Born In Flames || Chapter Seven, Part One

Fucking shit I LOVED THIS FIC IM SO SAD THAT I FINISHED IT SO FAST

I’m fucking crying it’s 2 am I’m extra sensitive I hate this I gonna miss this bucky

Hands That Heal - The Finale

Bucky Barnes x mechanic!fem!reader

Chapter Summary: You get your happy ending. Chapter Warning: 18+ only, fluff Word count: 1166

Series Warnings: 18+ only, canon-typical violence, swearing, fluff, misogyny/degrading comments from some men, smut.

Main Masterlist || Bucky Masterlist || Hands That Heal Masterlist

Two Years Later

You were never going to get used to the Louisiana heat, this was your second summer in the Pelican State but it didn’t seem any easier than the first one. Sweltering heat or not, moving away from New York and getting a fresh start was the best decision you ever made. You missed the visits to Greenwood Cemetery but thanks to Bucky’s work there were still enough sudden trips up north that you visited your parents and Steve.

“Babe, I got a surprise for you.”

You looked up from the engine you were working on and found Bucky at the entrance to the garage the close knit community had built for you. You needed something to keep your hands busy and the small town didn’t have a real mechanic, it was win-win. You didn’t charge the locals after their generosity but you still had a fanbase of people willing to ship their cars to you and that was more than enough to cover the losses.

Wiping your hands on a rag you squinted at the look on his face, he was unable to hide his excitement but he desperately tried to. He was practically dragging you out the second you were in his reach and you heard Sam somewhere in your yard. Your eyebrows were knitted with confusion as Bucky clamped his hands over your eyes and your walking slowed to a crawl.

“Keep going.” Bucky urged impatiently. “I’m not gonna let you fall.”

“Can’t you just tell me where we are go- was that a dog?” You froze as you heard a bark up ahead and Sam’s hushed whispers.

“Surprise…”

Bucky withdrew his hands and Sam was fighting against a huge Rottweiler that looked like it was crossed with a Bull Mastiff. His colouring was just like Benny and you could feel your eyes pricking with the start of tears.

“I told you I should have asked her first.” Bucky said, suddenly unsure of himself as he saw your reaction. “I can take him back to the rescu-”

“No!” You gasped as you took a step towards him. “I want him, he’s mine.”

Bucky chuckled with relief and wiped the stray tear away. “Let him go, Sam.”

Sam looked doubtful as he struggled to keep hold of the leash but eventually let go and your dog bolted straight for you. It was almost like he knew you would be his mom as he bounded into your arms, your laugh filling the air as you were knocked to the ground and he rolled over playing.

“You’re gonna be a good boy aren't you.” You smothered him with kisses as he took a seat on your legs and you lifted up his collar to see his name. “Noble. That’s a strong name. You like that name?”

He barked as if to concur and you got up after hefting him off your lap to find Sam laughing to himself. “Barnes and Noble.”

“See, he was meant to join this family.” You said as you looked into Bucky’s eyes, once again amazed at everything he did.

“Phew, I am out of here. Noble, c’mere boy, your mom and dad have their sexy eyes on.” Sam called as he started to make his way back to his truck but Noble stayed firmly planted by your side. “I do not need to see cyborg getting freaky.”

“Bye Sam!” Bucky called without breaking eye contact with you, the intensity leaving you weak at the knees.

The second the truck began to make its way down the drive Bucky was on the attack, his lips connecting with yours and tongue taking dominance as he guided you blindly to the house. You knew the path to your room without needing to look, your hand blinding reaching behind you for the brass doorknob and twisting it. The door crashed open at Bucky’s haste but you would worry about the potential hole in the drywall later, right now you were struggling to get his belt unbuckled.

“Open this before I cut the damn thing off you.” You ordered as you broke away from his kiss.

He smirked and tore through the leather with his vibranium hand, his hands pushing the looser material down his legs and pulling you back flush with his body. His warm hand cupped your cheek and his cool arm wrapped around your waist as he began to slowly sway you to some inaudible music, his eyes staring around the room as he fell into his thoughts. “Barnes, y/l/n and Noble doesn’t really sound the same.”

“Not quite.” You chuckled, kind of thrown by the change of pace but happy to just dance half naked with him.

“I can fix it.” He said sweetly in your ear before pulling away and going to his gun safe in the closet.

“Jesus, you don’t have to take me out of the picture.” You joked as he opened the metal vault and reached behind the weapons to a black box.

“You’re not funny.” He said fighting a smile as he turned around with the box looking tiny in his large hand and dropped to his knee in front of you. “This would be much easier, less paperwork, no life insurance claim…”

You clamped your hand over your mouth, the sound of your giggle dying off as you took in the unique ring. “It’s beautiful. Is it vibranium?”

He nodded as he pulled it out of the pillow it was nestled in. “It’s actually made from a panel that got damaged last year.”

You remembered it well, it was the first time you had seen him come home from a mission hurt and he had needed to go to Wakanda so Shuri could repair the damage to his arm.

“It’s a piece of you.” You whispered as you reached out to touch it but he pulled it away.

“You showed me that broken things can be saved.” He said as he took your left hand and held the ring over the tip of your ring finger. “I want to spend the rest of my life with you, doll. Will you marry me?”

Your lips were trembling and words failed you, you wanted to tell him all the reasons you had fallen for him but all you could do was nod. And that was enough. He slid the black and gold vibranium ring onto your finger, kissing it’s final resting place before catching you as you crashed into his chest.

“I don’t want to wait.” You said as you looked at your ring over his shoulder and thought of all the terrible things that had happened in just the last decade alone. “I can’t wait, Bucky. I've waited a lifetime for you and I don't know what tomorrow will bring.”

“Oh god I love you" His strong arms lifted you off the ground as he spun around with bright eyes and a wide grin. "And, Rev Lockwood owes me a favour so...”

"Let's do this."

━━━━━━♡♥♡━━━━━━

I'm sad this has come to an end but if anyone has requests for one shots with these two I'll happily add to it!

Taglist || Taglist Join Form ||

@jessica11133 @nash-dara @buckyisperfect @itswanktime @slutforsexyseabass @sea040561 @gryffindorqueensworld @honeywithemoney @kenzieam @tsnelf7

This is absolutely perfect !! I need a part 2 god

Moon Struck

Summary: Steven asks you out, Marc falls in love.

"“Cheers,” Steven chirps quietly, ignoring Marc. He knows he has a goofy smile on his face, he knows that he’s just staring at you.

But you’re smiling back and Marc is strangely quiet now, a glow of happiness lingers there. Steven has a suspicion that he’s happy too, basking in the fact that you said yes."

Pairing: Steven Grant x Reader, Marc Spector x Reader

Word Count: ~8.3k

Warnings: mostly fluff, canon-typical violence, threats of violence, angst mostly from Marc because he's just like that

A/N: My first moon knight fic! Please, please, please let me know what you think!

“Steven!”

Steven ignores the shout of his headmate as he hurries through the museum. 

He’s late, and he so hated making you wait for him. He had promised you long ago a personal tour of the museum. One you had insisted for months he eventually give you, when he had time. 

His heels drag, Marc putting on the brakes as he fronts for just a moment. 

Steven nearly drops the travel cup of tea he’s carrying, briefly tripping over his own feet and drawing the attention of several nearby people listening to a museum tour guide. 

“Sorry!” He gives an awkward wave before continuing on. 

“Would you stop that, Marc!” He glances at his reflection in the display case he’s passing. “You’re making us late.”

“I’m making you late. I didn’t agree to this.” Marc’s shoulders are tense, the line of his brows drawn together. 

Steven wonders if he’s wearing the same expression and briefly passes a hand over his face. He doesn’t want to be scowling when-

He bursts through a doorway, into the Egyptian exhibition, and spots you waiting exactly where you said you would be. 

A shy smile tugs at his mouth, and he tries straightening his shirt collar and running a hand through his unruly curls. He knows it's useless, that his shirts are perpetually wrinkled and his hair nearly always a mess. 

Marc has gone sullenly silent, and he knows he’s watching you too. 

Marc, for reasons Steven cannot begin to parse out, does not like you. 

Or, he pretends not to. 

Again, for reasons unknown. 

Which is entirely bonkers, because you are the most brilliant person Steven has ever met. 

He fidgets with the sleeve of his shirt, which is worried and frayed at the edges from his nervous fingers. 

Despite rushing moments earlier, he’s now anxious about how to actually approach you. 

You were his friend, he should have no problem with walking over and saying hello. 

Steven shifts from foot to foot as people swim around him in the doorway. He’s acutely aware that he’s stood in everyone’s way, the cup of tea in his hand going cold. 

The other thing he’s been promising you for months, a proper cup of tea. 

“Good,” Marc says, reflected in another display case, hands on his hips, chin lifted, “you see how stupid this is. Let’s go home.” 

But it isn’t stupid. 

It’s not stupid to want this. 

It’s not stupid to want you. 

Steven swallows, watching you move to read another plaque. 

As you read, your shoulders droop and then you dig in the bag slung over your shoulder. You glance at your phone when you find it, before tucking it away again. 

Then, you glance at your wristwatch, like it might tell you a different time than your phone had. 

You sigh and move toward the exit. 

Which is Steven’s cue to call your name, loudly. 

So loudly in fact that people turn to look at him. 

Brilliant. Already making a fool of myself. 

“Which is why we should just go home-,” Marc starts, but Steven ignores him. 

Marc, the absolute worry wart, thought you would break his heart. 

You’re smiling at him, a hand lifted in greeting as he approaches you. He would like to think you look relieved, happy to see him. 

But you’re like the sun, and probably look at everyone that way. 

He nearly stumbles into you, hastily handing you the cup of tea, wrapping your fingers around the cooling paper cup, his fingers laced over yours. 

“I was meant to bring you a proper cup and here I am with cold tea.” 

“Hardly very polite of you,” you tease. “Late to meet someone and with a cold cup of tea.” You smile and tsk under your breath. 

Steven fidgets and releases your hand on the cup, fingers nervously tangling together in front of his chest instead. “I’m really so very sorry. I’m always running late. I-I meant to be early today-,”

“Oh, my God,” Marc mutters. 

You lie a hand against Steven’s arm, stilling the nervous fluttering of his hands. “I was teasing you. It’s alright. I do expect an extra long tour though.”

Steven nods, staring at the shape of your eyes, the flutter of your lashes, a smile tugging at the corner of his mouth. 

You’re quite close to him, his head bent over yours, and he thinks he can see all the shades hidden in your eyes. 

