you feel your heart flutter with emotions. You wrap your arms around Johnny’s neck and intertwine your tongue with his.

He holds you in his broad arms and kisses you until you fall asleep.

———

As you sleep, you dream about a date with Johnny.

You can’t see much, but you know that the two of you are ice skating on a frozen lake. Everything seems fine, you twirl around him and he holds your hand while smiling widely.

But then, a crack in the ice starts to form under Johnny, and despite him standing still, it continues to spread.

“Y/n?” He says with fear in his voice.

And suddenly, the crack opens completely and he falls into the icy water.

“Johnny!” You leap towards him and grab his arm.

“It’s okay, it’s okay..” He tries to be reassuring, but tears run out of his beautiful brown eyes.

“Don’t let me go!” You yell as he you struggle to pull him up. His face soon disappears under the water and his arm goes limp.

“Johnny!” You yell once again and jump up out of your sleep.

Johnny holds your arms and shakes you gently. “Y/n..y/n, I’m right here..it’s okay.”

You hold your face in your hands and sob.

“I’m sorry..it felt so real.”

He turns his bedside lamp on then turns back to you. “Did you have a bad dream?”

“Yeah..I just..I thought I lost you.”

Johnny pulls you into his arms and holds you close.

“Baby, no, I’m right here, I’ll always be here for you. It’s just a nightmare.”

He wipes your tears and kisses your forehead. “I love you.”

You sniffle. “I love you too.”

You scoot closer to him but feel something like your stomach.

“J-Johnny?”

You look under the blanket. “Are you hard right now?”

Johnny chuckles, his face turning red.

“I’m sorry baby, I had a really good dream actually.”

“Oh?” You raise an eyebrow.

“Yeah..It’ll go away, I just have to...”

“Shhh..who said I want it to go away?” you put a finger over his lips then lower yourself under the blanket.

You pull his boxers down and allow his aching length to spring free.

“You don’t have to, baby..” he struggles to get out, because the truth is that he hopes you do.

“Mmm...but I really want to..” you lock eyes with him and lick the pre cum from his tip.

You place kitten licks along his cock, licking across his bulging veins before kissing his swollen and red tip.

Johnny curses under his breath as he watches you swallow half of him while under the blanket.

You pull off of him completely and lick your lips. “I forgot how big you are..”

He runs his fingers through your scalp.

“It was just last week that I fucked you so hard you couldn’t walk the next day, how could you forget?”

“Hmmm I don’t remember, I think I need a refresher.” You winked then lowered yourself onto him again, this time using both hands to twist around the base of of his cock while you sucked whatever you could fit into your mouth.

You moan onto him, flicking your tongue all over him and moving your hands up and down.

“Fuck..” he lets out in a low groan.

You swirl your tongue around his tip then continue to move it up and down his shaft.

“Mmmm..Johnny..I’m so wet for you.” You look into his eyes as you lick up and down.

“Come on, baby, I can’t take any more teasing.” His grip on your hair tightens slightly.

You swallow him whole and hum again to send vibrations through his sensitive manhood.

He thrusts upwards into your throat, making gag unexpectedly.

You continue to choke on him and listen as his groans grow louder.

“Ahh..That’s it, baby girl, I’m close.”

Tears escape your eyes and you whimper as he thrusts harder.

“Cum for me, Johnny.” You stroke his dick faster and flatten your tongue on the head.

Spurts of milky strings decorate your neck and chin as Johnny moans beautifully.

Johnny bites his bottom lip as he watches your fucked out face over him.

“Come here..” he whispers. You climb over him while wiping his cum off.

“Ride my face.”

“What?” Your eyes grow.”

“I want to taste you..” he says with low eyes.

“Are you sure?”

He lowers himself and waits for you to get on top.

You’re in nothing but a g string and his t shirt, but you look gorgeous to him.

Your knees dig into the pillow, you hover over his face and the feeling is strange. You can feel his warm breath fan your entrance.

You swallow hard as he uses two fingers to push the thin fabric of your g string to the side.

He licks over your folds as you shiver from the sudden contact.

“It’s not like I haven’t tasted you before, sweetheart...don’t be nervous, just move.”

He grabs both knees and pries them further apart so you’re right on his pillowy lips.

He flattens his tongue against you, listening to you make the most wonderful whimpers he’s ever heard.

On instinct, you move forward and backward against his tongue, feeling his lips kiss your core as if it’s your lips.

His tongue feels inside of you as he uses two fingers to explore your pussy.

He presses his finger tips onto that spot while he groans. The vibrations make you jump from stimulation, but his tongue doesn’t stop. He pushes it against your clit with more force, gaining a loud moan from you.

He squeezes your thigh and shakes his head from side to side, as if to tell you you’re naughty for making such loud noises.

But the movement only adds to your stimulation.

You move faster now, placing your hands onto your breasts. You massage them and play with your nipples as Johnny draws circles onto your clit.

“Johnny!” You cry out as the intense feeling takes you over.

He pinches your thigh again, looking up at you and watching you play with your breasts under his large t shirt.

You bite your lips in an effort to stay quiet, but you can’t help but cry out as you climax on his face. “Oh...my god!”

Johnny watches your body shake above him in the dim lighting of the room, then holds you by the waist and lays you down beside him.

He wipes his face. “I love you, sweetheart, you’re so beautiful.”

“I love you too, that was amazing.” You breathe heavily.

He smirks then turns you over on your side, gently massaging your warm skin in the process.

He kneels and then straddles your leg while curling your other leg around his side.

He holds his hard cock in his hand, brushing the tip against your dripping folds.

You flinch slightly when you feel it against your quivering pussy.

Johnny licks his lips and pushes into you slowly, giving you time to adjust.

“Fuck..” you exhale. “Keep going.”

He pushes into while looking into your eyes.

His intense eye contact and the way he clenches his jaw makes you even wetter than you were before.

You wince and he stops moving.

“Are you okay?” He asks sweetly.

“Yeah..it’s okay.”

He thrusts into you, watching as you grip the sheets beside you and whine.

This position always allowed him to deeper while still maintaining eye contact with you.

Your clit was perfectly stimulated and he could watch every cry escape your mouth as well as your breasts.

But here you were in his t shirt looking more perfect than you’ve ever looked as you took all of him in.

“Fuck it’s so deep inside you..” his tongue darts across his bottom lip.

He thrusts harder the pulls out completely.

“Faster..please.” You beg him.

“Of course. Anything for you.”

And with that, Johnny drills his cock into your pussy, stretching it out to become the perfect fit for him.

“Johnny!” You cry out while watching his abs flex and his beautiful body glisten in sweat above you.

He moves fast and places a hand around your neck, knowing that you preferred being quieted this way.

He squeezes your throat and starts to choke you.

Your body moves up and down on the plush bed, you can’t think straight as he destroys you in the middle of the night.

He throws your leg up on his shoulder, his cock his your g spot repeatedly and you silently go insane. His thrusts are fast, but his sturdy length slides in and out of you easily, never failing to press against your extremely sensitive areas.

“Good girl...take it just like that.”

His tone is low and husky, he continues to choke you while looking into your eyes deeply.

And with a few more thrusts, you come undone just as he does, your body shaking once again.

Your eyes roll in the back of your head as Johnny kisses you through it.

It feels like minutes pass by while you experience your most intense orgasm.

He pulls out of you after he comes down. He then goes to the bathroom and grabs a towel to wipe you up with.

“Johnny..” you close your eyes as you feel sleep overtake your body.

He pulls you into his arms and hugs you. “Let’s go back to sleep, sweetheart, I’m right here.”

[insufferablelust]

butterfly blurbs? maybe that's nor what you want but spencer getting jealous bc he finds out butterfly spends some time with one of his closest man but butterfly only wanted him to show her how to shoot so she could impress spencer?

Warnings ; smut, The use of ‘sir’ & ‘daddy’, Jealousy, overstimulation, Squirting, Tiny bit of degradation mainly by name calling, Possessiveness, Its.. um Filthy as many of you already know. Oh there’re fluffs like cute fluffs in the end, mention of sub/little space too. Please read at your own discretion. Set before chapter 2A of Lb!Au

MASTERLIST HERE.

gif credit to @imagining-in-the-margins thank you!

Being the don of the most powerful mafia chain around the country requires Spencer to have guards everywhere he goes, and those men are always there to protect you too. There are 4 of them; Your favorite is Morgan, the friendliest and warmest of them all, but definitely the flirtiest— in more than one occasion, Spencer had to threaten his gurard, or more like his best pal to stop looking at you the wrong way, then there’s Hotch, which is the lead command of his men, the one who controls the way around, his right hand almost, He doesn’t talk a lot you reckoned, though you rarely see him. There’s Alvez, whom you are second closest to, he’s pretty funny at times and definitely warm, and the last one is Simmons though you only met him in several occasions, seeing how he was always the one that Spencer commands to run his ‘business’ outside of town.

The 4 of them are all loyal to the don and the famiglia, has been since many generations of fathers and their fathers. When you came into the picture, you didn’t expect that someone is going to be guarding you every time you go outside or to leave for work or study— but Spencer insisted one of his men will always be assigned to watch over you, seeing that the threats of being closer to him might bring you harm. They’re always close by but not super close where you might feel stalked or ‘guarded’

It was nice to have someone to look after you, and the man he always choose to be close by you is none other than Morgan, your favorite out of all of them, you knew why Spencer insisted that Morgan was the one who will tend to your every need (security wise) even going as far as renting him an apartment suite not far from where yours are, just incase.

You grew close to Morgan, practically seeing him as your older brother, on nights where Spencer might not coming back to your place because of his ‘unexpected’ business, you always asked Morgan to accompany you play board games or watch something on your half functioning TV, or to just simply be there to have a chat with you. He’s nice and he makes you feel like you knew Spencer, told you small things about your boyf— sugar daddy. Now knowing that Morgan knows a lot, practically everything about the don, young Y/N just wanted to impress him— cause he had been so good to her all week, so so good, taking care of her and spoil her to the limits. So she asks Morgan on what could impress the infamous don of the country.

Y/N couldn’t lie that when she heard Morgan proposed the idea of shooting, that excitement would run through her veins like something has been injected— she has seen Spencer shoot his gun once or twice, she knew he could kill someone so so easily without batting an eyelash, he injured a guy whom looked at her the wrong way once for fuck’s sake. So the idea was enough to make her all giddy and say, “Please Morgan! teach me!” which he couldn’t help but to say yes, now he knows the protocols, knows how his best friend is so he didn’t worry about him having any sorts of problems with him teaching her but what he didn’t expect was, Spencer Reid might have a deeper feeling towards the tiny butterfly.

—

Hey daddy,

i’m going to spend some time with Morgan today, i hope you don’t mind if i don’t send an update so frequently but i’ll try okay? be safe, Mwah!

Spencer tried to calm down from his sudden bubbling anger that rose inside his chest, the voicemail had been left on his brick phone two hours prior and she still hasn’t responded yet. Being away from her is torture from him, he wanted so so badly to bring her here whilst he has business to deal with in Chicago— but he knew it’d be dangerous.

Though, hearing her heavenly voice sets his chest aflame with combined mixture of Jealousy and Longing, longing for her— missing her to the core and wanting so so bad to show her that she’s his and his only. Spencer knows he’s being irrational but he couldn’t help to think that his little Butterfly is spending too much— an awful amount of time with her bodyguard, his most trusted man amongst others.

With a lit of his cigarette and ruffle of his hair, Spencer made a quick call to Hotch to prepare for leaving, cause he’s going back home— for her.

-

She didn’t expect this when she came home from her practice that night, she didn’t expect him to be here so so early. a day early from his supposed come back schedule. Here he was, sitting on a chair in the dark corner of your bedroom with his thighs spread, and his fingers interlaced with each other, and a glass of wine sitting atop of the bed side table.

“D-Daddy.. i thought you won’t be home until—“ you started yet immediately cut off by the sound of his voice shushing you, “Shh, Come here. Sit on my lap.” He demonstrated by patting his thighs so you know not to fuck with him, not to act up. You muttered a small “yes daddy” before setting down your purse and padded towards where he is, about to straddle his lap before he let out a disappointment-like sigh then turns you around so you’re sitting down on his lap with your back against his front and his hand wrapped snuggly around your throat.

Oh whatever you’ve done must be terrible, and you would be lying to say that it doesn’t excites you one bit cause it certainly does.

“You look pretty tonight, butterfly.” He whispered softly against your ear as his other hand slithered their way around her waist to wrap them tightly so she’d have nowhere to go, “T-Thank you daddy.” She muttered, feeling so small all of a sudden, not knowing what she has done wrong and what should she say to make it better.

“Daddy i—“

“Y’know your daddy is a busy man, don’t you, bunny?” His voice tsk’d you, making you squirm on his lap, as his palm slithered down down down between your legs and rub toward your inner thighs. “Yes daddy..” You muttered, only gasping momentarily as his fingers slip inside your legging and let it rest on top of where your panties beginning to dampen.

“And yet here you are, making daddy cancel his plans just to come back and remind you.” His voice gets a little rougher now as he slaps your cunt softly, a warning perhaps so you’d stay still and listen to him. You let out a confused yet pleasure filled mewls as he slap your by-now swollen and sensitive covered pearl several times, “Daddy! please i-i don’t know what you mean.. oh!”

“D’you know who’s this cunt belongs to?” He whispered roughly before biting on the shell of her ear where she arched her back when he pressed his palm— grazing against her clit side to side, “Y-You! it belongs to you! mmh!” Your moans are cut out by the tightening grip of his hand on your throat as he snap the waistband of your panties before tearing the whole thing with your leggings down your legs.

“And who’s this body belongs to hm? who do you fuckin belongs to, butterfly?” His thumb made a quick work over your sensitive button as he rub it all fast and rough, causing you to squirm and let out spews of moans and screams at the feeling of pleasure. Somewhere alongside the pleasure, your brain was able to make a sense of why he’s here, and you can’t help but to feel all the butterflies that swarmed on your belly.

The don is jealous over his best friend.

“Daddy i— oh! i— Morgan was only helping me!” She tried to blurted out, as his thumb quicken its pace on her clit, up and down, side to side whilst his other hands played with her swollen shirt covered nipples, all sensitive and reactive to his sinful touches. Spencer lets out a growl, “Helpin you with what hm? is it that important that he has to take you way from me?”

Butterflies, your heart warmed.

“He— oh god.. i w-wanted to oh! learn how to shoot so i ask him.. mmh fuck daddy! ask him to help me so you’d be proud of me!” Tears streamed down your face by now, not because of his words but because of how close she is, god the way his fingers slip inside her slit so easily now that she’s wet— drenched, combined with his palm on her clit and her overstimulated nipples causing her to the edge.

“Is that so, princess?” He hummed as he lean back so he could tilt your head back to see your eyes, gleamed under the moonlight and glazed over with needs— “Yes daddy.. i s-swear—oh god i’m going to cum.” Your fingers were gripped tightly onto his wrist as his fingers works even faster and faster— making squelching noises throughout the room.