“You look like a love-struck moron,” he catches the reflection of Marc behind your head, arms crossed over his chest, brows still pulled together in that irritated line. “Stop staring at her like that.” 

But he notices that Marc is staring at you too, looking at the back of your head, like he could see to the marrow of you, and your intentions, if he just looked hard enough. 

But there’s a dip in his voice that makes Steven think he might be just a tiny bit jealous. 

Steven shakes his head, trying to ignore Marc’s acid comments. 

“Of course,” he says, glancing down at your hands, the cup held between them. “Would you try it, please?”

Steven had been shocked to find out you were a coffee drinker only, that you had never really tasted tea, at least not a proper cup. 

“I’ve had iced tea,” you had offered weakly, only for Steven to wrinkle his nose. 

“Cold tea? Why would anyone enjoy that?”

Now, he’s brought you a cup of cold tea anyways, and it was tea that wasn’t even meant to be cold. 

You smile at him, lifting the cup as you brightly say, “Cheers!” in your best impression of his accent. 

It’s quite terrible, and makes him laugh.

You take a sip, a considering look pulling over your features. 

“It’s really better when it's hot,” Steven says, awaiting your verdict like it really mattered, like it was incredibly important that you liked the cup of tea he had brought you.

You tilt your head to the side and nod, “It's still warm.” You take another sip, which Steven takes as a good sign. Marc is watching you too, and Steven knows that Marc thinks he isn’t noticing the intense attention he gives you. “I like it. Did you put something else in it?”

Honey. 

He had put honey in despite his better judgment, because he noticed the way you absolutely hammered your coffee with sugar packets. 

“Honey,” he murmurs softly as you look into his eyes with a bemused smile on your face. “Just a bit. Figured you might like it better that way.” 

“Can’t say I’m a convert. Coffee will always have my heart,” you say. “But it is very good.” 

Steven is glad, so glad, you like it. 

Maybe it makes him unreasonably happy. 

“Cheers,” he says, still watching you carefully, smiling, his face very near to yours. He can see the fluttering of your lashes, feel the ghost of your breath. 

You don’t seem to mind the closeness. 

Marc rolls his eyes, and Steven puts a hand on your arm to pull you away from the reflection. 

So he doesn’t have to think about his annoyed alter. 

He tries not to be too upset with Marc, with his brooding protective streak. But he does wish that he’d lighten up just a bit. 

Steven’s heart is soft, it was going to be broken no matter what happened in their life. He was okay with that, especially if it meant spending time with you. 

But that was a hard pill for Marc to swallow.

His habit of shielding Steven was still a hard one to break, even now they were working together. 

“Where would you like to start?” Steven asks you, something like pride filling his veins as he watches you continue to sip at the cup of earl gray. 

“You’re the expert,” you say, looping your arm through his. “You tell me where we should start. Although, I’m very interested in Taweret, after the stories you’ve told me.” 

“Oh, she’s bloody amazin’,” Steven says, watching the quirk of your lips as he takes your duffle bag from you, slinging it over his own shoulder, conscious of Marc’s silence at the back of his mind. “‘Course we can start with her.” 

Steven leads you, the pressure of your fingers against his arm welcome, a warmth spreading up from his belly to land at the back of his mouth. 

It makes his heart ache and his fingers tremble. 

The feeling is strange and welcome. 

He likes you. 

Quite a lot, actually. 

Which was why he hoped today was the day he finally managed to ask you out, the reason Marc tried so desperately to make them late. 

He had met you before he knew about Marc, before their grand Egyptian adventure and Khonshu. 

When he first met you some months ago, you were wandering the halls of the museum, a duffle bag much like the one you have today slung over your shoulder, your head tilted to the side as you examined an exhibit. 

Steven was meant to have been helping Donna move gift shop inventory when he spotted you, brows furrowed as you read a plaque. It was the way you stood that caught his attention, with your toes pointed out and heels together. 

He couldn’t have looked away if he tried, and so he wasn’t surprised when he ran into someone and dropped the box of inventory, stuffed goddesses and cheap replicas of the pyramids spilling across the floor right to the tips of your toes. 

People weren’t exactly nice to Steven. 

He didn’t have any friends, his co-workers overlooked him, forgot him, or were rude to him. He had his mother, of course, but things always seemed to keep them from speaking directly.

He knows the truth now, about his and Marc’s mother, about Marc. 

Still, that day, as the man he bumped into gave him a dirty glare as he turned away, you had stooped down next to him and helped him tuck the merch back into the box. 

You had been kind to him, friendly as no one else was. 

Your hand had touched his and it had been like those moments in all the cheesy rom-coms he didn’t remember watching. He had looked up into your eyes, realizing he was still apologizing repeatedly out loud.

“Hey,” you had said, before tilting your head to the side and glancing down, “It’s okay. Do you need some help?”

No one offered Steven help, not with anything, even when he asked for it. 

And so he swallowed and nodded even though you, as a patron of the museum, should not have helped him. He should have refused your gentle help.  

But you’d helped him until Donna came along and shooed you away. 

He’d thought that he’d never see you again, but you visited the museum all the time, at least once a week. 

He found out that you’d recently moved to London, that you were a staunch coffee only person, that you were a dancer, that your childhood dream had been to be an archeologist before your talent for dance had destroyed that hope. 

You were more interested in Greek and Roman mythology, but quickly became fascinated with Egypt, and Steven had been delighted, weirdly, bizarrely proud that he had put you onto it. 

That you read the books he recommended, that you listened to the music he told you about. That you listened to him without interrupting, or sighing, or checking the time. 

Well, those things were only an incredible bonus. 

You made his throat close up some nights when he lay trying not to fall asleep, because you were the first friend he can remember having besides Gus or his mother. 

Steven was lonely, but you made his world a little less so. 

Now he has Marc, who’s more than enough company some days, a friend that never left him. 

He’d been worried, upon coming back to London, that you wouldn’t be there, that he had dreamed you up and you were never real in the first place. 

He’d been excited to let Marc see you through his own eyes, though Marc claimed with indifference that he remembered you, that he already knew you through Steven and didn’t need to meet you properly. 

Steven had a suspicion that the disinterest was feigned, that he cared too, to know if you were still in London. 

Steven didn’t work at the museum anymore, and so it had taken a week of hanging around the place to finally catch you there one day after a rehearsal. 

To his utter horror, you had been visibly upset with him. Though he had missed you and worried after you, he never imagined that you would do the same for him. “I thought you just - I thought maybe something horrible happened. You just disappeared and they said you were fired? I thought you disappeared and didn’t bother saying goodbye. Steven what happened-,” 

You had demanded his phone number, so you could always reach him. 

It was amazing really, that you had never had it before. 

Steven was just grateful you were still around, still coming by the museum.

Most worryingly though, Marc had not been impressed with you. Or pretended not to be. Though he tried to hide it, Steven always had a keen sense of how Marc really felt, and Marc cared more than he ever let on. 

Now, though, he feels the gentle pressure of your fingers against his arm and thanks whatever god that might be listening, that you were still around, a person that rolled with the punches life dealt. 

Against the advice of his alter, who had almost seemed nervous, Steven had told you everything about what happened in Egypt, about Khonshu and Marc and Layla and Ammit and everything in between. 

“Don’t do it,” Marc had snarled. “She’s gonna think you’re nuts. She’s going to-. 

Marc hadn’t finished his thought. 

Whatever ridicule and judgement he had anticipated, you hadn’t fallen to his expectations. 

You had listened and somehow understood. 

“So,” you ask now as Steven leads you through the museum, “How is Marc?”

“Being a bit of a knobhead at the moment, to be honest,” Steven says, watching the smile that tugs at your mouth. 

“Oh. Khonshu related or..?”

Steven’s always honest with you, and so he doesn’t lie now. “Wasn’t too keen on my meeting you today, actually.” 

You nod as Steven leads you past an exhibit, into an adjoining room, past a miniature construction of the Pyramids of Giza. “Marc doesn’t exactly like me, does he?”

Steven waits for the snort from Marc, for a derisive comment. But nothing comes. 

The silence is more telling than anything. 

“No, he’s just a bit-,” Steven stops, wiggles his fingers, not really sure how to explain exactly how Marc was. 

You smile weakly at him, “We don’t have to talk about it, Steven. I know he’s very protective. In any case, I’m glad you like me. And I really care for you. I hope Marc knows that, at least.”

Marc remains stubbornly silent. 

Steven gives you the tour of the museum he always dreamed of giving when he worked there. You listen to him attentively, you ask him questions, and for the remainder of the day, Marc is quiet, though Steven knows he’s present, listening in instead of walling himself off. 

Mostly Marc leaves Steven be, when he’s with you. He can’t be mad at the happiness you bring, though he tries to protect the system in his own way. Steven knows it's why he’s so surly though he wishes he’d give you a chance. 

Marc claims that one of them needs to be clear headed, rational, when you inevitably break their heart. 

So, he’s surprised, when you’re leaving the museum near closing and asking Steven about what brand of tea he would recommend so you can start making it at home, Marc’s voice echoes in the back of his head. “Ask her out. You said you were going to today.”

Steven glances down, at the watery refraction of Marc staring up at him from a dirty puddle on the front steps of the museum. 

Marc says, surprisingly gentle, “You’re happy with her. Ask.” It's only  slightly demanding in tone. Steven suppresses the urge to roll his eyes. 

But his alter is right. 

So, Steven stumbles to a halt nearly knocking you into the puddle. 

And asks. 

“Wondering if maybe you’d come out on a date with me?”

You blink, your hand on his arm where you’d caught your balance, his fingers around your other wrist.

You just stare at him, your lips parting in surprise. 

Fear wells up into the back of his throat when you don’t immediately answer and he starts to stutter out an apology. “Sorry, sorry, don’t know what’s come over me just then. Just a bit taken with you, I suppose.” Steven swallows, feels the words pressing at the inside of his lips, nervous chatter threatening to break free. “You’re quite beautiful and very kind - bit inevitable that I’d have a crush on you, innit?” 

You blink again, stunned, like you can’t believe what you’re hearing. “You have a crush on…me?” 

“Yes, no - well, yes, I do but -,” It’s not just a crush. Crush seems like a silly little word for the feelings you make flop around inside him. Squiggly, fuzzy feelings. 

“Shut up, Steven, give her a chance to reply.” Marc snaps at him, like he’s just as afraid that Steven will mess this up. 

He takes a steadying breath, reminding himself that you were truly very kind, and that if you said no, it would not be the end of all he held dear. “Yes, I quite like you. You’re kind and beautiful and smart. What’s not to like?”

“Nice job.”

And for once, Marc doesn’t sound sarcastic. 

His helpfulness is strange for someone who had been so against the notion mere hours ago. 

Steven bites down the rest of the words swimming in his mouth, telling himself that Marc is right about this thing. He needs to let you reply. 

“I, um, yeah,” you smile, almost like you’re unsure if he really just asked you, “yes. I’d like to go on a date.”

Steven stares at you, not sure he heard right. “Really?”

“Really.” 

“Jesus.”

“Cheers,” Steven chirps quietly, ignoring Marc. He knows he has a goofy smile on his face, he knows that he’s just staring at you. 

But you’re smiling back and Marc is strangely quiet now, a glow of happiness lingers there. Steven has a suspicion that he’s happy too, basking in the fact that you said yes.

Oh. Oh. 

Maybe Marc likes you too.

He was just shit at showing it, saying it.

Maybe that’s why he’s so concerned about the breaking of Steven’s heart, because it might break his too. 

“Oh,” you say, suddenly digging in your bag, still hanging on Steven’s shoulder. He shifts so you can better reach. “I got this for Gus the Second. I forgot to mention it earlier, although now is such a stupid time to be giving it to you,” you say, dipping your fingers into a pocket and bringing out a tiny replica of the Great Sphinx. “Sorry if he already has this one.”

You seem flustered with yourself, like you’re ruining a moment, when all your gift makes him want to do is kiss you. 

He flustered you too, apparently.

You got his fish a gift.  

Steven takes the replica from you gently, sliding his thumb along the surface. “Oh, he’ll absolutely love it.” He pauses, “You said yes, yeah? To a date? With me?”

Something about it doesn’t compute. Maybe you’ve confused him with someone else. 

“Yeah,” you say. “Did you have something in mind, Steven?”

“Er-,” he hadn’t thought that far ahead, but his name on your lips is like a balm. Everything would be okay. 

“Just dinner, Steven,” Marc says. “Doesn’t have to be elaborate.” 

Steven doesn’t dare look down at the puddle. Doesn’t want to see the smirk on Marc’s face that he can hear in his voice.  

“Dinner?” He hesitates. “Tomorrow sound good, yeah?”

“Yes,” and when he looks at you, you’re smiling. Like this was something good. Something you’ve been waiting for. “7 o’clock?”

“Brilliant.”

He tilts his head toward you, just to be a bit closer to you. 

It’s still a surprise when you lean up and kiss him gingerly, your lips soft and lingering. 

When you pull away, his heart is dancing and you are glowing. 

~

Marc is hesitant to speak to you, though he would never admit it to a soul. 

Steven probably knows, but he would never say so. 

He’s content to watch you through the eyes of his alter. You are Steven’s girl after all. 

Made of sunshine and steeped in warmth. 

You are not his. 

But Marc worries about you almost non-stop. He thinks about you constantly. He tells himself it's because Steven would break if something happened to you. 

But he knows. He knows when you laugh at something Steven says, he knows when you show up at the flat soaked to the bone from a downpour but smiling. He knows when you break in a new pair of ballet shoes against the hardwood floor of the flat. 

“You need to teach her self-defense,” He tells Steven when Marc is the one fronting.

“I’m not going to do that, Marc. She’s been safe before we met her, she’s safe now.” 

Yeah, only now you know about Moon Knight and Khonshu and everything. You know everything. 

Yet you never mention it, never ask. 

Occasionally, you will inexplicably leave a note for Marc, stuck against the glass of Gus the Second and Gus the Second’s Friend’s tank. 

Marc can’t make himself understand it, the way you leave little notes, ask Steven about what kinds of food he likes, ask how he’s doing.

Today’s note said - 

There’s a performance today. I know Steven has come to plenty, but I would love to see you there. 

You sign it with your name and a little heart. 

“She knows you care about her, Marc,” Steven says from the reflection in the tank, Gus and Friend behind his head. “She knows you follow her home when she works late.” 

“Only because you told her,” he snaps. “She didn’t need to know that.” 

Steven only gives a long suffering sigh. 

You know, you know that he follows your route home each night, to make sure you got there safe. And so you had taken up the inexplicable habit of talking to him as you walked. There was no way for you to know if he heard you, when he followed in the ceremonial armor on the buildings above you.

Still, you do it each night without fail. 

Marc, if he’s honest with himself, does not deserve to know you. Does not deserve the notes, the home cooked meals in tupperware left in the fridge with his name written in sharpie on the side of the box, does not deserve your late night chatter and one sided conversations. 

“She’s trying really hard. It hurts her feelings that you won’t even say hello to her. She isn’t expecting you to feel about her the same way I do.” 

Marc doesn’t respond, unsticking your note from the fishtank instead, folding it and tucking it inside his jacket pocket. 

He knows that it hurts your feelings. He sees it in your eyes every time you ask Steven about him, every time he refuses to meet you, even though he knows you, remembers you through Steven’s eyes from before Steven had been aware of him, back when he struggled to maintain Steven’s ignorance of the truth of his situation. 

You don’t know him though, so he’s not sure why it matters to you. 

But he catches Steven’s exasperated expression in the mirror by the door and he knows. 

It matters to you, because it matters to Steven. 

Not because you care about Marc. 

But because he is Steven’s best friend. 

And that is the problem. 

Because he wants you to care about him. 

“So you’ll follow her but you won’t just say hello? Marc, you could just introduce yourself and walk her home, yeah? Instead of stalking after her like a deranged bird?” 

Marc ignores him, ceremonial suit slipping over his skin, mask covering his face.

“Nope. This is much easier.” 

Steven only sighs again. 

~

“I just wonder if I’m any good for you,” you admit to Steven one rainy summer evening. You are propped in the window with a book, Steven on the couch with an open text. 

The air is warm enough that you leave the window open, the sound of rain and traffic drifting through the flat. 

Steven turns to you, taking the glasses perched on the end of his nose off. He frowns at you, brows pulling together over the round brown eyes you’ve come to love. 

He closes the book he had been pouring over. “What d’ya mean, love?”

“Just that,” you pause, trying to gather your thoughts. “I just know Marc is rather protective. And maybe if he doesn’t-,” You swallow, “Maybe I’m not really any good for you.”

Steven holds his arms out to you, and you readily cross the room to fit yourself in his arms, head tucked neatly beneath his chin. “You certainly are good for me. Too good for me.” You feel his chin against your forehead, gently drifting back and forth. “Don’t pay Marc any mind.” 

“Does he hate me?” You pull back to look in his eyes.

“Now, who could hate you?” 

You press a hand to the back of Steven’s neck, fingers trailing up to thread through his hair. He readily leans his forehead against yours, his warm breath ghosting over your lips. 

You feel Steven tilt his head up a bit, and you know he’s watching the mirror, communicating with his alter who wanted nothing to do with you. 

“Could you tell him I don’t want anything from him? That I’d just like to introduce myself? He’s your best friend and I’d just like to say hello.” 

“He hears you,” Steven says. “Just being a bit of a pain in the arse as usual.” 

You suppress a laugh and tilt your head back to meet Steven’s eyes, cradling his jaw between your palms, sweeping your thumb over the thin scar above his brow. “He should know I’m not pressuring him, just that I would very much like to meet him, if he felt inclined.” Steven opens his mouth when you continue, “And that he’s become rather poor at hiding the past few weeks.”

“What?” 

“Just have noticed a certain caped individual on my walks home the last few weeks.” 

Steven’s mouth quirks, his eyes sliding to the mirror again. “He says you have a rather keen eye.” 

“Not so. It’s very hard not to notice sometimes.” As you speak Steven’s brows pull together and he frowns. “What's he saying?”

Steven glances back to you, his nose nearly touching yours. “Nothing you should worry your pretty head about,” he says, reaching up to cradle the back of your head, his lips finding yours, soft as the touch of a feather. “He can tell you himself if he bloody well pleases.” 

You feel slightly reassured as Steven kisses you, tilts you back against the couch cushions and slots himself against you, fingers running shakily up your side against your sweater. You dip your hands under his shirt, laughing quietly when he jumps at the sensation of your fingers against his scarred ribs. 

You feel better, at least, knowing that Steven wants you to meet Marc. 

You wonder what holds him back, what holds him back from even a hello. 

But Steven is kissing you and it becomes rather hard to concentrate. 

~ You talk to Marc on your way home from the theatre each night. 

You know he can hear you, walking on the rooftops above the streets you traverse each night. 

It makes you feel safe, knowing that he’s there, knowing that he cares enough to make sure you got home. 

You tell him about your day, quietly talking to yourself, drawing some curious stares but not too many. If these were the only interactions he would allow then you would make the most of them. 

You think you’ve seen Marc before. That he’d come into the museum once so that Steven wouldn’t miss work. His brows had been knitted tightly together, eyes narrower, mouth a hard frown. 

He hadn’t spoken to you that day, while Steven always made sure to, always. 

It’s raining when you leave the theater this night, your duffle bag slung across your shoulders, hood pulled up over your head as you race down the back steps, eager to get home, to make a cup of the calming tea Steven had gotten you and sleep. 

Your feet and ankles are sore and you felt like a good cry was in order. 

You don’t look up as the rain pounds down, sure that your guarding protector would be there as he always was. You just didn’t have the energy to greet him this night. 

Although you left rehearsal early, Marc always had a way of knowing when you left, of always being there. He was reliable, steady, even if he mostly avoided you. 

Tonight though, you wish you could go home and call Steven, though you know he won’t pick up, not until morning. Steven was who you called when you needed to cry, when you needed comfort. 

Steven was soft, in a way no one else you’ve ever known has been. 

You love dance, but the toll it took on your mental health some days made you wonder if it was at all worth it. 

Your thighs burn and your ankles ache, and you remember the way you were out of step and how the choreographer had sighed. The sound worse than disappointment and closer to condemnation. Maybe you aren't good enough to hack it in this particular dance company, and not for the first time, you think about going home.

The rain continues, drenching you to the bone. It pounds against the pavement beneath your feet, so loudly you don’t hear the footsteps trailing after you. 

You duck down an alleyway, a shortcut you don’t normally take because you’d rather take the longer way around and chatter at Marc. 

But you can’t be bothered tonight. You don’t even look up. 

If you had, you’d have known he wasn’t there, and then maybe you’d have stayed in the safety of the theater for just a bit longer, waited until he showed himself. 

One moment you’re hurrying along, the next a hand is pressed to the back of your neck, shoving you into the brick wall of the alley. 

You open your mouth to scream but a knife presses to the skin of your throat. It digs in just a little as the pressure at the back of your neck disappears and your bag is ripped off your shoulder. 