“Little minx, trying to make me all proud hm? My butterfly is so fucking adorable isnt she?” Spencer was close to coming inside his pants himself, seeing her like this brought him to the fucking heaven but hearing how she wanted to train because she wants him to be proud of her brought him to the fucking edge of orgasm— that he didn’t even care if hes going to cream his pants like a damn teenager.

“Yes yes yes daddy! just for you! please let me cum!”

with a hard and quick thrust of his fingers inside you, he mumbled deeply and breathlessly, “Cum now, pup. Show everyone that you’re fucking mine, cum for daddy— thats fucking it.” He growled and growled, as you let an earth shattering scream which you had no doubt that your neighbors would be able to hear it, before squirting all over his hand, his suit, everything.

“Thank you oh! daddy thank you!” You sobbed and trembled as you both coming down from your highs, Spencer presses small kisses all along the side of your face. “Good girl, ‘m so proud of you, my little butterfly. Gonna show me tomorrow what y’learned okay?” He mumbled gently as you weakly turned around to give him a kiss.

“Yes daddy, welcome home.”

—

LITTLE BUTTERFLY TAGLIST;

@bloodstainedsarsaparilla​ @drabigailreidblog​ @mgg-theprettiestboy​ @vanessagub​ @reidsconverse​ @maybankslut​ @pastathighs​ @geniusgub @90spumkin​ @trina2323​ @70sreid @blxckhearthood​ @meme-lord-and-savior-sebastian​ @baby-pogue​ @sluttytears​ @187-reid @gubler2323 @flawlesslyexecuted @iamgonnaleaveroach @libidinexx @reidsbbg @dancestargia @agentadhd

{Message or comment if you wanna be tagged or removed! thank you for your support}

[thatesqcrush]

Ringin’ in a Brand New Year

Rafael Barba x Reader x Bryan Kneef. Our favorite throuple is back! NSFW for smut - p in v, anal, oral sex, frotting, money shot,etc. Who wouldn’t want to spend the last night of 2020 with these two?

AN: Fireside for holiday bingo.

WC:2184

**

You sat in the lobby of STR Laurie, waiting to be brought back to Bryan’s office. You had with you an overnight bag and a hard-shell rolling suitcase.  After all the wild days and nights spent during Christmas while in New York, you were excited to be spending New Year’s Eve at home in Chicago. Rafael was flying in from New York to be with both of you. The plan was to pick him up from O’Hare and then go right to Bryan’s apartment.

“Ms. Y/L/N?”

You looked up and met the eyes of one of STR Laurie’s employees. The dark-haired man smiled at you. “Right this way – Mr. Kneef is waiting for you.” Another employee of the firm came out and took your belongings. You walked through the large office space which was bustling with employees, some more frenzied than others. 

As you rounded a corner, you ran into the very familiar face of one of the bathroom Bettys from the holiday party. Her face reddened at the sight of you. You winked at her and she averted her eyes, scurrying off.

You took the spiral staircase up to Bryan’s office and his assistant rapped on the door quietly, before opening the door for you.

Bryan was on the phone and he scowled at the interruption. However, at the sight of you, his face softened and he quickly terminated his call. He made his way over and wrapped his arms around you. 

“Hey gorgeous.” Bryan greeted. You allowed him to tilt your head towards his. His lips were warm and soft and they pressed gently against yours. You wrapped your arms around his neck and leaned into the kiss, standing slightly on the tips of your toes. He responded by pressing his mouth against yours with more force, sliding his tongue into your mouth. He wrapped one arm around your waist, keeping you pinned against him. You reluctantly broke the kiss. Your lipstick was smeared, and Bryan felt a jolt go straight to his cock.

“Do you have much more to do? Or can we go soon?” You asked, breathless.

“Nope.” Bryan replied. His voice was low and gravelly. “How was the ride over?”

You shrugged. “Eh, I am done. And done for the week - that place can be... “ Your face was troubled as you thought of work. You let out a sigh and plastered a smile on your face. “Looking forward to spending time with you and Rafael. But we should get going so we can meet him when he lands.”

“You really should come work here. Be my assistant.” Bryan replied, stroking your chin with his thumb. “I’ll make sure you’re paid well. That job of yours just doesn’t appreciate you.”

“Bryan we all know if I come work here – and for you, no work will ever get done.” You rolled your eyes.

“Is that so terrible?” Bryan asked as he led you out, his hand on the small of your back.

You sighed. “I’ll think about it.”

**

You looked out the window as Bryan sped through the streets of Chicago. “Hey – this isn’t the way to O’Hare. Where are we going?”

“Glad you noticed.” Bryan replied as he switched lanes as if he were playing Mario Kart. “Rafael caught an earlier flight. He’s waiting for us at my place.”

Bryan saw how your face lit up as he waited to make a left turn. “I can’t wait for us to ring in the New Year.”

“You know, they say whatever you do at midnight on New Year’s Eve, is what you’ll be doing for the rest of the year.” You mused.

“Considering my plan is to fuck you and Rafael – well, I am one lucky son of a bitch.” Bryan chuckled.

**

The aromas coming from Bryan’s apartment were delicious. You and him walked into Rafael busily whisking away. He wore a black apron with gold lettering and had a New Year’s hat on.

“Rafi!” You broke out of Bryan’s grasp and ran to him. You threw yourself onto the handsome prosecutor, who barely had a second to drop what he was doing. He took a few steps back as you leapt into his arms. He held you tightly as you pressed your lips to his.

“I’ve missed you.” He murmured, pushing back some of your hair from your face. “I was making dinner for us. As a surprise.”

“Hey asshole.” Bryan approached, and pulled Rafael  away from you so he could give him a kiss. “I missed you too.”

“Did I say I didn’t miss you?” Rafael’s eyebrow arched. You turned to Bryan and stepped in between them, holding your arms out.

“Boys. Play nice.” You warned.

Both men’s equally green eyes darkened. “I am pretty sure you don’t like to play nicely at all.” Rafael quipped.

“I’m just saying…” You pushed Rafael away playfully. “We’ll all get what we want in due time.” You turned to Bryan. “Dinner first, dessert later.”

Bryan walked over to his liquor cabinet and pulled out a bottle of wine – your favorite – a Malbec – and bourbon for him and Rafael. “I’m hungry… just not for dinner.”

You felt a shiver go up your spine with his words. You wanted to abandon all ideas for dinner, but your stomach rumbled loudly, causing Rafael to snicker.

“Rafael – how much longer?” You whined, turning on the balls of your feet.

“Soon – so don’t get any ideas.”

Dinner was penne with passata with lots of herbs, garlic, sundried tomatoes and onions. There was some shop talk, as lawyers tend to do, and then the attention was turned on you, with your work. Dinner eventually wound to a close. After clean-up, you each had a bit more to drink. This time you opted for tequila for all. You all relaxed around the fireplace as you sipped the on what was surely one of the most expensive and aged añejos on the market. You were all ready for the what the evening had in store.

There was a brief discussion – more of a reaffirmation – of consent and you went to go freshen up while Bryan went to get some blankets out of storage and Rafael stoked the fireplace.

It did not take you long to get ready. You were in a knit sleep romper with long sleeves  that had a dangerously v-neck. The bottoms were cheeky and you had a feeling both men would approve.

When you came back out, both men were standing naked on the blankets that Bryan had laid out. There was an arrangement of lubes and condoms strewn about. Both men were kissing, grinding their cocks against one another. It always took your breath away at how beautiful they were together; it made your eyes burn to view such wanton desire. Both men crumpled to the ground, in a mass of questing hands. The fire popped and cracked, much like the sexual energy in the room. You watched as Bryan made his way down Rafael’s body, trailing kisses and licks down a path. Rafael’s hips jerked as Bryan took him in his mouth. Rafael turned his head to you and your eyes meet.

“Bry—” Rafael choked out. Bryan pulled off Rafael and turned towards you as well.

“Well, well, well. Seems like we have someone feeling very needy.” Bryan husked – his voice was low and rough.

“Oh yes, daddy.” You walked toward them and dropped to your knees. “So needy.”

“Then, go. Suck Rafael’s cock. Prove your worth to us.” Bryan growled, shoving you further. You swallowed Rafael’s cock and Bryan’s hands immediately sifted through your hair, guiding you on his cock.

“That’s right, take that cock down.” Bryan encouraged. His hands trailed up your sides and then to the front of your pajamas, cupping your tits. His hands slipped inside and you let out a muffled moan as his fingers tugged, rubbed, and pinched on your nipples. Meanwhile Rafael was bucking his hips into your mouth as you continued to blow him. You flattened your tongue as licked his shift, running over every vein and ridge, before blowing gently on the head. The salt of his pre-cum flooded your mouth and it made your pussy throb. Bryan must have been a mind reader, because he palmed you in between your legs, feeling how hot you were.

You briefly pulled off Rafael. You sat on your haunches and tugged down your pajamas before standing to remove everything entirely. You returned to all fours, blowing Rafael. Bryan ran his hands over your ass. You gasped his name loudly as he pressed his face into your cheeks and began to fuck you relentlessly with his tongue. The exquisite torture of his beard rubbing against the sensitive folds of your hot cunt drove you wild. You pushed back, trying to get more of him on you.

Bryan’s teeth graze against your flesh, biting gently but firmly. You felt his cock nudge against your folds, and you realized that he was getting ready to fuck you. You heard the sound of foil ripping in the distance. Bryan reached for the lube and drizzled it right over your ass, watching with delight as the lube ran down your ass cheeks. He rubbed some of it into your cheeks and then gathered it on his fingers. You felt of his index finger trace little circles around your tight rosebud and you shivered involuntarily.

“Look at that beautiful little asshole.” Bryan rumbled, as he worked a finger inside of you, loosening you up. You mewled in pleasure, enjoying how he stimulated the erotic nerve endings in preparation of your body for penetration.

You felt him slide his condom covered cock into your ass. Normally Bryan enjoyed going raw with you, but for what was literally and figuratively, come, you needed him to wear one. His balls rested against you and you knew he was as deep as he could be. Bryan let out an animalistic groan as he began to fuck you, the sound of skin on skin filled the room.  

“Yes, Y/N, take that cock.” Bryan grunted as he looked down, watching his cock disappear in and out of you.

“Fuck, fuck, yes, daddy, give it to me.” You begged before swallowing Rafael’s cock once more. Bryan pounded into you. He began to fuck you – slowly at first, and then picking up the pace, his balls smacked against you with every thrust. You continued to suck on Rafael’s cock, working him with even more enthusiasm. The wet sounds of your mouth filled the room joining the grunts of both men. Bryan’s cock was deep and as he reached around to rub your swollen clit, it felt as if every nerve ending was on fire.

Meanwhile you knew from the way Rafael’s thigh muscles were twitching, that he was close to coming. Bryan slowed his momentum, before withdrawing completely. You let out a wrecked moan – you had been close – so close.

“Go ride that pretty cock.” Bryan murmured in your ear. You nodded and climbed over Rafael, letting out a sigh as you sunk onto his cock. Rafael’s hands were on your hips, digging hard. You knew you’d have a smattering of fingerprints in the morning.

You rolled your hips meeting Rafael’s thrusts. “Don’t stop, please, don’t stop papi.”

“Never. This is our pussy.” Rafael grunted. Bryan reached around you and began to rub your clit haphazardly, bringing you to the precipice.

“I’m going to… I am so… oh daddy!” Your voice trailed off, feeling your own orgasm approach again.

“Come for us – come for daddy and papi.” Bryan encouraged as he continued stroking you. You came violently, wailing their names. Your ears went pop, sound was fuzzy as the tendrils of your orgasm washed over you.Rafael rolled you over, so you were on your back, your legs by your ears, and he began to pound into you. Bryan knelt by your head and took off the condom,. You turned your head and he shoved his cock into your willing mouth. You felt so complete – with Rafael deep in your pussy and Bryan’s cock in your mouth.  

Bryan was first to come in your mouth, shuddering and grunting your name. His come spurted into your mouth in ropes. Bryan pulled away and Rafael slid out of you. You knew what he was going to do – as it was pre-planned. You scrambled to your knees and you kept your mouth open, still full of Bryan’s release. Rafael stroked himself furiously and as he came, Bryan swallowed his cries with his mouth. Rafael’s release covered your face and mouth, mixing with Bryan’s release. You took Rafael’s cock back in your mouth, giving him a few final sucks.

Finally, you pulled off and swallowed what was left. The mix of their releases and your spit made quite the impact. Bryan gripped your messy chin with his index finger and thumb. He then dipped down to kiss you, tasting the mix of him and Rafael on your mouth.

“Good girl. Well done.” He rumbled. Rafael made his presence known, gently wiping your face with a warm damp towel.

Both men showered you with praise and adoration, making you feel secure and cared for, even if you were their own personal sex toy. Eventually, you all fell asleep together, a mess of limbs, holding onto one another against the fireplace, as the year shifted anew. You couldn’t wait for all of the adventures that would come.

**

Tags: @madpanda75 @tropes-and-tales @delia26 @mgarner1227 @beardedmccoy @youreverycolor @neely1177 @the-baby-bookworm @mrsrafaelbarba @skittle479 @ottosuricato @sass-and-suspenders @mommakat32 @dreila03 @beccabarba @garturbo @lovebennycolonmiguelgalindo @imjustreallynosy @sweetsummertime99 @whyissvuruiningmylovelife @annabelleb49 @scarletsoldierrr @cesarofangirl78 @redlipstickandplaid @redlipstickandblacktea @zoeykaytesmom @differentshadesofgray @misssirenlove @esparza-army @bananas-pajamas @mishaissocoolike @thefanficfaerie @theenchantedgalleryofstories @catnip987 @choppedgalaxynerd @pieceofshittytitty @ktiz90 @evee87 @itsjustmyfantasyroom @detective-giggles @rampantmuses @jazzyjoi @caked-crusader @rachelxwayne @prurientpuddlejumper @lv7867​ @permanentlydizzy​ @bisexual-dreamer02​ @madamsnape921​ @averyhotchner​ @teamsladsandgents​ 

[candy-and-writing]

What A Triple Lutz Can Do

Dark! Bucky x Ice Skater! Reader x Dark! Steve

Summary: Steve and Bucky have found each other again, after everything they've been through. When Steve meets you at the Winter Olympics, he decides you're the perfect little doll for their plan.

Warnings: non con/dub con, stalking, drugging, kidnapping, male masturbation, pet names—kitten, oral sex (female and male), fingering, poly relationship (m/m/f), somnophilia, light bondage, more to be added as the story goes on

A/N: This is loosely based off @henchry​ post about Chris Evans dating an ice skater. I read it and instantly had this idea, I’ve just never posted it. I think I unintentionally used bunny by @buckybarney​ as inspiration in making final edits. They also helped me figure out how to make this moodboard, so thank you! Please let me know if you enjoyed this, I had a lot of fun writing this!

I am NOT responsible for your media content consumption. This work is not intended for those under the age of 18 due to explicit sexual content and/or dark themes. By reading this work you agree that you are at least 18 years of age. I do not consent to have my work posted on any third party app or website; if you are seeing this work anywhere other than tumblr and archiveofourown, it has been reposted without my permission.