“Search that for me, yeah?” A male voice says before he leans into you, pressing your body into the wall with the heaviness of his own. 

You hear your things being ripped out of the bag, your dance garments and tights. Extra shoes. Ballet slippers. A bag of toiletries. 

“Search her, then. She ain’t got anything in here.”

Hands dig into you, rough and careless. But you don’t have anything on you, not even your wallet or phone, you know they’ll find nothing and then what?

What will be left for them to take? 

The knife divots into your skin, you feel the warmth of your own blood trail down your neck. 

Surreptitiously, you tilt your head up. Maybe Marc really has hated you all this time, and he’s about to let you be killed in this dirty alley. 

But there’s no one watching you, and you have to wonder for a moment if anyone ever had been there, as the unknown hand gropes through your pockets and then pats down the sides of your thighs. 

You wonder if you should fight. 

Was it better to let whatever was about to happen, happen? Or to try to fight? To at least be able to flee? 

You decide to fight when a figure appears in the corner of your vision. 

One that the two men behind you apparently do not notice. 

The knife disappears from your neck and your head is smashed into the brick instead. 

Your vision dances, Khonshu apparently only visible to you. 

“Do not worry, little bug. My Moon Knight is on his way.”

The skeletal bird you’re staring at can only be Khonshu or a terrible hallucination. 

If he’s a hallucination, does that mean they already stabbed you and you’re bleeding to death? 

“You are not hallucinating,” comes the booming voice of the god of the night sky. “Follow my instruction.” 

Khonshu, who you have no choice but to trust as your assailants argue about whether to kill you, tilts his head.

You are told to drive your right foot directly back, then twist and punch as hard as you can. 

“Then run,” is the last piece of advice before the blasted bird disappears. 

You have no choice but to follow the advice, and hope Marc or Steven really are nearby. 

When you drive your foot back, it connects with a knee. A strangled cry goes up as you twist and blindly punch. Your fist lands on something meaty, sending a shockwave up your arm. Bone cracks. 

You flee the second the hands leave your body, and you think for just a moment that you’ll get away, that you’ll make it to the deserted but well lit street at the other end of the alley. 

But fingers hook into the hood of your jacket which had fallen back off your head. You’re jerked off your feet, clotheslined jacket knocking the breath out of your lungs. 

Still you manage to scream as you fall, palms scraping against the pavement, the knee of your jeans ripping open. 

You roll, acting on pure instinct, driving your leg up into the gut of the man that falls on top of you to square a punch into your ribs. 

“You little bitch-,” 

You whip out a hand and claw his face, his friend stooping to cover your mouth as the knife appears again, shining metal gleaming by the curve of your cheek.

But something - someone - else has appeared. 

Indeed, Khonshu’s Moon Knight is stalking down the alleyway behind them. 

It gives you the determination to shove the man on top of you with all your strength, kneeing him between the legs as you go, the knife slices at your cheek as the man behind you says, “Oy! Stop struggling and-,” 

You never find out what else you should do as the other man’s weight disappears and a fluttering white cape engulfs you. 

You get to your feet shakily and when you look up, it's to meet the blinding white gaze of Marc Spector. His arm is around your waist, the cape like a blanketed cocoon against you. 

“Go to the street. I’ll come to you.” His voice is American and gruff and unexpected. 

“Marc-,” 

But he lets go of you, spins you and pushes you gently in the direction of the street.

You go, rainwater sluicing against your skin. You hear bones snap, the sound of flesh against flesh but you don’t turn or stop until you reach the street. Cars trundle by, a few pedestrians are walking further up the road. No one pays you any mind, the callousness of strangers shocking and not shocking in equal measure. 

The contrast to your fight in the alley is startling, and you feel the burn of tears at the backs of your eyes, the fingers of pressure on your throat as you hold them back.

You don’t hear anything from the alley now, but a few minutes of shivering in the rain later Marc appears, your ruined bag over his shoulder.  

He crowds close to you without a word, lifting your chin with a curled finger beneath your chin. The fabric of the suit is gauzy and warm against your skin, not damp despite the rain. He peers into your eyes, focus shifting to your cheek and then neck, before he takes your hands in both of his, and examines the broken skin of your palms. 

He makes a noise of discontent as he examines you. 

He holds your fingers so tenderly you wonder if he realizes who you are. 

“Marc?” You ask gently. “Are you okay?” 

His head snaps up but he doesn’t answer, just stares at you with that furious white gaze. 

“Could I see your face at least?” 

He hesitates, but only for a moment, before the wispy material covering his face slides away. The humidity and rain make his curls unruly, a lock of hair sticks to the sweaty skin of his forehead.

It’s Steven, and very clearly not Steven. 

You swallow, and touch his cheek. “Are you okay?” You ask again. 

You regret touching him immediately. It’s likely not something he wants from you. 

Steven would have leaned into your palm, but Marc goes still confirming your worry, his brows pulling together, eyes narrower than Steven’s rounded gaze.

You drop your hand, and Marc’s gaze follows your hand. 

Instead of answering, Marc asks, “Do you have a first aid kit at your place or do we need to go to Steven’s?” 

“I have one,” you say softly.

Marc is so very close to you, his head bent over yours. His skin is damp and glowing, eyes such a deep umber that you feel like getting lost in them. His breath falls against your lips.

You inhale sharply at the closeness, breathing in the smoky jasmine and lavender scent that lingers around him, the tang of copper just beneath. Steven smelled like tea and cotton and you wonder briefly if the fragrance is thanks to the suit. 

But then he nods, all business, the rest of the suit sliding away as he pulls away and nudges you in the direction of your flat, not taking the shortcut through the alley, of course. 

“Did you kill them?” 

Marc stiffens, responding gruffly, “No. Just some broken bones.” 

You watch his jaw clench before you carefully reach out and tangle your fingers with his again. He probably thought you thought the worst of him, that he was a cold blooded killer. “I wouldn’t have mourned if you did.” His eyes snap to yours, surprised at the brutality in your shaky voice. “Thank you for coming.” 

“Where’d you learn to fight like that?” 

You smile, the movement making the cut on your cheek weep blood, “I received instructions from a rather strange looking bird.”

“Khonshu,” Marc mutters. “Bastard.” 

You hum, and feel the bizarre sensation of Marc Spector sliding his thumb gently across the back of your hand.

Once in your flat, Marc seats you at one of the two chairs at your tiny kitchen table in your tiny place’s kitchen. 

He kneels in front of you, even though he could take the other chair, and carefully tilts your chin up, dabbing gently at the cut on your neck, then your cheek.

“Did you hear me all those nights? When I spoke to you?” 

Marc nods, turning to grab an antiseptic ointment and a roll of gauze. “Yeah, I heard you.” 

“Why haven’t you-,” you bite your tongue. “Never mind. You don’t have to tell me. Or, talk to me. I’ve been telling myself that ever since Steven told me the truth. You’re just very important to Steven, of course I would like to meet you.” 

Marc goes still for a moment, deep brown eyes meeting yours. “Yeah, makes sense.” He finishes with your cheek and gently brushes his thumb over the column of your throat. 

You tell yourself he’s checking the bandage. 

But your heart beats wildly in your chest. 

“You’ll tell Khonshu thank you? From me? Suppose he did actually give me some helpful advice-,”

“No,” Marc suddenly says, intense in his fierceness, the set of his features grim. “Not when its his fault, my-my fault, our fucking fault you were alone in the first place-,” 

“Hey,” you take his hands and feel them shaking in yours. “It's not. It’s not anyone’s fault. It’s just something that happened. And I’m glad you were around.” You grip his fingers and don’t let him pull away until the tremors subside. “Are you alright?”

He clears his throat, suspiciously glassy eyes not meeting yours, and then goes about cleaning your bruised palms and your cut knuckles. 

Marc sighs abruptly, not answering you, and turns to look into the shining reflection of your floor length mirror. “Steven says he’s proud of you.” He looks away and continues wrapping your hands, “He also won’t let me forget that I haven’t asked you if you’re okay.” 

You open your mouth to reply when Marc bites out brusquely, “Are you okay?” 

You smile, imagining the irritation in Steven’s voice, Bloody hell, Marc! Telling her I’m bothering you about asking her if she’s okay and actually asking her is not the same thing!

“I’ll tell you if I’m alright, if you tell me if you are.” 

Marc snorts, “I can tell by looking at you.” His head twitches toward the mirror again and you know Steven must be annoying him about invisible injuries. You wait for a moment while they seem to have a silent conversation. 

You stop Marc’s hands when he moves to look at your knee instead of answering. “Just a simple yes or no. Nothing more.” 

He looks up at you, brows still tight over his eyes, expression stony, frowning at you so intensely you have to wonder what he sees when he looks at you. “Yes.” 

“Brilliant,” you smile. 

“Yes or no?” He asks you. 

You brace a hand on his shoulder, pushing yourself up, “Yes. I am okay. Does Steven know?”

“He hears you,” his grim gaze drifts back to the mirror. “Sit back down, I’m not done with you.” 

You pat his chest gently when he stands too, close and towering, what should be intimidating. “Yes, you are,” you return firmly. “I’m going to make some tea. Do you drink tea, or is that a Steven thing?”

“Coffee, if you have it.”

You can’t help but smile. 

“We need to wrap your knee though,” he doesn’t let the injury go. “It might get infected.”

You glance down at the scrape, then at the worried frown on Marc’s face. “Shall I change first? That way I don’t just tear the bandage anyways taking these wet jeans off.” 

Marc eyes your wet clothes, the way you shiver, head tilting to the side, like he’s listening. 

He concedes with a nod. 

~

Marc watches you make a cup of tea for yourself and hesitate at the coffeemaker. 

He thinks for a moment that you hesitate because you’re realizing that if you start the pot, you won’t only have to wait for it to brew but for Marc to drink it. 

But when you turn, you only frown at him and ask, “Are you quite sure about the coffee? You won’t sleep. I have more than enough chamomile tea-,” 

“Coffee is fine.” 

You dip your head and turn back to the pot. 

Steven sighs, “You can let her take care of you too, Marc.” 

Marc ignores Steven, refuses to meet his gaze in the shining reflection of your toaster. 

He feels the bone-deep weariness creep up on him, crash over his shoulders, as you set a cup of coffee in front of him a few quiet minutes later. 

“Steven pokes fun at me for my sugar habit. But this is a judgment free zone so don’t be afraid to tell me how you take it.” 

Marc glances into the cup, black coffee staring back up at him. 

“Sugar and milk,” he says and watches you smile, the gauze wrapped around your neck making his skin prickle. 