Before the war, before Bucky had fallen off the train and Steve crashed into the ice, before the Avengers and before and the world made Steve Rogers harder—colder—he liked to call himself a hopeless romantic. He wanted to meet eyes with someone across a diner and feel the fireworks explode in his chest. He wanted to buy a girl flowers, he wanted to walk down the streets of Brooklyn while it was snowing with her hand warming his. He wanted to buy his girl a ring, he wanted to get married, have a family.

He thought he would get that with Peggy, but he missed his chance. When he woke up in another century, he thought for sure he would never get his happily ever after. The women today were so. . . brash. A lady was supposed to be kind, polite, and dutiful. He understood that times were different, but that shouldn't excuse the ungrateful attitudes.

Then he found Bucky again, and the crazy world he had been forced into didn't seem so hopeless anymore. 

Tony had received a call from the International Olympics Committee, formally inviting the Avengers to the Winter Olympics. They were in Italy this year, Milan and Cortina. It was the first Olympic Games to be held in two cities, according to Bruce.

The committee had asked Steve to conduct the medal presentations for ice skating and hockey. They wanted Thor to carry the torch for the opening ceremony, but he was off-world and unavailable.

So here Steve was, sitting in the Mediolanum Forum venue next to Sam so he could watch the ice skating events. He figured if he was going to be giving the winners their medals, he should see why they won.

The committee had given the team access to front row seating, and that's where he was when you came out.

You were the third skater, and the first American representative, to take the ice. Your hair was pulled into a braided braid low on the side of your head with a blue flower pinned above the bun. The little dress you wore was modest—the same shade of blue that matched your flower and a sleeveless neckline that connected to a sheer fabric for sleeves and a higher neck, the little flowy skirt stopping in the middle of your thigh. Lines of little jewels dipped along your bust, beads varying in size. You had makeup on, like all the previous girls, but yours was light and glittery—save for the ruby red lipstick, but even that looked classical on you. It reminded Steve of the makeup women would wear back in the thirties.

He was so focused on you that Sam had to elbow him in the ribs to get his attention. He shut his jaw then, listening to the way your name rolled off the commentator's tongue, the syllables lining and matching each other perfectly.

You were twenty-one, and this was your first time competing in the Olympics. You've competed in other national and international tournaments, and you've done good in them if he was understanding correctly. It made an odd sense of pride swell in his chest. You were skating to Disney's Beauty and the Beast.

You moved to the middle of the rink as the announcer informed the stadium who conducted and performed your piece. You had four quads set in your routine, two in the first half and two in the second. It got quiet in the arena as you raised your arm over your head and arched your back like a ballerina. Steve counted five seconds before the music started and you spun around slowly. You started to move your body and—

Oh. Oh.

Steve was sure his jaw had dropped to the floor. The way you moved was bewitching, beautifully languid yet articulate. It was like the music moved through you, coursing through your veins as you made it entirely your own, bringing something so utterly delicate and ethereal out of the melody. You made it show in your body, in your movements.

The first of your quads were coming up, something called a quadruple lutz. Steve didn't know what it was, but when you threw your leg back and jumped, spinning in the air before landing and the crowd erupted into applause, he figured you did it correctly.

Your feet glided across the ice as you skated backward, your muscles tensing—you were preparing for your next quad. You kicked your leg back and used it as momentum to jump, spinning and landing what the commentator called a quadruple flip. The crowd cheered again.

Your expression—the raw focus and determination hiding behind your eyes—was gorgeous. Your crimson lips were parted slightly, eyelids hooded as you brought your head up. The delicate expression, the way your shoulders tensed as you jumped and spun in the air once, twice, three times before you landed gracefully on your toes had the breath leaving his lungs.

It was art. You were a work of art. So beautiful he wanted to lock you behind a glass cage and put you on display. You commanded the ice as if you controlled it, with such a degree of intricacy that Steve thought if you jumped high enough or spun fast enough you would grow wings and fly away.

You were in your element. You kicked your foot back before bringing it forward, using it to start your jump. You spun in the air and landed on one foot, your other leg spread out and leading the twirl you used to end the jump. The stadium cheered, Sam said something about a triple axel.

Steve wished the song lasted forever, wished he could watch you forever, but soon there was a flute trilling and you slowed, circling back to the center of the rink and just like that—your performance was over. The crowd exploded into cheers, throwing flowers, stuffed toys, anything they had in their pockets.

You broke into a smile, your plump lips parting and bringing out your dimples. Steve swooned as you waved to the crowd, bending to pick up a rose. Your gaze met his, and he swore he felt fireworks erupt in his chest. You smiled at him before skating off the ice, hugging a man sporting a red lightweight jacket with the USA logo embroidered on the sleeve, his dark hair slicked back. Steve watched as you smiled at him, not missing the way he stared at your ass as you turned away.

Then, suddenly, you were in first place. Your eyes went wide and you jumped up, hugging the man in the red jacket—Steve assumed he was your coach. He heard your squeal above the rest of the cheers.

Even from where he was sitting, your eyes were bright, brighter than your smile. Steve was proud of you, pride swelled in his chest as he watched you speak with a reporter. His eyes stayed glued to you as you shook hands with the reporter, your coach walking you to the locker rooms. He watched you until he couldn't anymore.

A strange desire pulled at his heart as he pulled his Stark Pad out, looking you in F.R.I.D.A.Y.'s database.

--

After watching your performance every other skater seemed dull, incomparable, to you. The judges must have thought so, too. You stayed in first place, winning the competition.

According to F.R.I.D.A.Y, you grew up in Chicago, but you moved to Manhattan for college. You got a new coach, Adrian Tucker, who was a gold and silver medalist back in the nineties. You're a junior at NYU, majoring in Art History. You have an Instagram, some sort of social media Peter had been trying to convince him to get, and Steve created an account immediately just to follow you. You had pictures of yourself, of friends, of the rink, even a pair of ballet shoes.

So you did ballet, good to know.

The award ceremony couldn't come soon enough. The idea of being closer to you sent butterflies fluttering through his stomach. Ever since he had gotten him back, Steve and Bucky have been talking about settling down—creating a life with a girl and starting a family. But they haven't found the right partner, but maybe. . . ?

When he stood in front of you, he swore he almost stopped breathing. You were gorgeous. Your hair had been taken out of the bun, cascading down your shoulders in loose waves. Your makeup was still done the same, but he noticed light freckles dotting along the bridge of your nose. Your eyes sparkled up at him��good God, you barely stood past his chest—your painted lips parted in a smile as you took him in. He placed the gold medal around your neck, congratulating you. You whispered a small, "thank you, Captain," and Steve felt a spark of electricity jolt down his groin.

Your voice was light, melodic, quiet. You were respectful, something he valued in people, in women. He could almost imagine you posed as the perfect housewife. With the perfect husband—or husbands—with the white picket fence, the kids. He could imagine your belly swollen, the little children running around calling you 'mama'. You were young, right at that age where women would start becoming wives and mothers back in his day. The thought only made his cock harder as he watched you on the platform, waving to the audience with the biggest smile on your face.

As he sat back down next to Sam, he pulled his phone out of his pocket. He pulled up Bucky's contact and sent him a picture from your Instagram.

'I think I found her,' he typed.

--

Bucky remembered the first time he realized he was in love with Steve—he was sixteen. He had danced around with plenty of girls already but none of them ever really seemed to stick. He had saved up enough money to spend Steve's birthday at Coney Island, that was the day he made Steve ride the Cyclone, back when he was still skinny. He had bought Steve a hotdog, which a pelican attacked him over. Bucky was crying from laughter, face red and stomach aching, when he looked over at Steve. Something just clicked then.

The past couple of months, Steve and Bucky had been making plans to add a third partner into life. After all this time, fighting Nazis and being mind-controlled and saving the universe time and time again, they both agreed they deserved it—that they deserved a family. They had both been selfless for so long, was it so wrong to want someone to be selfless for them? To want someone soft that could share their love?

Steve and Bucky were great together—the love of each other's lives, in fact—but they shared an overwhelming need to dominate, to control. On and off the field. When they fucked they were ruthless, full of scraping nails and biting teeth. Fingertips that left bruises that lasted for days. They needed someone else, someone they could focus that control on, someone who could take them so gently and lovingly, a way they rarely took each other.

Then he got Steve's text. You were young, and it wasn't hard to find out almost everything he needed to know about you. Steve helped him use F.R.I.D.A.Y to figure out where you live—a small apartment that was close to your college campus. You could walk to class if the weather permitted it. It also wasn't too far from the ice rink you trained at. It was easy for Bucky to find a building across from your suite where they could watch you. You liked to keep your window open, let the sunlight in.

They took turns sitting on the roof of the neighboring building, looking through a pair of binoculars. They would watch you for hours—watch you do simple things like reading. That was Bucky's favorite, the way your lips moved ever so slightly as you read the words on the page. You enjoyed reading horror novels—Steven King, Mary Downing Hahn, an author named Chuck Palahnuik. A worn copy of Bram Stoker's Dracula and Mary Shelley's Frankenstein sat on your bookshelf. At first glance, Bucky never would have pegged you as a horror kind of girl, you were too sweet and too timid. As he continued to watch you through the cameras Steve had him install, though, he saw that you very much liked psychological thrillers. You would watch a show on YouTube about true crime and haunted locations, a couple of amateurs who didn't quite know what they were doing. They were funny, though. Steve and Bucky would watch you laugh as you stared at your phone, smiling to yourself.

You trained at a ballet studio in lower Manhattan, worked out at a gym a block away from that. They were quick to memorize your routine once they started. You'd wake up at five-thirty every morning and make yourself some breakfast. On Monday, Wednesday, and Friday's you hit the gym and the studio; you'd go to whatever classes you had that day, grab a coffee at the campus cafe, then head to the skating rink for two hours. Two and a half hours max. You went home, studied, and then you were left to your own devices. Sometimes you read, sometimes you baked and God, Bucky almost couldn't stop drooling at the thought of tasting your cooking. You'd watch television in your small living room and be in bed no later than eleven o'clock every night to start your day again.

One Monday morning, Steve and had followed you to the gym. They'd been doing that the last few weeks. At first, Steve reasoned it was so they could watch over you, in case you got into some trouble. Some mornings they planned on running into you on the sidewalk, pretending it was an accident—there was a flower cart along your route you liked to stop and admire, sometimes buying a bouquet of daisies for your little bachelor pad—but the timing never seemed right. Steve was never wearing the right shirt, or Bucky's hair was always a mess from the wind.

You took a cab, which Steve followed a couple of cars behind on his motorcycle. The air was brisk, the first signs of spring coming into the city. Some of the trees had started growing their leaves again, vibrant greens against the grey winter sky. He parked his bike underneath a plotted tree that had just started to turn, the tips of the leaves a bright green as blossoms began to bloom, pastel pinks against vibrant greens with petals blowing in the wind. He bought a newspaper from a vendor a couple of stores down and sat on a nearby bench, catching up with the world as he counted down the minutes. You would be in there for an hour and fifteen minutes almost exactly.

Steve almost couldn't sit still. He was itching to get his hands on you, to feel you. He and Bucky have been watching you for a long time now, waiting for the right moment to get their hands on you. Steve was growing impatient.

At forty-five minutes, his eyes began to flick up at the building every few minutes. He knew it wasn't time yet, but there was always a chance you got done early.

At an hour, his gaze hovered just above the paper. Ten more minutes, he told himself.

At an hour and twelve minutes, you emerged. Steve watched as you hugged your coat to your chest and began walking. The studio you danced at was only a block away, so you wouldn't have to be out in the cold for long. Still, Steve couldn't help but chastise you for not wearing something warmer. All you had on were a pair of thin leggings—that hugged your ass beautifully, he might add—and a compression tank top under your lightweight sweater.

Steve rushed to his bike, folding the newspaper in his hand and revving up the engine. He drove down the block, parking in front of a cafe across from the ballet studio. He watched you enter the studio and sat at a table, ordering a cup of coffee. He saw you through the floor-to-ceiling windows, your let stretched up over your head. He reached for his sketchbook and pencil, laying it out on the table before him.

The night of the Olympics, the first time after Steve had seen you, he stayed up all night drawing you. He found a video of your performance on the internet, watching it on repeat as he drew you in different positions. The first sketch he did was of you with your arm over your head, just before you started skating. He found he loved drawing the shape of your lips, so the next sketch was a portrait of your face. Your long lashes were hooded, eyes downcast and your lips parted slightly as the pencil scratched against the paper, your plump lips etched in charcoal. The expression Steve caught you in was oddly ethereal, the kind of innocence that Steve found absolutely breathtaking.

His phone vibrated in his pocket. Steve sighed, pulling the device out of his jeans. Cursing, he reread the message Sam sent, looking back up across the street. You were still in front of the window, leg propped up on a bar with your upper body reaching for your foot. He sighed, closing his sketchbook as he stomped toward his bike.

--

Steve and Bucky trudged back into the Compound, exhausted and irritated. Not only have they been unable to see you for a week and a half, forced to watch you through the cameras hidden throughout your apartment, but the mission had been a complete bust. They had been sent away to Northern Peru, where Fury had given them intel about a group of HYDRA smugglers shipping illegal weapons into the country. Unfortunately, Steve and Bucky spent twelve days in a cramped, boiling building across from the target's warehouse and managed to find nothing before Fury called them back.

Steve was sweaty, Bucky hadn't taken a shower in a week, and they missed you. Bucky wanted to touch you, he wanted to kiss you until you were breathless. He watched you on his phone when he could, often opting to watch the camera feed than to sleep.

Once they were in their suite, Steve stripped his uniform off, leaving it in a heap on the floor to pick up later. Right now he just wanted to feel clean. He turned the shower on and peeled his boxers off as Bucky undressed, Steve stepping below the showerhead. The warm water felt nice against his taut muscles, his shoulders relaxing under the water pressure. He watched the dirt and grime from the mission get washed away, down the drain in muddy-grey color.

As he massaged shampoo through his hair, his thoughts wandered back to you, fingers itching to run against your skin. The way your lips always looked so soft, how utterly delicious you would look with them wrapped around his cock. The sweet little noises you would make as he forced himself down your throat—you were so small, it wouldn't take much to make you choke on him.

Steve groaned as his fist wrapped around his length. Almost two weeks without imagining you on your knees, imagining your mouth on him and he was oh so sensitive. He cursed, running his thumb over his slit. He pictured your tongue dragging against his girth, your wrecked expression as you struggled to take him deeper, as Bucky struggled to fit himself in behind you. He fisted himself faster, gasping out your name.

"Yeah, baby," he mumbled to himself. "Just like that. Fuck."

He could only imagine how beautiful you would look when you came. Your skin sweaty, hips bucking, your innocent little eyes rolling to the back of your head as you squealed. Oh, you were definitely a squealer. They would make you cum over and over and—

He bit back a moan as he came, hot white spurts coating his stomach as he slowed his movements, nerves on fire. He sighed, rinsing himself off before he turned the water off. He was still hard, he wasn't sure he'd be able to get himself off.

The tips of his fingers buzzed as he redressed himself and Bucky hopped in the shower. Steve didn't know if it was the stress of the mission or the adrenaline you gave him, but he couldn't wait anymore. He didn't have the patience to wait anymore.

He was watching the camera feeds in your apartment when Bucky came out of the bathroom. All it took was one look from Steve—they already had it all planned out, they just had to put it into motion.

--

You struggled to unlock your door, twisting the key in the lock a few times, cursing as you pushed your shoulder against the door, stumbling as the door swung open. You managed to catch yourself before knocking over your vase of daisies, straightening as you waited for your world to stop spinning.

You knew it had been a bad idea when you agreed to go out tonight. You're such a lightweight and after just three shots and half a glass of wine, you're going to have a killer hangover in the morning. God, and it's three a.m. But Annie had begged you to come with them. You haven't hung out with her in so long, you were desperate to see her again. You just wished she hadn't dragged you out to a bar.

You dropped your handbag on your little dining room table, opening the refrigerator to pour yourself a glass of orange juice. You drank half the glass in a couple of gulps, letting out a sigh as you set the glass down. As you moved to pull your phone out of your purse, you heard the floorboards creak, like someone was taking a step.

You froze, looking down the hall. The boards in your bedroom creak like that when you step down on a certain spot, but you've been in the apartment long enough to learn where it is exactly and step around it.

As quietly as you could, you made your way down the hall, checking the bathroom. You've seen enough horror movies in your life to know never to close the shower curtain when you weren't using it, so with a quick glance you knew the room was empty.

Your bedroom was at the end of the hall, the door cracked open. You walked in, carefully looking around. Your closet door was open, the windows were closed, you turned and looked towards your dresser mirror and—

You saw the figure behind you before you could react. Your eyes went wide, their hand coming up to cover your mouth before you could muster a scream. Your hands flew up to the hand, legs kicking out as the intruder dragged you out of your bedroom. You screamed into the hand, thrashing as you felt a sharp prick in your neck.

"It's alright," they cooed. "Shhh, it's okay, doll. You're just gonna go to sleep for a little while, okay?"

You shook your head frantically, tears streaming down your face as you felt your body getting tired. You blinked furiously, trying to fight the sleepy feeling. Your muscles felt like dead weight, you stopped kicking your feet as your grip on the man's cold hand went slack.

"That's a good girl," he crooned. "Just relax, kitten. I'm not gonna hurt you."

Your tongue felt heavy in your mouth. Your vision blurred, and then everything went black.

[fractionallaserresurfacing]

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[yourveinexpertchicago-blog]

Swollen legs and ankles are a common symptom of vein disease. A vein expert in Chicago helps patients separate facts about this symptom from fiction.

[starksinner]

Grant Me a Second Chance

Summary: Bucky Barnes and Y/N Stark moved to Chicago to get away from their past’s and the heavy weight of being heroes. When Hydra frames Bucky for Steve Rogers’ murder, he is forced to go on the run and seek out the truth about his best friend’s assassination.

Pairings: Bucky Barnes x Reader

Warnings: Death, Angst, Heartbreak, Violence, Mentions of Sex

Song: Flares by The Script

A/N: 200+ followers?! Thank you guys so much! Here’s a thing I wrote! Tell me if you want to be tagged! Send in asks and requests, they’re always open! 😊

November 12th ; 6:00 AM

It was when Y/N heard the shrill sounds of screams and sobs echoing across their apartment, that she knew Bucky Barnes had just broke.

Steve Rogers’ name had broken out all over the news, on every channel, on every broadcast station - everyone knew that Captain America was dead.

Did you lose what won’t return? Did you love but never learn?

Her legs felt numb and brittle - like they could snap at any moment. She collapsed against the kitchen counter, wrapping her purple fingers around the granite as her ribs harshly collided with the wood.

Y/N’s sneakers squeaked against the floor, her legs completely turned useless. As her heart went cold and refused to beat, she clenched the material of her shirt and let herself crash against the tile.

Vile felt as though it was being pushed into her lungs as she struggled to grasp any form of oxygen, tears beginning to leak from her eyes.

It was the kind of scream that makes your blood run cold. Her own sound caused a ringing to float in her ears as the background of her home floated away along with any sliver of happiness.

“Steve Grant Rogers, known to many as Captain America, has been shot and killed in New York City this morning …”

The fire’s out but still it burns And no one cares, there’s no one there  

The same words from the newscaster continued to replay in her mind - but now - the sound of the television was only static, similar to the sound of her heart.

As she began to tremble, every wrenching emotion in her soul clawing for dominance, she felt a pair of clammy hands reach around her waist, holding her in their grasp.

“Y/N,”

As she blinked her tears out of her vision, a poor attempt to gain back her sight, she found herself swimming across the ocean of Bucky’s blue eyes. They seemed rather dull then compared to a normal day - a day where his best friend, his pal, his brother … a day where Steve wasn’t dead.

Did you find it hard to breathe? Did you cry so much that you could barely see?

She wrapped her arms around his neck and began whining into the blue material of his cotton tee. She felt his scruff tickle the sensitive area around her neck as she heard him sniffling into her skin. He begged her to calm down, whispering into her ear as if she could hear him over her own heavy breathing.

All Y/N could hear was an imaginary gunshot, a violent sound that refused to stop playing. It’s like she was there . . . She could hear the kickback … She could feel the cold New York wind whipping through the streets.

“B-Bucky - how,” She gripped Bucky’s shoulders tightly, holding herself against him so she wouldn’t fall back against the counter. She was sure her eyes were going to continue stinging from the constant torture. Tears refused to stop falling from her eyes, the gunshot refused to stop replaying, Bucky continued to touch her cheeks, begging her to stop crying. The ringing in her ears was hostile - but maybe it always was. She couldn’t focus, no matter how hard she tried.

Stop … stop talking, Buck … I can't hear you … The gunshot - it won't stop . . . Can someone make it stop? Please, help me make it stop!

“Y/N, baby? Pease, baby,” Bucky’s voice was horse and swollen, his eyes red and similar. He had always thought himself broken; a broken man surrounded by the whole, piece of disaster that was known to man as Earth. But as he held Y/N in his arms, he saw her coming apart - her fragile pieces crashing and burning. “Y/N, they think it was me …”

“W-what do you mean?” Her eyes shut as she shook her head, trying to shake out all the pain that was piling up in her mind. “This - this is not your fault, Bucky. You didn’t do anything. You can’t - just - blame yourself …”

The ringing was still there. The distance from reality felt so far - almost nonexistent. She couldn’t focus, she didn't want to. Bucky was holding her, but his touch felt like water against her skin - quick warmth, followed by the cold feeling of droplets drying up.

“Baby . . .” Bucky pressed his hand against her cheek, wiping his thumb over the tear-stained tracks on her beautiful skin. “ … My picture is all over the news - they think - I … They think I killed Stevie …”

You’re in the darkness all alone And no one cares, there’s no one there  

Her mind was a catastrophe, she felt the world around her fading into a hurricane of white noise and dust. Before her lips could part - before she could protest and explain her confusion- Bucky took hold of her arms and dragged her up from the ground.

“Baby … you gotta’ listen to me alright? Calm down - for me - o-okay?” He held her in place, brushing a piece of her (H/C) hair out of her eyes. “Someone is tryna’ frame me … I think it's Hydra … If they're back, we gotta' go.”

“Buck - Bucky, please …”

“Baby - pack some clothes, your gun, your knife, everything okay?” He turned away from her, wiping his eyes with the hem of his shirt. “We gotta’ get to New York fast - fast as possible . . . The longer we’re out here - you’re not safe . . .”

He tried to walk away, that was his defense mechanism, he pretended what was happening - wasn’t. Y/N cried and took hold of his wrist, pressing the pads of her palms against his chest. She dragged her feet across the ground, watching as Bucky’s eyes tried to focus on everything but her own. She placed her hands over his cheeks, forcing his gaze upon hers. “Buck, we - just - need to slow d-down … Take a minute-”

“I - I need you to pack your things, doll.” He told her, punctuating every syllable he spoke. “We gotta' go … There’s no time …”

Did you break but never mend? Did it hurt so much you thought it was the end?  

The decent of stairs to the parking lot felt like a tunnel that lead to the gates of hell. It’s like they were forced to rush through nineteen floors of agony and grief. The flickering of the broken lights in the staircase felt like camera flashes trying to cloud in front of (Y/N)’s vision. She tried to focus on the decline of the floors as her breathing threatened to become sporadic again … 19...18....17....

Bucky believed that the stairs was the smartest option. The last place he wanted to be was trapped in an elevator with a bunch of Hydra agents, all holding automatic weapons and wearing dark ski masks. They could be anywhere. Did they know he was in Chicago? Did they know he was with Y/N? Wait, did they? They could be anyone - they could be everywhere. He wasn’t going to take any chances. He knew that chances were the reason Steve was no longer breathing.

As Bucky shuffled down the stairs, the loud sound of his boots echoed off of the concrete walls. He lead the way, feeling Y/N’s body heat close behind.

She wore one of Bucky’s black hoodies, the one with the fuzzy cotton material that smelled just like him. The hood of the jacket was perched upon her head strategically to hide her identity. She was Tony Stark’s daughter - the last thing Bucky needed was to fight off a swarm of fans or money hungry paparazzi.

He had his hand against his pistol that was nudged between the waistband of his jeans. He held out his other hand for Y/N as he reached the ground floor of the parking garage.

He stepped into the garage and scanned the dark area. Chills crawled across the all cuts and bruises that fractured his skin. He grasped (Y/N)’s hand tighter as he began to feel anxious and lost in the middle of the packed lot.

“It’s - um - 198,” Y/N’s spoke softly, her voice a small disturbance compared to the rapid race her heart was running at. Bucky heard it. He heard her veins pulsing, he felt her skin turning cold. He stared at her, reminding himself that this girl was his one and only priority. Whatever was happening, her life and safety was the reason the world needed to keep spinning.

Lose your heart but don’t know when And no one cares, there’s no one there  

Bucky anxiously began walking through the lines of cars, staring around for Y/N’s car’s all black exterior.

As he caught the number 198 on the pavement written in white paint, he let her press the finger padded lock and unlock the doors of her car.

“You got your gun, baby?” He anxiously asked as he pressed his hands against the top of the car and watched her open the passenger door.

“Yes-”

He locked the doors again as they both clicked on their seat belts. He pressed the start button and pressed on the gas - hard.

“Good - okay. Keep your head down, then. Your finger on the trigger, okay? Don’t stare at anyone, don’t let anyone stare at you-”

The car’s speed suddenly increased as Bucky held his foot tighter against the gas, causing the car to almost hit a beam as he raced around for the exit.

“Oh my God! Bucky! Please - listen to me!” Y/N jolted into the dash as Bucky grunted and violently hit the brakes, the sounds of the wheels skidding against the asphalt reaching the inside of the car. She held out her arm to prevent less impact from the dash as he shouted at the air exasperatedly and stared out of the windshield, the sight of a wall mere inches away from the head of the car.

Y/N braced herself, hugging her arms against her chest as her blood pressure begged to be brought down. All moister and feeling in her mouth was gone as she sat in silence and turned to Bucky. He didn’t look to be breathing.

His hands were gripping the leather wheel so forcefully, Y/N was sure she could see the points of his bones pressing against the bruises on his knuckles. He didn’t glance at her, he only stared straight ahead and reflected a horrified statue. She covered her mouth with her hand to keep from letting out a shrill cry.

“James - look at me, James,” She begged, hopelessly sighing against her palm. She studied him carefully, watching as refused to blink or acknowledge her.

She knew why. He was trying to be a stone cold soldier. He was trying to convince himself that Steve wasn’t dead. Maybe, he deserved to feel numb. Maybe he deserved to be naive.

“H-he was special to me, too.” She stumbled, cowardly covering her chin under the warmness of her hoodie. “Stevie was my world, Bucky. He was everything to me. He was my everything … Don’t - don’t shut me o-out … Please don’t do that to me.”

But did you see the flares in the sky? Were you blinded by the light?

She saw a tear finally fall down his cheek as he stubbornly shook his head and turned towards the window. Y/N could hear the quiet sniffles he tried to suppress by burying his face into his left shoulder.

Grief is the price we pay for love. If Y/N and Bucky didn’t love, there wouldn’t be this new tightness squeezing their chest’s. Their worlds wouldn’t be black and white, their eye’s unable to see the beauty of life or its fine details, anymore. The news about Steve had broken out less than two hours ago, but the world felt foreign; it felt like a new dimension without hope, happiness, or closure.

Maybe, love is worth the pain. The brightness of love is worth the darkness of pain - because what is truly, a life without love? It is nothingness. It is loneliness. It is emptiness. (Y/N) had lived down that road before; it was dark and deep and dangerous. A life without love is a life not worth living.

“I'm sorry. I’m so sorry - please - don’t cry again, baby,” Bucky whispered, his posture slowly shifting. “My heart - it hasn’t stopped racing since - since this morning … I feel like I’m stuck in a nightmare - it doesn’t feel r-real … Nothing feels real anymore.” He confessed, shattering the cold silence.

“Steve is … dead? I, I talked to him two days ago, I heard his voice, it’s like I saw him - like we were together again. Now he’s gone? How is he - just - gone, (Y/N)? Why...What happened?”

“I - I - don’t know, James,” (Y/N) croaked, wiping her hand across her mottled face.

“I, I feel like he’s just gonna be there - at the tower - and when we walk in, he’s gonna hug the living hell out of you and kiss you all over … and I’m going to smile . . . because you two are the only people who make me happy … It’s like I’m human again.”

Did you feel the smoke in your eyes? Did you, did you?

Y/N fought to hold back the seething torrent of tears as Bucky’s confession caused a stream of brokenness to soak his shirt. His eyes were puffy and irritated, his cheeks stained, his heart broken.

Y/N unfastened her seat belt, leaning over and tangling her fingers in Bucky’s curls, settling his head upon her chest. His arms wrapped around her torso, his fingers digging into the plush material of her sweater. He held her tight, muting his sobs into the warmness of her soft skin.

She held him, tight, refusing away any enemy of hurt that tried to break them apart. She stroked his back, his head, and his neck. She whispered sweet nothings into his ear as his crying began to soften. She said I love you - over and over - but not like a broken record. She spoke to him with love, with kindness, because she was not going to let the darkness take him away. Bucky deserved the world - he deserved everything good - he deserved to know he was loved.

“I should’ve been there …” Y/N murmured, her lips chapped and raw. “I know he would be alive if we were there …” Bucky slowly pulled his head away from her chest, his hands still pressed against her back. He stared into her E/C eyes as they watered and grew darker. “… I’m the one who wanted to leave. I wanted to leave everything behind … It’s my fault we weren’t there - with him, with everyone … I can just imagine - none of this would have happened … Everything could be different now.”