He should have killed those men for daring to lie a hand on you. He glances at your wet duffle bag, dejectedly lying in a heap in the corner of the kitchen. “Sorry about your stuff.” 

“It’s just things,” you say, wincing as you sit down across from him, setting down a carton of milk and bowl of sugar with a spoon.

He tips his head to the side to glance at your scraped knee under the table, the wince not matching the injury. Had he missed something? Though he supposes you’re probably sore after being thrown to the ground. 

“It’s not that,” you say, tucking your legs beneath you on the chair. “I was sore anyways. I’m always sore from dance. I have a high pain tolerance from all the years of training. Tonight wasn’t actually the worst night of my life.” 

Before he can respond, his heart sinking with your words, you continue. “That’s a neat trick though,” you fling your arms out and then around in an imitation of how he’d circled the cape around you. “Handy.” 

“It’s bulletproof. Most of the time,” he says, spooning sugar into his coffee, then a dash of milk. 

“Very handy, then.” You watch him for a moment before your fingers tangle anxiously together. “You know, I really am okay. Please don’t feel like you need to stay.”

“Marc,” Steven says, “She thinks you hate her. Open up to her just a bit, yeah?” 

“I don’t hate you,” Marc says, ignoring the exasperated goan from Steven at his blunt response. “I don’t. And I’ll stay, for a while at least. You hit your head,” he reaches out and touches the bruise forming at your temple. He should have cut off their hands for that, broken each finger, twisted the ligaments out. “You might have a concussion,” he keeps his voice as level as he can.  

You nod and swallow, “Is Steven okay? I haven’t worried him too badly, have I?” 

Marc briefly closes his eyes, hearing all over again the screams of his headmate when Khonshu told them you were in danger. The force of his worry had almost forced Marc into the backseat, but he knew he was better suited to handle whatever was happening to you. 

That he could steal himself and deal. With this, he could deal, after all the years Steven had protected Marc from himself, from memories better forgotten. 

If something had happened to you…

“He’s okay,” Marc eventually answers, opening his eyes to find you watching him worriedly. “He was very worried about you.” 

“He knows I’m okay now?”

Marc sees Steven nodding at the back of your head sympathetically. “Yeah.” He licks his lips, takes a sip of the coffee, “I can…I can bring him out if you’d rather be with him.” 

You tilt your head to the side, like you’re considering it. “It’s okay. Not that I don’t want to see Steven, I do. I just…feel very safe at the moment. Maybe something to do with the cape.” You look away and take a sip of your tea. 

Steven is smirking in the toaster’s reflection, smug in a way that grinds at Marc’s nerves. 

The pair of you make no sense to Marc. 

“You into the cape, huh?”

“Oh, only a little. I wonder if your god would give me one.” Your eyes are sparkling, you’re teasing him and it makes his chest hurt in a pleasant way. 

But there was an idea Marc could get behind. Not that Khonshu would ever acquiesce. 

When you finish your tea, Marc shuffles you to the couch, prepared to watch over you for the night. 

You lie down, your legs tucked behind his back when he sits at the end of the sofa, like he’s familiar to you. And he supposes in a way he is, that you spend almost every evening together, despite his silence, and that you know the body he lives in. 

Marc flicks through the various streaming services on your TV, resting his other hand on your knee when you won’t stop squirming. 

“Hey,” he says, thumbing at your knee but not looking at you. “I know you’re okay now. But you might not be in a couple days, when the shock wears off. Takes time sometimes for something like that to catch up to you.” He squeezes your calf. “Let us know if that happens.” 

“Are you - both of you? Either of you?” 

His heart sinks just a little. “Yeah. Either. Both.” 

“Aw, Marc, I knew you liked her! I knew it!” Steven’s hands are folded over his heart, eyes wide and round. “Go on and kiss her!”

He will not be doing that. Knows that you wouldn’t welcome that. 

Instead he massages the flesh of your leg, and says, “Heat can help with muscle soreness. Do you have a heat pack somewhere?”

You turn on your back and put your feet in his lap, “Maybe. I’m okay like this for now.” You pull a blanket off the back of the sofa and drape it over both of you. 

He cups a hand around your socked ankle and says, “Don’t fall asleep.” He traces the delicate knob of bone beneath his touch. 

“Don’t think I could if I tried.” You go quiet for a moment, then say, “For the record, thank you. I’m really glad you’re staying with me.” 

The feeling that wells up in his chest almost chokes him. Marc can only nod, and even Steven stays silent for once at the wave of emotion that crashes through them both.

Oh this is going to be perfect

Wingman {1} || Retribution MC AU

Sam Wilson x Air Force!fem!reader

Summary: You and Joaquin served together, starting as his wingman, but the long overdue reunion doesn't go quite to plan. Warnings: 18+ only, reader PTSD, violence, blood, panic attack WC: 2.6k

Sam's Masterlist || Retribution MC Masterlist || Part 1 ||

It had been years since you last saw Torres, back when he was discharged from the Air Force, but you spotted your wingman the moment you stepped out of the terminal at JFK. His boyish smile stood out, as much as his leather kutte, among the business people strutting through the airport with determination. He also couldn’t help holding up a piece of cardboard with a picture of a fire drawn so badly it could have been a five year old’s artwork.

“Look at you, trading one uniform for the next.” You smirked as you dropped your bag to hug him.

“This is freedom baby, no uniform here.” He grinned, grabbing your back and chucking it over his shoulder before frowning. “Where’s the rest of your stuff?”

“I travel light.” You shrugged. “A few changes of clothes do me just fine.”

Joaquin seemed unconvinced but let it go and led the way out of the airport to a beautiful Harley that was parked illegally. “Still a daredevil?”

You grinned as you looked at the beast. “Hell yeah, you gotta promise to go fast.”

“You know me, I don’t do anything slow.”

“That’s not what that RIO, Chantelle, said, second tour wasn’t it?” You teased, earning a friendly punch to the shoulder.

“Please don’t mention that in front of my brothers, I’ll never hear the end of it.” He begged as he swung his leg over the bike and patted the leather seat behind him. “We have a party to get to.”

You could see the attraction to spending your days riding a motorbike, it equally gave you a sense of freedom but also a thrill knowing it was only the rider's skill that kept you upright through the hard and fast turns. You had served with Joaquin so you knew you could trust him with your life but it was one thing to say it and another to put it to the test. 

“Where’s this party?” You shouted over the throaty growl of the engine and the wind.

“Clubhouse.” He shouted back, chopping down a gear as he slowed down and turned into what could have been an old roadside tavern decades ago. “Welcome to Retribution.”

Joaquin kicked the stand out after parking next to a line up of bikes and grabbed your rucksack from the saddle bag before you could. Classic rock spilled out of the open doors and you were taken back to the days off you spent in the desert, cold beers, steaks on the bbq and a boombox playing cassette tapes that had been hoarded since the Fall of Saigon. 

“Hey, you okay?” Joaquin frowned as he saw you frozen beside his ride.

You were jolted back to the present by a hand on your shoulder and you tensed up to stop your reflex reaction of dropping the person who had touched you. “Sorry, must be the jetlag. So this is your new family?”

Your question did its job and distracted him from probing into your reaction as a bright smile lit up his face. “Yeah, most of the guys served too so it’s just like the old days.”

“Just slightly illegal.” You joked but his smile dropped and he sighed.

“It's easier to stomach than the legal shit we did over there…”

“Don’t remind me.” You muttered before doing what you do best and deflecting. “Is there a bar here or what? What kind of hospitality is this Wacky?”

He chuckled at his old callsign and nodded his head to the door with an affectionate wink. “Come on, you’ll need some hard liquor to deal with this lot.”

You were only halfway across the crowded space when a sharp slap burned across the back of your jeans. Almost as if there was a built in radar that detected fights, the entire crowd turned and the music cut off as you took a deep breath. Joaquin had dropped your bag on the closest table and narrowed his eyes at the man behind you, not knowing the mistake he had just made. 

“Take that shit elsewhere.” A man ordered as he stepped into the ring of space that had appeared around the offender, the flash on his chest reading Sergeant at Arms. “We treat women with respect ‘round here.”

“Thanks, boss.” You said as you turned to face the guy who stared at his red palm like it was the one who betrayed him. “But I don’t need you to fight my battles.”

“Blaze…” Joaquin stepped closer as he saw your fist clench but it was too late.

You smashed your fist into his face and felt the crunch of his septum breaking from the force before you raised your leg and kicked him square in the chest. The man stumbled backwards into a table and crashed it to the ground with a pained groan, Joaquin rushing in to catch you around the waist before you could get in for another shot.

“So this is Blaze, huh?” The Sergeant at Arms laughed as he held his hand out for you. “I’m Sam Wilson, welcome to our clubhouse.”

You couldn’t help grinning back and you broke Joaquin’s hold to shake his hand. “Y/n Y/l/n.”

“You know, ya boy here failed to mention the Blaze he spoke so highly of was a fine looking woman.”

“He’s been known to do that. Is that gonna be a problem, Wilson?” You cocked an eyebrow but his smile only grew and your stomach clenched at the sight.

“Hell naw, we love pretty ladies ‘round here.” A chorus of agreements echoed around the room before the music was restarted and Sam stepped in beside you, his body so close but not touching and the heat his lips warming your neck. “What are you drinking, sugar?”

His warm brown eyes caught the light and you spotted flecks of amber swirling around his irises, it was almost unfair that he had such pretty eyes and thick eyelashes surrounding them. He watched with fascination as you stared at him, your eyes seeming to search for his soul as he waited patiently for an answer. He didn’t mind, he was enjoying the view. 

“Something strong.” You finally answered before biting your lip. “Wacky’s watching isn’t he?”

“Oh, yeah, he’s totally planning on giving me a big brother speech as soon as I step away.”

You rolled your eyes playfully as you patted his hard, broad chest beneath the leather kutte. “Goodluck, he’s got this routine locked down.”

You slipped into the crowd and grabbed your bag from the table as Joaquin made a beeline towards Sam. You loved how protected he was over you, there was so much good in his heart that you let him have his moment and went to get a drink. 

“I’m not gonna hurt her.” Sam said before Joaquin even opened his mouth.

“Not intentionally.” 

“What the hell’s that supposed to mean?” Sam crossed his arms, offended by the notion. 

“Blaze has been through some stuff alright, she’s…fragile.” 

Sam looked at the broken table where the man had been dragged out from and scoffed. “Doesn’t look that way to me.”

“That’s just her default defense mechanism, that’s Blaze - the hot headed soldier.” Joaquin tried to explain but he sighed as he couldn’t find the right words. 