“You can’t just do that to yourself … I’m not gonna’ let you, baby. No way are you blaming yourself.” With such gentleness, Bucky cradled her cheeks in his hands and watched as her skin molded with his own. He forced her to stare into his eyes as she fought with herself. She was trying to convince her mind to believe in the lie that she was so willing to tell. Steve would be alive. I did this. I fucking did this. I shouldn’t have left. Why did I leave? Why did I make Buck leave?

His calloused fingers drew lines across her cheeks as he found himself mesmerized by every small detail of her eyes, nose, and mouth. It was always her - the only person who could make him feel okay again. “Don’t fight yourself … We’re here together. We’re in this thing together … I’m not gonna’ leave you like this, okay?” Y/N cowered her head and nodded, pressing her hands against his as he removed them from her face. 

He needed her, and she needed him. 

Without Bucky, Y/N felt as though she was always drowning. It was like everyone around her quietly observed as she struggled and continued to decent into the depts of her own mind. Bucky kept her afloat. He was the only person who could. 

Without Y/N, Bucky felt like an empty void stuck in the middle of the world. Life didn’t seem to have any purpose - living seemed unnecessary. Being a hero, saving people, it didn’t feel right when he had no one to come home to. Y/N smiled at the end of a long, hard mission. She cracked jokes after a horrific scene just to make him laugh and see the light. She held him at night when his nightmares made him scream out for help when the nightmares felt all too real.

  “Y-you know you’re my whole world,” Bucky whispered. He felt the need to remind her of his love - he needed her to know. “You’re everything to me. I don’t want to lose you, too . . . I can’t let that happen, Y/N. I can’t see or live a life without you …”

“You’re never going to lose me,” Y/N leaned back in her seat and sighed, her breath now visible because of the growing cold of the November temperatures. She turned to him and watched as the white smoke floated past his lips. “ … I don’t want you to be reckless, James, being reckless has never done anyone any good … It gets people killed.”

Bucky exhaled a heap of cold air and wiped his hands against the rough denim of his jeans. He slowly leaned over his dash and grabbed the pistol he placed there before he started up the engine. It almost taunted him.

Y/N watched suspiciously as he pulled the safety off and set it back down. He placed it on the dash again like it was a ticking time bomb - he seemed so anxious all of a sudden, like it was his first time handling a little gun. What was he gonna’ do with it? Y/N thought to herself. If Hydra just walked on in here, did he really think a tiny, stupid pistol was gonna’ put them down? Of course not. He was being stupidly reckless. 

“I know you’re thinkin’, doll …” He spooked her, his fingers dancing over the leather steering wheel again. He stared at it for a moment, almost as if he were contemplating whether or not to stay or go. “C'mon, pretty girl. You forget, I know you … I know you’re thinkin’ bout' somethin’ . . .”

Y/N timidly lowered her eyes to her palms, and softly cracked her knuckles for a chance of relief. Her skin was dry and damaged, as a result from the fall temperatures, but also, as a result from her previous battles - the battles that haunted her, the battles that were a reminder of Steve. How did Steve look right now? How did Steve’s hands look? How many battles did he fight his way through?

“Steve, he let us leave the Avengers because he knew it’s what we needed . . .” Her tongue swiped across the bottom of her lip as the dry skin moved uncomfortably as she spoke. “He might’ve been a hero to the rest of the world, Buck … But he saved us … He let us live a different life - lives we wanted . . .” Bucky gawked in her direction as she pressed her hand against the fogged up window and began tracing her fingers over the condensation.

 “Steve gave us a second chance . . .“ She acknowledged. Y/N looked over to Bucky and peered into his eyes. His iris’ were as blue as the oceans, irritated with red; but still ever so beautiful. They still looked broken - and that broke her … but they were still his blue eyes, there was still a sense of familiarity. ” … What are you thinking about, James? I know you, too.“ A small grin twisted at her lips. “I know that look in your eyes - like you’re in a hurry . . .”

As Bucky sighed, he jutted out his bottom lip, and focused on the way the loose strands of his hair floated upwards for a moment, before resettling over his eyes. 

” I’m thinkin’ bout gettin’ out of this city … gettin' you safe.“ He held his hand against her thigh as she listened carefully, her eyes ever so curious. “I’m also thinkin’ about them . . .“ 

He stared down at his hand on her body and focused on the way her heartbeat paced itself when he touched her. It comforted him to know he calmed her. Maybe, she wasn’t aware that he knew the sound of her heartbeat. He could differentiate the beat of her heart from any other person on the planet. Her pulse was strong and fierce, like a warrior; like her. 

”I know I shouldn’t be thinking about what I am - but - God - Hydra keeps pulsing in my head - I feel like I can’t breathe properly - it’s like a constant reminder . . .“ He reluctantly looked into her eyes - almost ashamed, almost like a plea for help. 

Y/N knew what he wanted to do. She could see it in his eyes - she could almost picture the blood on his hands. She could feel the spark, like their thoughts were connected. She knew what he wanted to do. She wanted to kill them, too. She wanted the justice Steve deserved. She wanted to hurt them for pinning this on Bucky. She wanted to hurt them - she wanted to hurt them bad.

“I need'a find out who did this, N/N. I needa’ find the assholes that are framing me … I won’t be able to rest until I do.“ 

“I’m not letting you run alone. We’re gonna’ find them together - like we always have,” She assured him, putting her hand over his. “They’re not getting away with this. It’s not gonna' fucking happen, Buck, I’m killing them - once and for all - I’m doing it for Steve.”

Did you see the sparks filled with hope? You are not alone

As the car engine sung to the busy Chicago roads, Y/N began to recall the adventurous road trips she use to take with Bucky. She relished the roaring winds that twirled through her H/L, H/C hair and whistled in her ears. The music from the radio had no one to disturb as they sped along the empty freeway; their hearts thumping because of their short moment of glory. 

Now, as Y/N glared out at the land, the once roaring and vibrant city was no more than ash and charcoal. The air felt heavy and scented with the smell of burnt hope and dying trust. The city stood as a dismal wasteland as the sky fell into an empty grey hole of mourning. From every corner of the earth, in every alleyway of the city, Y/N saw the signs of an apocalypse. Life seemed to be at a cold end. 

She felt the need to curl up in a ball and bury herself into a pit of shame, guilt, and anger. Bucky must have felt the same - he hit the brakes furiously as he swerved around morning traffic.The world around them seemed to be moving in slow motion; a deadly reminder of time passing.

Her anxiousness continued to grow as she noticed Bucky’s constant glances at his side mirrors, almost like he expected for trouble to hit them at any moment. 

“You gotta’ call someone, doll,” Bucky cut the silence, his eyes still plastered to the road. “ … I can’t just be driving around all day, lookin’ for shadows …”

Bucky’s words rocked in her mind as her nimble fingers grasped around her cell phone, her body solid with worry and confusion. 

She had no one to call. She had broken her bond from them a long time ago.

She had become accustomed to her own silence from him for so long. He was like an echo; an echo with the power of reason and infliction. All those years ago, she was caught in the war of opposing sides. 

When one side argues with the other and your love for both of them becomes a stamp of disloyalty, or worse, what are you to do? She couldn’t abandon either of them. She couldn’t just pick a side. It was Steve or him. It was an impossible choice; a choice she never hoped to make. 

“Hello? Y/N?”

Her pulse skipped, upon hearing her own name. Like screams across a canyon, the familiar voice reverberated through the line.  

Tony Stark’s voice seemed to kill all the cries and howls of her own thoughts as she shut her eyes and brought her phone against her ear. She hadn’t heard his voice in months. She hadn’t seen him in almost a year. She was only coming to him now because she was afraid; she was terrified. What the hell was she suppose to say?

“Daddy,” She choked. Her toes curled in on themselves as she attempted to contain her screams within the dark pit of her heart. “Daddy … I, um, I shouldn’t be calling … and … I - they … they think Bucky killed Steve,”

Bucky couldn’t help but shift awkwardly in his seat as he heard Y/N take a long, scattered breath. It sounded like she was in dire pain - like speaking to her father - was suddenly torturous compared to the events of that morning.

“We, we don’t know what we’re suppose to do … I don’t know what to do.” She confessed. She pressed her fingernail into her thigh as a way to repress the tears and distress her body begged to be rid of. Bucky’s eyes hesitantly shifted to the passengers side of the car as he saw her wince and press her face against the freezing window.

The line was silent for so long that she checked her phone to see if the call had ended. She didn’t think it had - but only hearing the deadly tone of silence was enough to make her nerves suddenly unsteady.

“Hey. My baby … Listen to the sound of my voice … Just listen to my voice,”

Y/N’s bottom lip quivered as her eyes were forced shut. She knew this shouldn’t be so hard. Asking for help shouldn’t be this difficult. “What should, what should we do, Dad?”

“I’m gonna’ send Happy out with a chopper, okay?” Tony confirmed. “You’re safe? Barnes is with you?” From the Avengers Tower, Tony was staring out at the city, watching as the New York City streets flooded with mourners. Everyone seemed either angry or dejected. New York was filled with the colours of blue, white, and red - but life, again, still looked and felt colourless.

“Yeah,” Y/N fluttered her eyes open again. “We’re both okay. We just - have no where to run to … and we can’t drive around Chicago all day long.”

“Alright, Darling … Stay off the major roads, intersections - anything like that. Try and get as far away from the city as you can and drive to the coordinates I’m sending … It’s a landing spot away from everything.”

“Y-yeah, okay …” Y/N tapped Bucky’s knee with careful caution and pointed at the windshield, directing him to turn at the next stop.  

“I love you, baby … I’ll see you soon, okay?”

“Yeah, Dad … Okay.”

“Where’s my girl?”

Tony had been anxiously pestering Peter Parker for the last hour. His eyes were fixated on the dark, grey sky in hopes of seeing any sign of the helicopter. He was becoming nervous. His nervousness was making him even more nervous. This wasn’t a good look.

“She’ll be here, Mr. Stark. It’s only been an hour.” Peter assured him.

Police and security were swarming the streets as people attempted to enter the Avengers Tower, in hopes of finding The Winter Soldier - the once again assassin, who had ’killed’ their favorite hero.

Tony knew it was no wise choice for Bucky to return. Especially at a time where every cop, FBI, and CIA agent was swarming the country in hopes of finding any clue about his whereabouts.

But the thing that had Tony most on edge, was the fact that no one outside of the Avengers compound, knew anything about Barnes’ relationship with his daughter. That was the deal. The press was told Y/N was laying low for the time being - a dull story in which everyone had respectfully believed. No one was going to question Tony Stark. They didn’t know anything about Y/N and Bucky. That was a truth Tony needed hidden.

“Mr. Stark …”

As Tony’s eyes broke away from the fallen city, his gaze met Y/N’s as she pulled her hood off her head and ran over to him. Her shoes echoed across the white, marble floor as Tony fell into a bright tunnel, a tunnel consuming him and the one girl he would love unconditionally.

“Baby,” He flushed a deep red as she wrapped her shaking arms around him and buried her face into the security of his chest. “Hey, babygirl.”

He pressed his hand against the top of her head and began stroking her hair. He heard her whimpering against him; a sign of distress she usually didn’t share with many people.

Y/N didn’t cry. She didn’t break down. She was a fighter, a person who didn’t see the need for emotions in the job and life she had been living in. This was a look Tony barely saw - but then again, after the Civil War, he barley saw her.  

“I’m sorry. I’m sorry, Daddy … I’m so sorry …” As she broke against him, he realized how an essential piece of his heart had been missing. What hurt even more was that as he woke up that morning … another piece of him, he thought he had lost along time ago, died too - this time, it was gone forever … Steve.

The feeling of another presence entering the room quickly burned Tony’s senses. He gazed up to find Bucky staring at him blankly, gripping a backpack and travel case in his metal hand. Happy was behind him, shadowing a heavy look.

“ Oh my God,”  Y/N)quickly lifted off Tony’s chest and wandered over to Peter, who stood nervously in the middle of the room. “I missed you, Pete.”

Peter’s mouth was agape as she wiped her tears on her sleeve and pulled his body against her own. He almost melted from the familiarity of her warm hugs. He sighed contently and wrapped his strong arms around her, gently rubbing her back as he felt her shake. “I, I missed you, too.”

A loud thrash erupting from down the hall caused Peter to jump slightly as he held Y/N tightly in his arms. Her H/L, H/C twirled in the air as she shot her eyes towards the direction of the abrupt sound.

”Stark!“ An empty yell called out from around the hall. “The feds are saying they’re gonna’ needa’ bring in some more backup since the herd outside is only gettin’ bigger. I know you don’t want any police or anything up here so,”

Bucky’s shoulder’s tensed as he turned his head and caught Sam walking out of the east elevator, his brows furrowed and his stare cold. He had his Falcon gear on, along with a large AK-47 that was propped up against his chest. Y/N held onto the drawstrings of her hoodie as she turned around from Peter’s grasp and caught herself melting into the comfort of Sam’s chocolate brown eyes. The chocolaty hue was as sweet and bright as his features as his eyes finally rested upon her.

“Holy damn shit.” He whispered as his boots echoed off the ground, his stance frozen and shocked. Without even a nod or welcome, Sam held out his gun for Bucky to grasp. With an aggressive grunt, Bucky let go of his backpack and took the gun from Sam’s hold.

Y/N smiled pathetically as she walked over to him and held out her arms. “Holy frickin’ shit,” Sam whispered again as he lunged out of his frozen state and wrapped his arms around her waist. “Man, Y/N. I missed you so damn much … So damn much, girl.”

“God, yeah. I missed you, too …” She admitted nervously. Y/N squeezed him for a bit little longer until his uniform began digging uncomfortably into her ribs.

Her smile was unexpectedly warm as she placed her hands against his chest and tried to think of something positive to say. How have you been? Have you missed teasing Buck around the compound? Have you found your lucky lady yet?

Y/N had hoped that the next time she saw Sam, Happy, or her father, it would be a time of joy and happy memories. But as her E/C eyes fell in line with Sam’s transparent look - a piercing stab punched  through her heart.

Her smile quickly faded.

“I’m so fucking sorry,”  She muttered, as quiet as she could. All of a sudden, as leaden tears threatened to fall down her cheeks, she suddenly became over aware of everyone staring at her and Sam.

She shook her head and fought the urge to look away as a sweltering pain shot through her body. “I’m sorry for ever leaving you and Steve and Wanda and everyone. I should’ve been here. I should’ve been here for him. I can’t ever forgive myself for that … I should’ve been here with you both.”

“Hey - hey - hey,” Sam soothed her, pressing his gloved hands over her cheeks. “Don’t pin this on yourself. You’re here with us now … That’s all I care for … Right now …” His voice quickly became despondent. “ Steve would want us all together … and now we are.”

“Darling,” Tony called out softly, his hands falling to his pockets. His sneakers tapped against the floor as he wandered over to the two of them. “ Why don’t you and Sam head down to the lab and see Bruce and Natasha?”

“Okay,” Y/N murmured, pulling her arms around herself.

Tony smiled heartily at her before turning his head and placing his hand stiffly over Sam’s right shoulder. He raised his eyebrows, almost as if Y/N weren’t there, and glared at Sam with an all too familiar dangerous look. “I’ll deal with everything outside. You just - go okay?”

An almost intolerable silence fell across the room as Sam decided against replying. Tony must have shot him another look, as he nodded sharply and cowered his head.

“Yeah, man. Okay.” He turned to Y/N with a joyous twinkle in his eyes and grinned lightly. “Let’s go down to the lab then,” He encouraged, taking hold of her hand gently as Tony smiled.

Before she could leave, or even think about what Bruce and Natasha could be feeling, her bloodshot eyes fell to Bucky, who still held Sam’s gun and her bags in his hands. He looked almost dead as he stood like a perfect solider in the corner of the living area, one could have forgotten he was even there.

“Bucky,” Y/N called out anxiously as Sam tried to pull her towards the elevator. Tony was walking towards Bucky, yet he seemed unfazed by his swagger. Y/N, wasn’t that calm. “Buck-”

“I’m not gonna’ hurt him, Darling.” Tony turned to her. A small, innocent smile crept up on his lips. “I promise you’ll have him back in one piece.”

“C'mon, N/N,” Sam said. Although she thought against it, she followed Sam into the elevator and watched timidly as the doors shut, leaving Tony Stark and Bucky Barnes in the same room together; all alone.

“What’s your plan here, exactly?”

Tony stood behind the main bar in the living area, pouring himself a much to large glass of whiskey. His brown eyes were fixated on the golden yellow liquid, while Bucky sat anxiously on the couch, fidgeting his leg up and down.

“My, um, plan?” He tilted his head, rubbing his hands over his thighs.

“With your name plastered all over the news,” Tony took a sip of his drink and pointed at the glowing flat screen behind him. “You obviously can’t just stay here. In the next week, every type of agent imaginable is gonna’ be swarming around this tower, and I’m not gonna’ be able to say anything against it. You can’t just be sleepin’ in bed with my daughter all day, living a life someone in this world really doesn’t want you to have.”

“Hydra did this, I know they did.” Bucky replied lowly.

“Yeah,” Tony brought the glass up to his lips again, peering at Bucky with steel cold eyes. “Probably.” He slowly placed the glass against the granite bar top and pressed his palms against the cool surface. “I’m not letting you drag her into this - by the way. The last thing I want is anyone targeting her. That’s the last thing happening, Barnes.”

“I would never let that happen.” Bucky argued, pulling his fingers through this hair. “I know that I can’t just - fucking - sit here waiting for the FBI to lock me up for something I didn’t do, but I just can’t run away from Y/N, Stark. I can’t just walk out on her.”

“I’m not asking you to,” Tony chugged the last bit of alcohol and ticked his tongue against the top of his mouth. “You can find them, clear your own name. Then, if you still think you love my daughter-”

“I do love her,” Bucky’s nostrils flared intensely. “I’ve always fucking loved her, Stark.”

Tony chuckled, grasping his hand around the bourbon bottle again. “Then you can come back to her,”

As it turns out, you can’t drink away the silence. Tony was trying to, like he always did, but his words kept driving around in Bucky’s mind. Bucky didn’t think the quietness was all that comforting.  

If his thoughts were visible, they would be an inverse explosion, chaotic turns and twists of fire and light all coming together to just one idea, leaving her; the only person that he lived for. He would never want to leave Y/N. She kept his heart pumping, she kept him smiling and laughing and living. She gave him the normal life. The life he had always wished for.

He would never drag her into a blind battlefield. Hydra could be anyone; they could be anywhere. He wasn’t going to risk her safety in hopes of finding Steve’s killer. He wouldn’t want her out there, either.

Bucky was trying to convince himself, that doing this, that leaving her and then coming back once the fire was burned out was the only option he had. But he knew it wasn’t. He could run off with her - to the other end of the world. They could wake up next to each other each morning. She could laugh at his groggy voice and silly antics of hoping for morning sex.

Stupid, he kept reminding himself. It was stupid to want the perfect life, to wish for anything more then chaos.

Chaos followed him like a shadow. Mayhem made him who he was. He wouldn’t let it follow her. She didn’t deserve to know what it feels like to lose, to feel so desperately that you’re right, then to fail all the same. She didn’t deserve that pain. Bucky didn’t think anyone deserved to feel so helpless but the people that did this to Steve. It was then, he knew the only thing he had to do. He had to. He had to go and avenge his best friend. He had to avenge Steve Rogers.

‘Cause someone’s out there, sending out flares Someone’s out there, sending out flares

Bucky didn’t expect to get any sleep. His heartbeat echoed in his ears as midnight quickly approached. The time trickled by, marked only by that of the changing glowing numerals on his bedside table. His mind was blank, where dreams and nightmares should be, only lay the depression of the night.

Time was like a grim reminder of his own mortality. He would be gone before morning, it was killing him. It was causing every bone in his body to rattle with anticipation.

Y/N’s leg brushed against his as she flipped around under the comforter, sighing contently as she rested her head against the cold side of the pillow.

Was this the last time he would be sleeping next to her?

Was this the last time he was ever going to be this close to her?

“Y/N …” He whispered against the silence of the night.  The only movement was the slight rise and fall of her chest, the rest of her body seeming calm and tranquil.

Her features were much softer in sleep, her youthful skin and glow much more apparent.

“Hey,” He murmured, tracing her jawline with the tip of his finger. He smiled gently as she moaned and shifted in her peaceful slumber. “Babygirl,”

“Bucky?” She stirred, slowly opening her eyes. “What’s wrong?” She asked quietly, reaching out to touch his chest.

“A million things are wrong,” He breathed, grasping her face with a feather like touch. “But you aren’t.”

Y/N yawned and covered her mouth, a muffled giggle escaping her chapped lips as she stretched out her arms.  "You woke me just to tell me that?“

Bucky grunted and chuckled along with her, running his hands down his face. ”Actually, I was trying to steal the covers, but you kicked me when I tried … haven’t been able to fall back asleep since.“

“Yeah, well,” (Y/N) snuggled into his chest and laughed lightly, shutting her eyes. “Wouldn’t be the first time I’ve kicked you in my sleep, Buck.”

“I usually deserve it anyway,” He agreed, pressing his hands underneath her night shirt and pulling her body closer to his. He found a familiar comfort in the softness and peach scent of her skin.  

Receiving no answer, he shut his eyes, too. He focused on the blackness of his closed eyelids, in hopes of subsiding all the paranoia and guilt that tried to keep him awake.

He held Y/N in his arms; tighter then he had ever held her and with more love then he had ever given her. 

And he dreamed, this wouldn’t be the last time …

November 12th ; 9:34 AM

Sunlight warmed the sky; beautiful, pure scattered light. It ambitiously illuminated each crevice of New York City. Y/N fluttered her eyes open, adjusting to the beautiful beams of light that leaked through the large windows of her bedroom.

She groaned softly as her muscles teased her of yesterday’s events, sharp pains and stabs clawing at different curves of her body.

Her arms and legs wrestled against the fluffed sheets as she stretched out her arms for feeling of another warm body. “Buck,”

Her vision was still fogged from lack of a good night’s rest and the morning sunshine that was pouring in. She moaned his name again, stretching her leg out across the sheets to tangle her feet with his.

That’s when her legs froze up suddenly, like a cramp wrapping its way around every joint in her body. She only felt the emptiness of those sheets. The material was cold and flat, almost like no one had slept next to her. Bucky. Where’s Bucky?

Her lungs almost sprung out of her chest as she shot up from her bed and peered around the room, her eyes frantic and desperate. “Bucky?” She gasped, feeling the breeze of new air cooling her skin. Goosebumps spread across her clammy skin as she shoved the bed sheets off her body.

Her pulse was quickened as her feet touched the ground. Was he in the kitchen? Was he on the balcony looking out at the city? Her feet padded against the hardwood floors as she snuggled a blanket around her exposed shoulders and tiptoed across the room in search of him. “Bucky?”

As she walked over to his side of the bed, pulling the fallen blankets over top of the bottom sheet, a sudden chill swept through her like a cold winter’s shock.

That’s when she spotted her name scribbled upon an old piece of crumpled paper. It sat under Bucky’s wallet, strategically, on the night stand beside the bed.

Y/N didn’t move or breathe. She felt frozen in spot, stuck in some sort of time warp. Her arm reached out to grasp the note that had been left for her, but she felt like she was peering at reality from a distance. She didn’t feel at all in control. 

Where the hell was Bucky?

Time stopped in its place. The glow of red, blue, and white from the mourning signs outside seemed to grow bland. The sunshine seemed to evaporate into the darkness that wasn’t suppose to exist at nine in the morning. Y/)’s heart pounded against her chest, it thumped like a drum.

A note is old fashioned … but you know I am, too …

Her eyes fell to Bucky’s messy handwriting. She knew it was his, the little line he does on his A’s, the pressure he uses on his periods. Bucky Barnes always wrote like he was out of time. But why would he even have to write this? Where the hell was he?

My palms are shaky and I just can’t sleep … It’s almost sunrise, the view’s always been beautiful from up here …

Sunday mornings. She wished she could relive them. Bucky would lean his arm against the window and look out at the scrambling city of Chicago. The orange and yellow tones of the sunrise, sun-kissed every crevice of his beautiful, pale skin. His chocolaty coloured locks looked so smooth and beautiful in the morning light … she would wrap her arms around him and take in his scent.

But unlike those Sunday mornings, the note, didn’t put a smile on her face. As she read the letter Bucky had sloppily written, she felt her legs … give out.

I’m sorry if you can’t read this. I was never going to let you go out there with me. I’ve never lied to you until now and the pain of knowing I have is going to slowly kill me everyday. I know you’re going to hate me.

Y/N felt like screaming. Maybe, she was. She sat on the edge of the bed and pressed her fingers against the edge of the paper.

Please don’t leave our friends, don’t shut them out, because of what I’ve done. I would never let you walk into a war like this. I need to find the truth. I’m going to hunt down Hydra. I need to do this for him. I’m sorry for not saying goodbye. You just need to know I love you. I love you, Y/N. I’m looking at you as I write this.

Her E/C eyes left the letter for a moment as she stared down at the empty bed. She could picture him, all nervous and reckless.

You’re as beautiful as ever. Always so damn beautiful. I’m going to come home to you, I’m going to finish this as fast as possible. Don’t go looking for me, don’t put yourself at risk. If you’re looking for purpose, look around you. The Avengers, this family of yours, they need you. Take care of them. Steve needs you to. I love you, baby. Always and forever. Forgive me, someday.

- Bucky

December 2nd ; 5:47 AM

Sometimes my heart beats shallow, sometimes it beats so strong I think my chest will burst, but it beats only for you; it’s always been for you.

The echo of the helicopter got louder and louder until Y/N could feel it vibrating against every nook in her body. She held a Stark Industries tablet against her chest, the screen displaying a landing spot she had traced to Washington DC.

But that doesn’t mean your right, Buck. The Avengers are my family. That’s always been true. But they don’t need me anymore. My only purpose for living has been you. So … I’m ignoring your orders.

Her H/C hair whipped through the wind as the choppers propellers moved at a lightning pace. She grasped upon the door and seated herself in the empty passengers seat.

I’m also ignoring my father’s pleads for me to stay. I’ve always been defiant. You would agree Steve and I had stubbornness both in common.

She pulled the heavy duty seat belt over her chest and put on the headset the pilot handed her, shooting him a thumbs up.

I’ll meet you half way anywhere, in the middle of battle, in the middle of the world. I told you I was gonna’ do this with you, Buck. We’re ending this thing together. So I’ll see you, in the middle of the world, I guess. 

The door slammed shut as the engine roared, the helicopter slowly rising up from the landing pad. Y/N gazed out of the window, watching as the sun lit up and shined against every skyscraper in the city.

This is my second chance, I believe it really is. I can’t just sit here, and throw it all away. I might not avenge the world anymore but you can be damned sure I’ll avenge him. Hopefully you can forgive me, Buck.

Someday.

[okbuyok001]

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[prurientpuddlejumper]

Spit-Roast Psychiatrist [Part 4, Male Reader][18+]

<- Part 3 | Part 5 ->

Frederick Chilton x Reader x Bryan Kneef

For @thatesqcrush‘s Summer Bingo: masturbation square

Warnings: NSFW. Cuckolding, humiliation kink, use of safeword, penetrative sex, no discussion of condoms/protection, jealousy/insecurity, reassurance.

The arrangement you and Frederick Chilton have with Bryan Kneef is beginning to lead to some hurt feelings…

1,600 words

Your moans filled the room as Bryan Kneef pounded into you, his voice growling low taunts to punctuate each heavy thrust.

In the corner, a steady, wet thapt, thapt, thapt, thapt set a continuous rhythm.

“You love watching him take this cock, don’t you?” Bryan’s voice remained commanding and powerful, not dissolving into pants despite the extreme physical performance. He held one of your legs up, your thigh bruised under his grip, so that Chilton could see your hole spread wide by Bryan’s massive cock as he drove into you, your cock bouncing in time with his swinging balls.

Chilton groaned in frustration and lust, fist jerking his swollen sex faster. It glistened with lube, the head nearly purple in his fist. He watched the two of you raptly from his submissive position, kneeling on the floor, eyes focused on every movement—the way his balls struck your ass, the wild look in your eye, each hitch of your breath as stretched you even further.

You felt his eyes on you like fire, his jealousy building in synchrony with your pleasure. It was almost too much—Bryan filling you to your limits, splitting you open, while the man you loved watched helplessly, allowed to look but not touch. He bit his lower lip as he worked himself, trying not to whine. Fuck, you wanted to hear that whine—for him to cry out in anguish and pleasure as spurts of opalescent cum shoot out from his tip like dandelion seeds casting a wish to be inside you. It would land helplessly on the carpet. None of it would reach your naked form. You were all Bryan’s tonight. The only thing to catch his cum would be his pathetic, sticky hand.

The thought nearly sent you to the edge.

“Fuck, his cock feels so much better than yours,” you moaned wantonly.

Frederick’s face twitched. He bit down harder on his lower lip. Yes… be jealous. Cum so fucking hard in impotent rage.

“Why would I ever fuck you when I can have him? You’re nothing compared to Bryan.” Let me hear you whimper.

Bryan smirked at your cutting words. His fingers curled around the front of your throat and pulled back possessively to kiss you, beard scratching your skin.

The steady thapt, thapt, thapt abruptly stopped, and when you sneered down at Chilton again, a sheen of tears clouded his eyes.

“I…” he stammered. “R-red.” His voice was soft, as if he wasn’t sure he ought to interrupt and half hoped you wouldn’t hear him murmur the safeword, but instantly, everything stopped.

You climbed off of Bryan and circled your arms around Frederick’s neck as you knelt before him. “Hey, it’s OK. Are you OK?” you whispered, stroking the side of his face. Though he was naked, he kept his makeup on—his green contact lens and concealer over the round, ugly bullet hole.