“I get it bro.” Sam clapped him on the back and started making his way towards the bar. “We all put up a wall to survive over there.”

Joaquin watched Sam approach your bar stool and waited for the inevitable elbow to be thrown but you didn’t even flinch when he dropped his arm over your shoulder and reached over to grab a glass. You were so often trapped in that head of yours that if anyone startled you or snuck up behind you, you dropped them to the floor before even realising who it was. He couldn’t blame you for it, even after four years he still had nightmares - he could only imagine how much harder it was for you.

You were savouring the whiskey on ice, taking little sips as you listened to Sam boast about his club. You would have thought he was cocky but from the scars he was showing off he proved that he could back up his tales. It only made them more impressive and brought out the competitive spirit that tended to get you in trouble.

“An IED went off outside a school we were helping rebuild.” You pulled the waistband of your jeans down slightly to reveal your hip and Sam winced at the puckered scar tissue that disappeared below the denim. “It was packed with shrapnel.”

He reached out and gently traced his thumb over the scar, scorching heat trailing his touch. “How far does it go?”

Maybe if you had drunk more of the whiskey you would have jumped at the opening and let him take you to one of the rooms out back. As it was, you really were starting to feel the jetlag seeping in and with his devilish charm he would probably disarm you until you had laid all your secrets bare - he just had that trusting sense about him. “Maybe one day you’ll find out.”

You finished the now watery whiskey and placed the glass on the bar top before slipping from the stool in search of Joaquin. He was easy to find once you heard his laugh, the sound bringing back memories of the good times before it went bad.

The taste of whiskey, scent of smoke and the heat inside the clubhouse threw you back to a humid tent a few miles west of Kabul. It was supposed to be a time to relax before the next projects were assigned so you cut loose, drank too much and forgot for a moment that you were thousands of miles from home. Insurgents hadn’t known it was your time off, they hadn’t cared that you were a part of the mission trying to help rebuild infrastructure.

You could still hear their bullets ripping through the tent, see the glint of their machetes and they hacked their way in to find survivors of your team.

Light reflected off something beside you and ducked for fear of the blade burying itself in your neck. Your heart hammered in your chest as you heard the screams of your team calling for backup that would never arrive in time.

“Blaze!” Wacky called out and you reached blinding, still feeling the cold blood of your teammates running down your face as you hid beneath their bodies like a coward. “Let me through.”

“Hey sugar,” Sam’s velvet voice broke through the sound of your heart echoing through your head, “whatever that pretty head has taken you, you’re not there anymore.”

Your vision was hyper focused and you couldn’t tear your eyes away from the boots you wore, military standard issue steel cap boots. They weren’t the same boots that you had worn that day, these soles weren’t soiled with the blood that had seeped into the dirt.

“Here.” Sam said as he took your hand and placed it on his chest. “No uniform.”

You watched your fingers run over the smooth leather and the thumping in your head was replaced with thoughts of the steady beating under your palm.

“What was that?” Joaquin asked, concern dripping from the question as he knelt beside you.

You were ashamed that you had let the past bleed into your present and you were especially sorry that you had knocked over a bartender who had been collecting empties on a steel tray.

“I’m sorry, I shouldn’t have come here.” You muttered as you pulled your hand back and rose to your feet. “You’ve got a good family here Torres, I don't want to mess it up.”

“You won’t.” He said as he reached for your arm, catching himself as he saw you reel back. “Please, stay.”

You backed away to the door with your bag on your shoulder and your eyes darting around to make sure no one could attack. You knew in your heart they wouldn’t but your mind was your worst enemy most days. You had hoped that wouldn’t be the case once you were out of the war zone but ghosts had a way of following you.

“She’s got PTSD.” Sam said to Joaquin as they watched you leave.

“Yeah.” He sighed, rubbing his forehead roughly. “I tried to get her to talk to someone but she’s stubborn, she won’t listen to me.”

“She listened to me.” Sam pointed out. “Let me go talk to her.”

“I know you mean well Sam, and no offence, but I don’t want you getting involved if you can’t see it through. You just met her.”

“I know what she’s going through. I think I can help her.”

“But what if you can’t?” He snapped. “Are you gonna abandon her too, like everyone else has?”

Sam clicked his teeth and started making his way after you. “Thought you knew me better than that.”

Heavy boots quickly caught up to you and you cast a short glance over your shoulder, stumbling as you realised it was Sam. You took a second look, expecting to find Joaquin behind him but there wasn’t anyone else along the dimly lit street. Stopping under one of the few streetlights, you turned and waited for Sam to close the distance with long, purposeful strides.

“How’s Joaquin?” You asked, seeing the confusion on his expressive face. “I assumed you had to beat him into submission to get out the door.”

“You two know each other pretty well.”

You could hear the suspicion in his tone, something you heard a lot in past relationships and you were beyond the point of caring if you came across as rude. “He’s my best friend. I would take a bullet for him and I would put a bullet in someone for him. End of story. If that’s gonna be a problem for you then turn around and march that nice ass back to the clubhouse.”

His lips parted with a laughing smile and he buried his hands in his jeans as he leant against the lamppost. “I knew you had been checking out my ass.” 

“That’s all you got out of that?” You chuckled, tipping your head back to see the sky full of stars. 

“The only thing that matters to me.” He said as he sobered up. “And you can’t wander these streets all night so how about you crash at mine tonight.”

“What’s the catch?” You asked as you tightened your grip on your backpack.

“No catch.” He promised. “But if you’re up for it tomorrow, I have some people I’d like you to meet.”

You pursed your lips in consideration but knew you didn’t have a lot of options aside from going back and finding Joaquin but you weren’t ready to face him again just yet. Nodding tentatively, you let him take the bag off your shoulder and slip his hand into yours. 

“It’s a nice night for a walk.” He commented as he started heading further away from the clubhouse. “I only live down the block.”

“Thank you for all this.” You mumbled as you tried to ignore the comforting warmth of his hand radiating up your arm. 

He pulled you to a stop and waited silently until you had the courage to look up from your shoes. “It’s no problem, really. You’re like family to Joaquin, and we take care of our own.”

This is perfect!!!

A Touch of Comfort

You’ve always been the touchy-feely sorts with people you’re comfortable around. So when you’re told your touching could be making Bucky uncomfortable, you stop.

But here’s the thing.. Bucky didn’t want you to stop.

Words: 2.6K Author’s Note: This had been requested ages ago and I finally had a little spark of inspiration to write it. Sorry @avada-kedavra-bitch-187​ for making it seem like I ignored you.

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Fist of all : HOT 🥵

Second Ihate tumblr and how it refuses to notify my me even though I clicked on the bell for you 😭

Two Minds, One Body || Mafia!Bucky [pt2]

Mafia!Bucky x fem!reader

Chapter Summary: Now that you are a permanent fixture in Bucky and Winter's life they treat you as their queen. Have mercy on anyone who disrespects their queen. Warnings: 18+ only, smut, mafia typical threat of violence WC: 2864

Main Masterlist || Bucky Masterlist || Part One ||

When you had been asked to pack a bag for a night away, you had thought you were going somewhere further than New York City. The confusion had been clear on your face as your driver parked outside a gated brownstone, but before you could ask why you were there the front door opened to reveal Bucky. His usual business attire had been ditched in exchange for a dark blue cashmere sweater that set his eyes alight and the way it hugged his chest had you itching to run your hands over it.

The only sign that he wasn’t as relaxed as he tried to appear was the crystal tumbler of whiskey hanging from his fingertips and the way his hair tipped to one side, the result of his fingers constantly brushing through the strands. Your driver was at your side and opening the door just as Bucky cleared the gate and you stepped onto the pavement and into his waiting arms. He may have only been gone one day but it was more than enough to have missed his presence at home.

“I’m so glad to see you, doll.” Bucky whispered quietly into your ear as his eyes scanned the street. “Let’s get inside.”

Whatever timeless age the outside held was gone the moment you stepped over the threshold. High ceilings and open spaces were modernised and surprisingly minimalist compared to the decor of the mansion upstate, but it was just as stunning. Bucky’s hand was low on your back as he guided you through the foyer and down a hall to his office at the back. You were suddenly nervous as he closed the door behind you and placed his glass on the mahogany desk.

He dropped heavily into his chair and turned his attention to the wall of glass that overlooked the private backyard and shimmering pool. A tension hung in the air and you were surprised Winter was making his way to the surface as Bucky chewed on his bottom lip and twirled a pen mindlessly in his hand. Suddenly he dropped the pen back on the desk and patted his lap, your movements slower than normal as you tentatively approached him.

“I need your help.”

Whatever you thought he was going to say could not have come close and your lips parted as you took a breath and sat on his lap. “Whatever you need, baby.”

“A warehouse of mine was raided today. There was meant to be an auction tonight.” He said as he tipped his head back and sighed as your hands massaged the tight muscles on his shoulders. “We are sitting on $100 million cash and this auction was how we were going to wash it.”

You didn’t know where he was heading with it as he reached for his whiskey and swallowed the amber liquid back, sucking his teeth as the alcohol burnt down his throat. “I need to know if you were serious when we met.”

You nodded as you remembered what you said in an attempt to hopefully save your life. “You can launder money digitally without losing, I'm sure. I had a lot of time to think of business and criminal ventures when I was trapped in that marriage.”

“I need you to show me how, doll. If I can’t get rid of this cash quick we are all fucked.”

You stood up and turned around so you could sit facing his computer, already bringing up different websites. “You’re familiar with cryptocurrency, right?”

“Some of our overseas partners use it.” He nodded. “We have wallets with Ethereum, Litecoin, Cardino and a few others.”

“Good. What about NFT’s?” He shrugged and you brought up an image that looked like a child had made on Microsoft Paint. “Buying, trading and selling of unique digital media. It can be as basic as this shit or actual art but they are legitimate sales and can be almost completely anonymous with crypto.”

He leant forward to look closer at the website and scanned over the information, his mind processing it efficiently. “I’ll need a few more shell companies, but that's simple enough to do.”

“Buy a few of these cheaper ones and sell them to yourself for a few hundred thousand.” You nodded. “Crypto takes care of the rest, money washed.”

“Set it up.”

“Wait, what?” You gasped, spinning around to see if he was joking.

“This is your baby.” He reclined back with a smile, reaching into his pocket for his phone and wallet. “Get whatever you need to make it happen.”

No one had ever trusted you to do, well, anything. You had just been an item to trade and barter with and now Bucky was treating you as his equal. Sensing your hesitation, he pulled you closer and cupped your face as his lips brushed softly over yours. Your body relaxed in his embrace, moulding into him as you wrapped your arms around his neck.