He didn’t answer for a long moment, lip trembling. He blinked several times, trying not to cry. You buried your face in the crook of his neck and pretended not to see. It would bruise his pride enough that he had to stop the game today.

With his lips close to your ear, he whispered so that Bryan wouldn’t hear: “Do… you think he is better than me? Is that true?”

“Oh, Frederick,” you peppered kisses across his neck. “I’m sorry—I went too far teasing you. It isn’t true at all. You’re just so cute when you’re jealous. And I… I thought you liked it.”

“Of course I do,” he huffed softly, still keeping the conversation between the two of you. “Why would I ask for this otherwise?” His pride was still so strong, even naked and humiliated.

You smiled at your dopey, contradictory Frederick, and gave a conciliatory, “You’re right.” Then sat back on your heels to study him. “What would you like now? We can end it for today and just cuddle… or I could ride that gorgeous cock until you finish, if you want.”

He swallowed hard at that last suggestion, eyes lighting up with a sinful spark again. “Yes. I would like to fuck you. If that is alright, sir,” he glanced up at Bryan, still towering above, his red cock like an erect baseball bat between his thighs.

“Hey, you called safety,” Bryan shrugged, scratching his beard. “Whatever makes you comfortable. Guess I’m the one watching now.” He tried not to sound too disappointed.

Bracing your arms on his shoulders, you sank down onto Frederick’s lap, pushing him to the ground as he filled you. He gasped at your warmth. Taking him in one fluid motion was easy after Bryan fucked you. He really was smaller, and even fully seated on his thighs, it felt like something was missing—that extra needle of pain where Bryan’s girth stretched you too far, like a rubber band about to snap. But you moaned appreciatively as he began to grind up into you, your weeping cock trailing a string of clear precum onto his belly. That familiar cock. You sighed at the way his body felt right, the way your ass perfectly molded around every curve and vein, because he wasn’t an intrusion; he was part of you. There was nothing wrong with the fact that it didn’t hurt.

“That’s it,” you sighed as you found a rhythm together, one that brought delicious friction to your prostate with each stroke, “That’s the cock I love.”

You savored his warmth as the look in his eyes slowly transformed from insecurity to love—confident and true. This was his place, with you, and you would never hurt him. You would never want Bryan more than him. Bryan was fun—for both of you—but you loved him.

He was barely even aware of the choked gasps Bryan made as he came into his hand. Frederick’s lips moved against your soft, sweet ones, and his release shuddered into your accepting depths, your muscular walls gripping him, pulling him deeper as if you never wanted to let him go.

***

Bryan watched the two of you in such disgustingly tender harmony as you reassured Chilton that Bryan wasn’t important. His release felt cold and empty, even with his dick heavy and pulsing in his hand.

Fuck.

Not like he cared or anything. Bryan Kneef didn’t do commitment. He fucking hated when partners got clingy. Or was that what he told himself because no one ever stayed?

No. This just brought into too sharp focus that he was a sex toy, whatever games they liked to play with Chilton. Bryan was the disposable one, tossed to the side when you were through with him. He ought to at least charge for his services if it was going to be like this.

Bryan liked sex—he liked filling his nights with companionship so he felt less alone. And right now, with his dick drying in his hand as you comforted your real partner, he felt terribly alone.

You tried to whisper, but he could hear you. He got the gist. You never cared about Bryan Kneef—his big dick didn’t mean shit. It was just fun for the weekend, when you happened to be in Chicago. He knew that already. That was the deal. But he wished—

Don’t be a girl, Kneef. Let them have their sweet little moment. They don’t need you crowding them. The guy was on the verge of a meltdown. That wasn’t fun. This is supposed to be fun. You’re here to taunt and tease—stir up some jealousy to enhance the mood—not drive a wedge between couples.

Your arm was extended. Bryan blinked. He lost focus sulking—you were reaching your arm up to him. He took it, and helped you and Chilton off the floor. But you squeezed his fingers, didn’t let go. You stayed close to his side as he guided you over to the bed, and the three of you fell onto the mattress together.

And you held onto him, ran your fingers through his hair as you talked over how things went, whispering praises.

“That’s why we have a safeword. Don’t apologize,” he deflected.

Chilton watched suspiciously from the corner of his eye as you wrapped an arm around Bryan’s waist, and pulled himself flush against you with a jealous huff.

“If you are going to stay, I would have you turn that way,” Chilton fussed. “We do not do somnophilia.”

“I think I’ll manage to control myself, thanks.”

Chilton nodded, but gave a look that very distinctly said I am in charge here. Then he settled down, content with that, and draped an arm over both you and Bryan.

Being brought into the cuddle, into the soft pillow talk… It was always his own choice not to spend the night, you never sent him away. But he understood now why Chilton, after being forced to watch you fuck another man, needed that soft reassurance. That warm cocoon of affection and blankets felt so strangely good to be part of.

Not that he cared or anything.

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[thatesqcrush]

Peach

Bryan Kneef x Reader. For kink bingo: ass worship.  

AN: Another little one-shot off my Fall From Grace Series. Timeline wise, it would be immediately after ch. 9, after their date, when they get back together. I begin with that scene to get you in that mindset. Before All Circuits Busy, in which their relationship has been already reestablished. Confused? Don’t worry about it. Lets get on with the smut! 

AN2: Uh, typos. So sorry, so sleepy.

CW: Smut - obvs. Ass worship, ass play, anal sex, all things booty. Also some p in v, fingerbanging, oral sex (female receiving). 

WC: 1827

--

Back at your apartment, Bryan had you against the wall. He nuzzled your neck, causing you to shiver. Two large warm hands rose up the sides of your thighs before slipping under the hem of your skirt. He hooked his fingers under the straps of your panties and tugged. The flimsy lace underwear you wore tore easily and he tossed them to the side. He nudged your legs apart with his foot.

The sound of a belt unbuckling and clanging to the floor followed by a zipper sent a thrill up your spine. 

Bryan’s breath was warm on your ear as he pressed himself along your ass. You instinctively pushed back, desperate for more. Bryan nipped your ear as he stroked your soaked pussy with his swollen cock. 

“Like the song, we’re reunited and it’s going to be so fucking good.” Bryan purred. “Now place those arms on the wall and bend over more a little, sweetheart.”

You acquiesced his request, turning around to face the wall. Bryan nuzzled your neck once more, his perfectly groomed beard tickling your skin. You were lost in the heady sensations of his warm, solid body against yours and the opulent scent of his cologne. It had been six months – six very long months – your body was more than eager and receptive. Bryan took your arms and extended them over your head. “Keep them like that.” He growled huskily. You gave a small nod against the wall, your cheek rubbing against the cool wall.

Bryan pushed up your skirt, so that the material was bunched around your hips. He dropped down to his knees, and he was face to face with your derriere. Arousal coursed through your veins, as you felt his hands run down the backs of your legs. “So fucking pretty.” He murmured as he pressed breathy open-mouthed kisses along your legs, traveling upwards from your calves to your thighs. He then used his hands to spread your cheeks far apart and then pressed his face into your ass, as if he wanted to smother himself with his own personal peach.

You gasped as you felt his beard scratch against the backs of your thighs, his tongue running an unhurried stripe from your clit up to your ass.

“Fuck, you taste divine.” His words were muffled, as he spread your cheeks wider and nuzzled his face between them again; his palms were splayed out against your lower back. “Push back on me, smother me with that gorgeous ass.”

“Oh, you’re an ass man, that’s for sure.” You purred, wiggling your hips into his face, eliciting a groan from the acerbic litigator.

“I’ve missed this ass.” Bryan confessed. You gasped his name loudly at the feel of him fucking you with his tongue, as he enthusiastically ate you out. The exquisite torture of his beard rubbing against the sensitive folds of your hot cunt drove you wild.

“Fuck, I love the sound of my name on your lips. You’ll be screaming it later when I fuck you.” He lifted his head momentarily before delving back.

He worked one and then two fingers inside of you, purposefully pumping them in and out of you slowly.

“First, I am going to fuck this needy pussy, then I am going to fuck your ass.” Bryan husked. You whimpered at the idea of Bryan fucking your ass again – he had only done it one other time – during your performance review – and you desperately wanted that fullness again.

“Bedroom. Please.” You panted. Bryan slowly stood and pulled you flush against him, your ass to his chest. A large hand gripped your throat and gently squeezed, while the other cupped your pussy. Your mouth went slack, and you closed your eyes. It was such an obscene display and you wanted more – so much more. He nipped at your ear before nipping your neck hard, marking you before running his tongue over the bruised skin, soothing it.

“Lead the way.” Bryan growled as he released you. You grabbed him by the hand and led him down the hall to your bedroom. You each made quick removal of your clothes and then you were back on Bryan’s lips, kissing him deeply. Bryan ran his hands under your thighs and picked you up, before walking backwards to the bed where he sat down, bringing you down with him.

You sat up fully, staring down at the man beneath you. The bedroom was dark, save for the moonlight coming peeking through your curtains. Even in the moonlight, you could see how bright his eyes were – like flourishing foliage. The moment struck you – how much you loved this petulant asshole. You ran your hands down his chest through the soft dark hair which dusted his chest and trailed down the center of his abdomen.

You leaned down and kissed him softly, allowing for him to roll you back onto your back. You laid there, exposed in your nudity, a gentle breeze entering the room. Your already hard nipples puckered more. Bryan leaned over you and palmed your breast as he leaned in to kiss you. His thumb brushed over a nipple, causing you to let out a soft sigh. As the kiss broke, Bryan ran his thumb over your swollen lower lip. “I love you.”

You felt tears prick behind your eyes because you knew you he meant it – truly meant it. “I love you too.”

Bryan dragged his mouth lower, lower, until he took your nipple into his mouth. You gasped and arched your back in response. He doted on the one before divvying his attention to the other. Seeing the way your body responded to his touch caused Bryan’s cock to kick harder and he was desperate to sink into you and claim you over and over again, in every orifice.

He sat back on his haunches and pumped his cock as he contemplated his next move. “All fours.”

“Condoms, lube.” You directed him, looking back at him. “The same drawer as before.” The weight of the bed shifts as he Bryan moves off. A bottle of peach flavored lube was tossed onto the bed. You watched as he ripped the foil of a condom open and rolled it onto his cock.

“I hate these things.” Bryan grumbled as he climbed back onto the bed.

You rolled your eyes as you feel his body weight press against you.

“You told me you didn’t want any little bastards that looked like you running through Chicago. Clearly I am sure you mean that for New York.” Bryan huffed at you threw a very old comment back at him.

“Can you just get to fucking me already?” You whined, which then turned into a wrecked moan as Bryan pressed the head of his cock into you. You pushed back, eager for more. Bryan pushed in further before withdrawing. You whined again and Bryan chuckled as he slid in completely. A dreamy smile spread on your face as Bryan filled you with his cock - his balls smacked your pussy with every thrust. The stretch his girth gave you was delicious as he worked your pussy. His cock was deep and he nudged at your cervix with every forward motion.

“Fuck, fuck, oh God.” You moaned as Bryan pounded into you.

Bryan grunted as his hands pulled your hips towards his. The all too familiar coil in his belly began to tighten and he knew he was close to coming. He slowed his momentum, rotating his hips, which earned a mewl in response from you. He grabbed a handful of your fleshy rump squeezing so hard, that you were certain that he left fingerprints. A large smack landed on your ass. Bryan pressed his face back into between your cheeks, gripping your thighs tightly. You rocked against Bryan’s face, meeting his tongue thrusts. “Don’t stop, please, don’t stop,” you moaned. Bryan pulled off again. “I can feel you getting close,” he groaned. He then paid due to your perineum, stroking against and you couldn’t help the wanton moan that escaped you. He turned his face side to side, alternating kisses and love bites on your thighs. “You are delectable and I could eat you for hours, but I told you – I am going to fuck that ass.”

He reached for the lube and drizzled it right over your ass, watching with delight as the lube ran down your ass cheeks, like a freshly candied apple. He rubbed some of it into your cheeks and then gathered it on his fingers. You felt of his index finger trace little circles around your tight rosebud and you shivered involuntarily.

“So fucking tight, look at that little asshole.” Bryan rumbled. “Now just like before -- take a deep breath in and then blow out slowly.” You did as told and felt him slide the head of his cock into your ass. “Again.” Bryan commanded. You did and he slid the whole way in. His balls rested against your cunt and you knew he was as deep as he could be. Bryan let out an animalistic groan as he began to fuck you, the sound of hips slapping on ass filled the room.  

“Come for me. Take that cock.” Bryan grunted as he looked down, watching his cock disappear in and out of you.

“Oh god, Bry, yes!” You cried out, pushing back to meet his thrusts. You reached below your belly to your clit and your fingers brushed his swaying sack. You closed your eyes as you rubbed yourself haphazardly, desperate to come. “I’m going to… I am so…” Your voice trailed off, feeling your own orgasm approach.

Bryan’s teeth gnashed together as his release approached. Your ears went pop, sound was fuzzy. You were certain Bryan grunted your name as he came with a snap of his hips but you weren’t certain as you were too focused on falling apart, your one single arm that held you, gave way.

You both collapsed forward onto the mattress. You let out a grunt at Bryan’s full weight on you and he quickly rolled off and onto his back, his chest heaving. You stayed in place, not moving.

“Y/N?” Bryan asked, his voice full of concern as he placed a hand on your shoulder. You began to shake and Bryan swore. You rolled over and Bryan realized you were full-on laughing.

“I guess you’re fine.” Bryan grumbled as he got up to remove the condom.

“Get back here asshole.” You said in between giggles, as you reached for him. Bryan joined you back on the bed and as you curled up onto his lap, he pressed a kiss to the top of your head.

“When do you go back to Chicago?” You asked with a yawn, the post-coital sleepiness settling over you.

“Let’s worry about that tomorrow.” Bryan murmured as you both settled into each other’s arms. The last words you heard as you drifted off were “God, I missed that ass.”

FIN.

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[gizkasparadise]

5, 20, 44

5. Books or authors that influenced your style the most.i’m honestly not sure when it comes to style. i know i’m chasing the mood-high i get when i watch things like battlestar galactica, goblin, chicago typewriter, or star wars but i dont think i necessarily write like those shows.

…sorry, i have no idea :( maybe ilona andrews? i like how they balance humor in their storylines

44. Best piece of feedback you’ve ever gotten.

cliche as hell, but “show don’t tell” has honestly helped me improve my writing. I used to write introspection constantly for everyone. that guy ordering coffee in the back? contemplating the reality of objective truth. 

cutting down on introspection has been super helpful

20. Post a snippet of a WIP you’re working on.

from thaumatology: (warnings for terminal disease, animal cruelty, body horror, probably some medical incorrectness because hey it’s a draft)

The rabbit was brown, wiry. Emilie could feel its uterinetumors—swollen and terminal. She wondered if that made the Hesoni feel better,if that made a difference to them. It didn’t to Emilie—she was just as riddledwith abnormal tissue, just as terminal. Currently, she’d be just as displeasedat being an object of scientific study.