“If you need any help, I’ll be right here.” He reassured you as he broke away, leaving you to catch your breath.

You took a deep breath and nodded, mentally telling yourself that you could do this. You had made a million plans in your head on how to hide money on the off chance you had been able to save some up and escape your previous marriage that you knew you had the idea right, you just needed to execute it. Turning back to the computer you were stopped and Bucky shook his head.

“Start tomorrow, doll. I asked you down here so I could take you out. How does dinner and dancing sound?”

“Sounds like you are trying to court me.” You teased him as you twirled your fingers around the hairs hanging longer at his nape. “I think you are just trying to get me in your bed.”

His rich laugh sent warmth pooling between your legs and his hand trailed up your leg as if he could sense it. “Definitely. In my bed, in my shower, on my desk…everywhere.”

═══════☆═══════

Bucky’s eyes darted around the room that was far too busy for his liking, there were too many exposure points and he had precious cargo with him. Everybody that brushed too close to you had his fingers inching closer to the gun on his hip and you stepping closer under his arm.

“There something I should know?” You asked as you noticed the stiffness that was usually reserved for Winter.

“No, I just don’t particularly like it here.” He said as he continued his survey of the nightclub’s ground floor.

“You don’t like it?” Your laugh briefly pulled his attention away and your hand resting on his chest had his cock twitch. “Honey, you own it.”

“I own half this city.” He pointed out before spotting a familiar face and his eyes darkened to azure.

“Win, what’s wrong?” You asked as you noticed the switch, following his line of sight to your ex-husband. Your evening had been going so well, starting with dinner at Chef’s Table then a few cocktails at Little Branch before heading to the nightclub for some dancing. In an instant the mood was gone. “Fucking marvellous.”

“I’ll deal with him.” Winter said chillingly. “Go with Nico and order a drink while I take out the trash.”

“Don’t take too long, there’s only two names on my dance card.” You whispered as you tiptoed to reach his ear, placing a quick kiss to his racing pulse.

“Kukolka…” he groaned as he fought the urge to take you to his office upstairs and fuck you on another of his desks.

“Sorry.” You said with a soft chuckle.

“No you’re not.” He said before snapping his fingers at Nico to get his attention and leaning down into your ear. “I’ll deal with you later, now go.”

You drew your bottom lip between your teeth as you imagined just how he would deal with you and you couldn’t wait. Two drinks later you were squirming on your bar stool. Between the music and the thought of Winter you just couldn’t sit still. Climbing off, you felt the room slightly spin and decided not to finish the half full glass.

“Would you like some water, ma'am?” Nico asked as he watched you grab the bartop.

“I think that is probably a good idea.” You admitted as you tried to act sober and failed.

After a refreshing glass of water you decided to make your way into the crowd filling the dancefloor, needing something to distract you from the absence of you boyfriend. A moment of insecurity hit you as you swayed to the music and you noticed the crowd move away from you. You didn’t think you had stood on anyones toes and the dozens of bottles of perfumes Bucky had bought were mouthwatering so it wasn’t that either. Turning around though, you saw exactly what had sent them spilling to the edges of the room.

Winter’s air of dominance was almost palpable as his eyes roamed your body, you hips begging him to grip them tight as he showed every man exactly who you belonged to. He had seen the way the others had been eyeing you up, and if Nico hadn’t been there to stop their filthy fingers from getting close he would have been splitting his knuckles on another man. He had only just left your ex-husband unconscious against the dumpsters out back, he would have no problem adding more bodies to it.

Your body was burning for his touch as he continued to watch, his chest puffing from the fight he had just had and the sight before him. Holding your hand out, you curled your finger in invitation and his lips teased a hint of a smile that only you could see. To everyone else he looked cold and unfeeling and he stepped closer like he was stalking his prey, this was the deadly mob boss with a reputation of getting his hands dirty. To you, you saw the fire in his eyes and welcomed his touch, your thumb softly brushing the fresh bruises on his knuckles before they came to rest on your hips.

“You started without me, kukolka.” He murmured low into your ear just loud enough to be heard over the music.

Turning in his arms so you could roll your hips and grind your ass over his cock, you leant back into his chest to look up at him with a smirk. “You were taking too long. I had to get your attention somehow.”

You should have known he would be a good dancer, the way he held you close and rolled his body in time with yours should have been illegal. It almost was illegal some of the things his hands were doing but he just stopped short of fucking you on the dancefloor. Just. The build up was leaving you dizzy and you could feel your arousal pooling in your panties with every beat of the heavy bass playing around you. Filth fell from Winter’s mouth between the kisses and sucks he was trailing along your neck and you felt like you could almost reach bliss without a single touch to your needy cunt.

“Win, unless you want everyone here to know how I look when I cum, we need to leave.” You begged as the throbbing between your legs left your chest rising and falling rapidly with sharp breaths.

“Upstairs.”

You could barely keep up as he raced towards the stairs that led to his office above the club and his fingers almost slipped from yours twice before you made it there. His hand was just about to turn the doorknob when Nico shouted over the music. A deep groan escaped his gritted teeth as he turned to find Nico holding his hand over his phone, worry indenting lines across his face.

“Got a situation, boss.”

Winter’s barely audible curse left you hiding the disappointment you felt, knowing your night had come to a halt earlier than planned. You gave him a small smile in return for the apologetic look he was giving you and he held his phone out to accept the call of whoever was on the other line. “This might take a while, doll. Nico, call the car around.”

He was about to head into his office where it was quiet enough to take the call but you pulled him to a stop, stealing your kiss goodnight before he regrettably pulled. “I’ll be home as soon as I can.”

He bit his lip as your hands trailed down his abs to hover over the bulge trapped in his pants. “Then you’ll deal with me?”

“Oh, doll.” He chuckled. “I’ll do more than just deal with you, I’m going to ruin you.”

═══════☆═══════

You could hear Winter’s angry rock music leaving you a trail of aural breadcrumbs to follow and you found the sound escaping the doors to the gym. Sweat was beading along his forehead as he lay there bench pressing an insane amount of weight, his legs spread wide to balance himself. The ropes of muscles in his arms strained to push the bar back up but still he kept going, so focused on finishing his reps that he didn’t notice you slipping inside.

“I missed you last night.”

You straddled his waist and he locked the bar over the hook so his hands were free to roam your body. You were still in one of his shirts you slept in, the edge riding up your thighs as he looked down to find you weren’t wearing anything underneath. His cock was already straining against the loose shorts he wore and you rolled your hips to sate your need for friction. You had waited up but after the dawn rays broke through the gap in the curtain you gave in to your exhaustion, it must have been important if it kept him out all night.

“Had some shit to deal with.” He tone admitted he missed you too as he felt the heat of your core calling to him.

“I had to take care of myself.” You pouted, reaching up your shirt to tease your nipples. “That’s how much I missed you.”

His chest vibrated with a possessive growl and he lifted you from his lap just long enough to push his shorts over his hips, impaling you with one well aimed thrust.

“Oh fuck.” You cried at the sudden fullness, swearing that you could feel him as your hand pressed to your stomach.

“Show me.” Winter grunted as your feet lifted off the ground with each sharp rut up into you. “Show me how you touch yourself.”

Your jaw went slack with ecstasy and you ran two fingers over his full pick lips until he opened his mouth for them, tongue working around them until they were nice and wet for you. Your heavenly sigh filled the air as you teased your clit and rolled your hips, riding Winter as he laid back and enjoyed the show. Your free hand tweaked your stiff peaks and the residual feelings from the nightclub plus everything he was doing quickly had you falling into your first orgasm.

Your pleasure was like a naked flame, your body the fuse and Winter the explosive. Seeing you ignite sent Winter into action. His large hands splayed across your back and he pulled you down, chest to chest as he took the control back. His hips pistoned furiously into you and your body had no time to recover from the first orgasm, the waves continuing to rippled through you, pussy gushing around his cock and down your legs.

“Fuck, Win, oh god, too much!” You cried as your legs fell slack around the bench and you gave yourself over to him.

“Wanna feel you come around me again.” He panted as he starved off his release to feel yours first.

Your head was shaking, but you couldn’t find the words to deny him as your walls began to flutter and tighten more with every rough pound of his body ramming yours. You tried to pull away as ghostly touches of fire spread over your skin but he took your hands and pinned them behind your back.

“Fuck, fuck, Winter, please.” You begged as tears sprung to your eyes.

“Take it, kukolka, you take it so well.”

You sagged with relief as your pussy began to pulse and he groaned as your body milked his cock, the hot ropes releasing with his heavy breathes that blew cool air across the fire that consumed your body. His hands released the grip on yours and pulled the limp limbs up to his neck so you could play with his hair while you recovered.

“I always liked waking up alone, until now.” You murmured as your mind remained in a cum-clouded haze.

“I wish I could promise that it wouldn’t happen again but our line of work makes it impossible.”

You looked up to see Bucky, his softer touch running soothingly up and down your spine.

“Then I’ll be content with the nights we do have.”

═══════☆═══════

Taglist || Taglist Join Form ||

@jessica11133 @nash-dara @buckyisperfect @itswanktime @slutforsexyseabass @sea040561 @gryffindorqueensworld @honeywithemoney @kenzieam @tsnelf7 @jmeagin-blog @saranghaey @heavenly-rogers

Two Minds, One Body || Mafia!Bucky [pt3]

Mafia!Bucky x fem!reader

Chapter Summary: You pay for your attitude in the best way possible Warnings: 18+ only, smut, edging/orgasm denial, cream pie, cum-play, mutual masturbation, squint and you might see voyerism, fluff, guns WC: 2427

Main Masterlist || Bucky Masterlist || Part One || Part Two || Part Three || Part Four

Your heels clicked loudly as you stormed through the house looking for Bucky, or in this case, Winter. You knew he was here somewhere because his driver was still having a smoke outside but there were too many rooms to check each of them. Instead, you planted yourself beside the front door and waited for him to rear his head.

“Something wrong, love?” Bucky asked as he caught the vision of you waiting, hand on hip and fire in your eyes.

“What the fuck is this?” You growled as you pulled the handgun that had suddenly appeared in your handbag overnight.

“I believe it’s a gun.” He smirked and continued to push his cufflinks into his business shirt.

“Ha ha, I forgot what a comedian you were.” You rolled your eyes. “What is it doing in my bag, Bucky?”

He stepped closer and ran his hands softly down your arms but you shook him off and held your stance firm, he wasn’t going to distract you with his smouldering charm today. With a sigh he pulled away, looking to Nico for help as he entered to foyer only to quickly back track.