The rabbit, Number 23, looked up at her with its beady eyes.Ra Im failed to hide the frown forming on her lips.

Emilie took a sip of her coffee, now ice-cold and officiallydisgusting. “The average rabbit has a heart rate of 140-325 beats per minute.Its heart can hammer up to seven times a second. Human heart rate is 60 to100.”

#23 hopped. Emilie made a mental note of who watched the rabbit, and nother instruction. “This is one of the reasons why rabbits are optimal for cruorpractice in cardiovascular systems.”

Emilie paused before Ra Im. “What do you see?”

The slightly younger woman swallowed, not uncomfortable butangry. “It’s staring at you.”

“No,” Emilie corrected flatly. “It’s focusing optic nerves.It’s being powered by ophthalmic arteries. Stare at it until you see them.” Hergaze flickered to the remaining students. “That goes for all of you. Keeplooking until you can detect its bioelectrical feedback.”

She waited, her own thauma casting a thin net over the workarea. Enough for her to keep track of their progress—Garrett, she expected,would not last long in this program. She wondered, absently, how thorough theNon-Disclosure Agreements were.

Eventually they managed. She took another drink.

“Pay attention.”

Emilie let go of her focus, rechanneled it directly to therabbit. The veins, arteries, nerves, and synapses glowed in her visionunderneath 23’s skin—the external appearance of the rabbit falling away infavor of matters of wiring and plumbing.

All organic bodies were machines—complex networks. She couldfollow their nodes and paths without a thought. And so she followed thecomponents she needed with her mental energy. First the blood, which directedher to the vena cava, then the central auricular artery of its ear. Emilie let23’s energy pulse in accordance with her own, sinking into its feedback loopsuntil she knew every corner and crevice of the matter. The rabbit and her hadone, short instant of harmony—of synchronous bioelectrical impulses.

And then she mentally grabbed its spine.

“Dr. Torbin-?” She heard from somewhere. Ignored it.

Grabbed isn’tquite the right word. Emilie never lay a physical hand on it. Thauma workedthat way, allowed the redirection of energy. Her specialization in cruorallowed her to redirect it in organic beings.

From where she was standing, three feet away from #23, Emilielifted her hand.

The rabbit drew back its weight, its front paws lifting intothe air. After a moment, it stood up on its hind legs. Garrett looked mildlyqueasy.

Emilie embraced selectiveemphasis, and kept it standing. Six seconds. Seven. 

“Pay attention to itsheartrate,” she ordered calmly. “Notice that it is stable, that its breathinghasn’t escalated.”

Emilie flattened her hand. The rabbit went up onto itstiptoes. She twirled her index finger lazily, and the rabbit followed, its bodydoing pirouettes in a bizarre simulation of a ballerina. After the tenth or sorotation, Emilie released her hold.

#23 hopped away instantly, its breathing and heart rate spiking.

“Your turn,” Emilie stated.

Ra Im glared at her, unmoved. “This is an illegal exercise.”

Emilie tried to digest the comment.…and suspected a bad teaching eval was on its way.

[topmixtrends]

ALBERT LEWIN’S 1945 ADAPTATION of The Picture of Dorian Gray for MGM has been largely forgotten. Though it won an Academy Award for Best Cinematography, Black-and-White, the shots for which it is most remembered are two brief Technicolor inserts showing the eponymous portrait just after it is painted and then, later, once it has aged. The two versions were the work of two different artists: the Portuguese academic painter Henrique Medina painted the first in smooth imitation of 19th-century style. An American from Chicago, Ivan Albright, did the second.

Albright’s picture, which is on display in the Art Institute of Chicago’s small exhibition of his work, insists that Dorian Gray’s eternally youthful appearance was the least important part of his Faustian pact. The portrait is of an old man, but it is even more of a repulsive one, designed to provoke disgust. In the full-length portrait, Dorian stands with his arms by his side in a pose of mock elegance. Next to and behind him are the accoutrements of traditional portraiture: an elegant side table, a wall clock, a carefully hung brocade curtain. Like his clothes, these objects are rendered incomprehensible by decay. His trousers and jacket are full of burns, slashes, and tears, covered with brown and yellow stains. His face, leering and grimacing directly out of the canvas, is splotchy and noticeably encrusted with what looks like leprosy: small raised bumps cut through with deep furrows.

The premise of Dorian Gray — that moral corruption would manifest as physical decay — seems perfectly aligned with Albright’s concerns, which remained remarkably constant throughout his long career, spanning the mid-’20s until his death in 1983. The painting he produced for MGM is of a piece with almost all of his other work, if more vividly colored (Albright used a brighter than usual palette for the painting to show up to full effect in Technicolor) and perhaps less realistic. Though none of his other subjects have the same renown as Wilde’s fictional character, all of Albright’s portraiture contains the same obsessively rendered detail and, above all, the same relentless fascination with how grotesque the human body can be.

¤

The son of a successful landscape painter, Albright trained at the Art Institute of Chicago and first worked as a professional artist during World War I. Stationed in France, he was commissioned to produce sketches of the injured. A small corner of the exhibit in Chicago is devoted to this first entanglement with the morbid, where the centerfold of one of Albright’s sketchbooks is laid flat behind glass; an iPad allows one to view the rest of the pages and zoom in on the anatomical details. The drawings are largely of single wounds: bright red shapes with highlights of yellow and green, set against much more faintly drawn arms, legs, and torsos. Albright’s first official commission supposedly set the course for the rest of his work, but a world of difference lies between the war sketches and his later paintings. The sketches turn parts of human bodies into objects for observation and study. They are direct: objective, difficult to look at, but entirely straightforward. The portraits Albright started to create are also objectifying: they turn the human figure into something alien and bizarre. They are revolting and seductive.

Even from the small selection of portraits on display in Chicago, one initially has the suspicion that Albright’s disgust with humanity may have favorite targets. Fascinated with corruption, degeneration, and the beauty of decay, Albright’s art — in addition to its strong resemblances to contemporaneous European painting, especially neue Sachlichkeit — picks up on themes favored in writing in a line running from Baudelaire through Lautréamont, Huysmans, and perhaps even Wilde. For Albright, as for the earlier 19th-century writers, women seem, at least initially, to be exemplary disgusting objects.

Into the World There Came a Soul Called Ida takes these elements even further. Ida sits in front of a dressing table covered in perfume bottles and makeup jars. Dressed in a short slip and silk shirt, she holds a powder puff in one hand, pressed against her heart, and a hand mirror in the other. Her legs, which almost overwhelm the composition, are an expanse of bright, pale skin. They are swollen, and around the ankles is a network of varicose veins while higher up, heavy cellulite creates strong shadows on her thighs. The insistence on the tools for the creation of feminine beauty seems like an argument that however much powder, perfume, or makeup Ida applies, she will still be fundamentally grotesque.

Albright was hardly unique in his view of women’s bodies. Baudelaire, after all, had described an animal’s carcass (in a poem of the same title) as having its “legs in the air like a lustful woman / who is burning and sweating poisons.” Baudelaire stands as a particularly extreme representative of a tradition of hyperbolic disgust at the body in general and women’s bodies in particular. Note the direction of his metaphor: it not only compares a woman to a prototypically disgusting object, but it also uses women as metaphors for a corpse. Winfried Menninghaus, in the introduction to his 1999 book Disgust, wrote that “[t]his book about disgust is thus, at the same time, a book entirely concerned with the (masculine) imagination of the vetula, of the disgusting old woman.” There are, of course, artists and writers for whom, less ostentatiously than Baudelaire, women are the default choice when one needs an exemplary disgust-object.

This pervasively misogynist perspective seems at first to sum up what is happening in works like Flesh, the 1928 painting that lends its name to the Art Institute’s current show. Its subject, Arline Stanford, is shown head-on, slumped shoulders, wearing a low-cut undershirt that shows a vast expanse of chest and shoulders, puffy and crisscrossed with wrinkles and folds. Her skin is pale, bordering on sallow, rendered by Albright with a muted but kaleidoscopic variety of reds, pinks, yellows, and purples. The face is perhaps the most shocking, covered in the same leprous combination of crust-like scars and deep furrows that Albright would use on Dorian Gray nearly 20 years later. The insistent equivalence between women and the grotesque is only intensified by the fact that a year before Albright painted Arline Stanford in Flesh, he painted her husband Arthur in The Lineman, a relatively calm portrait of an electrician. Arthur is hunched over, arms hanging by his side, bedraggled and depressed, perhaps, but certainly not grotesque or disgusting. Viewing these twin portraits of husband and wife side by side only confirms the suspicion that, even if Albright’s men are hardly heroic figures, women’s bodies are the real objects of his revulsion toward human beings.

Nevertheless, long before he was commissioned to produce the painting for MGM’s Dorian Gray, Albright had turned the full power of his microscopic style onto male subjects, who would become more and more prominent as his career developed. His 1930–’31 And God Created Man in His Own Image (Albright’s titles continued to grow unwieldy over the years) contains the most leprous image next to Dorian Gray’s: heavily wrinkled and completely covered in pustules, scars, lines. For a moment, the complete engulfment of the face by these accretions makes the image appear easier to stomach compared to the more localized eruptions in Flesh and Ida — there is no contrast to “normal” skin. The subject is shirtless; his arms and face are a brownish-red, while the areas of his flesh normally under a shirt are a pale pink-blue. All of it is sagging and wrinkled, with tufts of wiry hairs on his upper arms and chest. This man has, apparently, just taken off his shirt — one sleeve is still attached to his forearm — and the top buttons of his jeans are undone, as though threatening to show more.

Albright might not have managed to decouple bodily disgust from femininity fully. Nevertheless, his disgust is far more expansive than the tradition epitomized by Baudelaire. Indeed, the most striking pieces in the Chicago show are a series of about 20 self-portraits dating from the last two decades of Albright’s life. All are rendered in the same over-detailed, hyper-disgusted style in which he had been working for four decades. In a painting from 1982, the year before his death, Albright depicts himself with his trademark leprous skin, but also with eyes that are at once tiny, deeply sunk, and bloodshot, surrounded by folds of green-yellow skin. His mouth, hanging half open, is chafed red, as is the tip of his nose and the space between his eyebrows.

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Viewed while walking by quickly — or indeed, glimpsed a few seconds on screen — all of these pictures are easily digestible, even attractive. The sheer attention Albright paid to detail (which also meant it took him years to finish work) gives the images a baroque complexity; anything that elaborate generates a kind of pleasure. The level of detail in Albright’s execution also demands more prolonged attention, which does not eliminate all pleasure. There is a pleasure, too, in looking at horrible things. Despite his sense of shame, Leontius in Plato’s Republic cannot stop himself from looking at the corpses piled against the walls of Athens. “Fine, you wretches,” he says to his eyes, as a last attempt to disavow his attraction, “fill yourselves up on this lovely sight.” Being in front of many of Albright’s paintings feels similar: they are horrible, but endlessly seductive. Something is improper, perhaps even disrespectful, about them, but always some new detail, another vein, another hair, lump, or sore avails itself to discovery.

Jean Dubuffet, who contributed a brief essay to a catalog of a 1964 retrospective at the Art Institute and the Whitney, took Albright to be a crusader against the Platonic injunction to turn our eyes away:

Rarely, it seems to me, perhaps never, has the platonic and humanistic spirit been opposed with the weight and authority of so devastating a wind. Never has an assault of such force been given to the rationalistic order, to the secular esthetics which rule in our midst and to the metaphysics from which they proceed.

In the same catalog, the curator Frederick Sweet closes his preface by remarking that Albright “does not think that his interests are morbid, nor does he consider himself a realist, but feels that life and death, growth and decay, are all part of existence.” Death exists, of course, but the hope in those lines seems to be that Albright’s portraiture contains, alongside its relentless disgust for the human body, a more redeeming message. Perhaps he is proposing some sort of empathy: that we may age, gain weight, lose or sprout hair, develop leprosy, but that through all of these bodily changes we remain human, and that all of these supposedly disgusting qualities are simply what it means to have a body. As such, they are to be celebrated. If that reading is right, the closest literary antecedent for Albright would not be Baudelaire but Walt Whitman and his celebration of the body: “All attitudes, all the shapeliness, all the belongings of my or your body or of any one’s body, male or female, / The lung-sponges, the stomach-sac, the bowels sweet and clean.”

Dubuffet and Sweet’s sentiment comes to the same point: that Albright’s unwavering attention to the parts of our existence at which we would rather not look forces a confrontation with our embodiment and finitude. Albright’s portraits would seem to offer the visual analogue to the project of anti-disgust advocated most recently and forcefully by the philosopher Martha Nussbaum, who claims Whitman as a primary source of inspiration. This requires a turn away from thinking of ourselves as detached from our bodies, not to submit to the lure of idealization, to confront the limits but also the peculiar joys of being finite human animals.

As good as that sounds, it is not at all clear that this is what Albright is up to. Albright’s portraits do at times seem caught between a Platonist condemnation of the body tout court and an honest reckoning with the inevitability of decay and the inevitable difficulties entailed by having a body. Albright’s own pronouncements from the 1964 catalog must rank as one of the stranger artist statements produced for a major museum:

In this eternal smog-land of ours, if the real truth appeared, it would blind us, it would incinerate us as the sun would blind and incinerate us on close approach. We are shadows of the real but not the real; we live by half-truths and half facts. […] The body is our tomb. Shake the dust from our soul and maybe there lies the answer for without this planetary body, without eyes the light would not hurt, without flesh the pain would not hurt, without legs our motion might accelerate, without endless restrictions our freedom greater, our slavery less, without examples all around us our originality might be different. Without a body we might be men.

Albright seems at turns revolted by and deeply empathetic with his subjects. Yet even if his portraits demand that we look honestly and hold our gaze, bodies seem to be unambiguously bad things for Albright. If his portraits are filled with empathy for his subjects (which they are), his empathy is based on the shared misfortune of being embodied. The problem, of course, is that we cannot get out of our bodies. Plato thought that we could, through suitable intellectual exercise and purification, leave our physical vessels behind and attain pure understanding. Albright, it must be said, knew better. But on the more basic point of whether it would be preferable not to have a body at all, he agrees. Without finding anything but pain and encumbrance in embodiment, how could he not? Whitman and his successors’ celebration of bodies in all their many forms — including the ones usually called disgusting — ultimately requires that there be something redeeming in having a body, like the physical pleasures of food and sex. Even those who turn toward bodies with disgust do not deny that they are sites of genuine pleasure (indeed, part of the reason they are problematic is because they are so pleasurable), even if they also bring inevitable pains. Albright categorically denies this. For him, there are no benefits to having a body: not in the straightforward sense championed by Whitman and not even lurking in the background of disgust, as it does for Baudelaire. Albright’s painting is so unsettling because his vision of bodily corruption is uncompromising. Whatever else it is, it is a decades-long argument that in the end, it would be better not to have a body.

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Emilio Comay del Junco is an academic and writer based in New York. He is finishing his PhD in philosophy at the University of Chicago; his academic research focuses on ancient Greek philosophy.

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