“Rat bastard.” Bucky mumbled under his breath before turning his attention back to you, his eyes bleeding almost to black. “I wanted to make sure you are protected in case I’m not around, kukolka.”

“Win…” You sighed as you dropped your hand from your hip. “I don’t even know how to use this, I’m more likely to accidentally shoot myself.”

“I’ll teach you.” He said, taking the gun from your fingertips and shoving it down the back of his waistband and pulling his suit jacket on to hide it. “After what you pulled off last month, we are the richest syndicate on the East Coast. That puts a target on our backs.”

You couldn’t help but beam under his pride, your NFT plan had worked and Bucky was laundering millions every week, but you hadn’t spent too long thinking about the dangers it put you in. You had noticed the extra guards on the property and that when you went out you had almost as much of an entourage as Bucky did, now it made sense.

“Ok, but I’ll need a permit.” You said begrudgingly. “I’m not going to jail because of something stupid like that. It would just be embarrassing.”

“She launders millions and orders around the toughest mob boss in the state of New York, but was caught without a firearms permit.” Bucky laughed, stepping into his brilliantly shined shoes. “That would be pretty embarrassing, doll.”

“Who said you were the toughest mob boss?”

“Oooh, my queen is fierce this morning.” He smirked as he grabbed your jaw and pulled you forward to meet his lips. “I’ll have to fuck that attitude out of you when I get home.”

═══════☆═══════

His chest was pressed to your back, hands over yours and holding you pinned in place. You could barely breathe as his thigh nudged your legs wider and his lips brushed the side of your neck.

“Focus, kukolka.” Winter warned you as your ass naturally pressed back into him with a promise of good spanking if you didn’t heed his words. “Pull the trigger.”

You took a deep breath through your mouth so you didn’t get distracted by the Armani cologne he wore and tried to focus on the target that had been nailed to the trees at the back of the property. This was not what you thought you would be doing when Bucky returned home, you hadn’t even noticed Nico had disappeared until he returned with a hammer and a swollen thumb.

“Shouldn’t I have ear muffs or something?” You asked in another attempt at delaying the inevitable. “You always see them on tv.”

“If someone attacks I doubt you will have a pair of them on you.” Winter pointed out. “You need to know what you are in for, like the recoil.”

“The what?!” Your hands dropped but Winter caught them and aimed them back at the target. “I don’t think I can do this…”

“I’ve got you.” He stilled your trembling hand and let one of his fall to your hip. “I remember the first time I pulled the trigger.”

“I’m pretty sure you were born with a gun in one hand and a flask of whiskey in the other.”

“Close but not quite.” He chuckled and let his other hand fall to your hip too. “It’s not as scary as it seems. Pull the trigger.”

You turned your face away and screwed your eyes shut as your index finger curled over the trigger. If the deafening bang wasn’t enough to scare the living daylights out of you, the snap of the recoil did. Winter’s hands were quick as lightning as they caught yours and steadied the hold before you could drop the weapon or accidentally discharge it.

“Good girl.” He grinned and pressed his lips to your cheek.

“Did I hit it?” You blinked rapidly, still stunned by the sound and force of your shot.

Winter’s laugh vibrated from his chest as he shook his head. “Not even close, but you pulled the trigger. That’s the hardest part.”

You had to admit now that you had done it once and knew what to expect, the idea did seem easier, you would certainly hold it a bit tighter now that you felt how much it recoiled in your grip and you began to raise the weapon again. This time you aimed to keep your eyes open so you could actually see the target.

“I think I should get a prize if I hit the target.”

Winter’s hand snaked down your body, tugging up the hem of your dress so he could brush aside your panties. “Sounds fair to me.”

Your head tipped back onto his shoulder as what his fingers did was not fair at all. You found it impossible to focus on aiming as they dipped between your folds and teased your clit, soft moans filling the quiet afternoon air. “Win, fuck, thats, not, fair.”

Your hips were rolling as they sought more friction, more depth than his thick fingers could offer. “Take the shot, kukolka. Claim your prize.”

His fingers disappeared and you whimpered at the loss before he raised his glistening digits to his lips, licking them clean as your panties dampened even more. You knew the game he was playing and you wanted so desperately to win. Focus, focus, focus. You remembered his instructions and how to line up the sights on the slide, looking down the barrel and at the target beyond. Deep breath in, sight the target, slowly exhale, pull the trigger. The gun still bounced back in your grip but nothing like the first shot and you saw the bark behind the target splinter as your bullet lodged deep into the trunk.

“Ouch, bad luck, doll.” Bucky sucked the air between his teeth as he took the gun and hit the magazine release as well as the round in the chamber, tucking them away behind his back.

“Woah, uh-uh, I hit the target.” You said as you stopped him from heading back towards the house. “You didn’t stipulate it had to be a head shot.”

You grabbed his hand and he let you tow him to the tree trunk and pointed out the tiny tear in the edge of the paper where your bullet had entered the trunk, nowhere near close to the outline of a head.

“See, target hit.”

Bucky was trying not to laugh as he touched the spot, his finger widening the hole in an innocent way that left you breathless nonetheless. “Someone is just desperate for a prize.”

“Wouldn’t you?” Your lip was caught between your teeth as you stepped up onto a root that stretched out beneath the tree and you stood eye to eye with him.

“You wanna cum so badly, don’t you baby?” He smirked as he ran his thumb over your lip, pulling it from your bite. You couldn’t help but flick your tongue out, tasting the pad of his thumb before sucking it as his pupils blew wide and his breathing deepened. “Fuck. Turn around.”

You smiled triumphantly as he spun you against the tree, your hands splayed against the trunk as his hands bunched your dress up. The thin material of your panties were torn apart and left to fall to the leaves before you heard his zip. You were already whimpering for him as he pulled your hips back and pushed your face forward, snapping his hips so he could fill you in one go. Your cry was lost as his hand clamped over your mouth and you were reminded that there were guards roaming the property.

“You’re mine, doll, no one else gets to see you like this.” He promised between sweet kisses and sharp bites to your neck. “So be a good girl and don’t make a sound.”

His hand fell from your mouth and you bit your lip to keep them shut as he circled your clit instead. It took all of your concentration to stay quiet as your legs began to tremble with every long stroke of his cock against your walls.

“Don’t cum just yet, babygirl.” He warned as his rhythm failed.”Remember my promise this morning.”

Your head was clouded by your impending orgasm when suddenly his cock twitched as his deep groan filled your ears as he spilled himself inside and pulled his hand away from where you needed it most.

“Gonna fuck the attitude out of you first. Then you’ll get your prize.” He smirked, pulling out after his release ended. “Close your legs, doll, I don’t want any of that leaking out between here and our bed.”

He tucked his cock back in his pants and zipped it up before whistling happily along the path, stopping a moment to check you were following him. Your knees were pressed together tightly as you tried to walk without letting his cum drip down your legs but gravity was a losing battle and you decided speed would be better over strategy, power walking past your grinning beau. You dared not give him the usual lippy attitude as you passed him  in case he withheld anymore orgasms, but you knew when you finally got your prize it would be monumental.

Your clothes were discarded in a messy heap as you entered your room and waited on the bed for Bucky. Your legs were crossed and your hips slightly raised, doing exactly as you were told, when he walked in the room a short while after. His shirt had been unbuttoned and hung loose around his body, the light illuminating every defining line that cut his abdominal muscle into the six pack you wanted to ride.

“Open.”

Your legs spread wide as he stopped at the foot of the bed, the feel of his liquid silk  slipping through your folds and running over you already had you trembling and his hands dropped his trousers so he could stroke his already hard again cock. The possessive burn of his eyes set your skin on fire and your fingers inched over your hip, begging permission to touch yourself.

“Go on, love.” He nodded as he gripped himself tighter. “Take yourself to the edge, but I’ll be the one who makes you cum.”

You sighed happily as you applied the pressure you needed to your clit, dipping your fingers down to gather his cum to use it to soothe the ache on your swollen bundle of nerves. Your back arched as your fingers easily glided over the nub and your walls fluttered, more of his cum dripping from your needy cunt and earning a deep moan from Bucky as he appreciated the sight. Your eyes locked together and you felt the tightening in your core curl your toes, pushing yourself to the brink before you threw your hands away from your body and tried to fight the urge to finish.

“You are perfect.” He vowed as he climbed on the bed, leaving kisses up your thighs before his tongue lashed slowly through your folds, gathering a mouthful of his cum and your arousal. His cock rested between you and every movement left his veiny shaft rubbing over your sensitive clit as he captured your lips, tongue sharing the taste of your bodies combined. “You can cum whenever you want now, doll.”

His hips pulled back so his cock could fall between your legs before he snapped them back into you, your body putting up no resistance as he filled you to your core. You could finally cry out his name, the thick walls of your room trapping the sounds of your ecstasy firmly within them. Your fingers clawed at his back as the edging left you blinded with passion and you bucked your hips up to meet his every thrust, his pelvic bone applying just the right touch for whitehot spots of light to dart across your vision.

Unintelligible words tumbled from your lips as your orgasm built and built and built until you thought you would just combust into a billion atoms. Your mind splintered and for a moment there was no feeling at all, it was like time stopped as your soul left your body and every muscle froze. Then you came crashing back down, your pussy pulsing uncontrollably as your legs wrapped around his back, liquid gushing around his cock as your body was overcome with fever.

“Holy shit.” Bucky moaned as he watched your orgasm rip through you, feeling your walls draw him in and hold him tighter than ever as his thighs were drenched by the torrent of liquid squirting over him. “Oh, fuck, so good.”

He couldn’t hold back any longer, not when your eyes rolled back into your head and he knew he had kept his promise. Collapsing onto your chest, he shuddered as he spilled himself inside you once again, both of your bodies covered in a light sweat from the sweet torture you had been put through. Rolling his eyes to look up at you from where he lay you could only move enough to place a kiss on his forehead, his eyes fluttering closed at the softness.

“Are you still going to give me attitude?” He asked with a small hint of a smile, really not minding it at all.

Your chest bumped his head with a laugh and you stroked your fingers through his hair. “Am I still breathing?”

Click here for part 4.

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Omg you mothers are amazing !!!

I really cannot understand how you manage to do so much !! 😭

I’m sending you all the love ❤️ !! And good luck for everything!

And it blows my mind how you can write such good fics while having so little time ! YOU ARE AMAZING 🤩

Blessing you with these two fine ass men because I haven’t been able to interact with you today and I missed you 🥺❤️

I miss you too!!! Work is kicking my ass today and I haven’t had a second to write anything 😢

I’m just going to spend my break drooling over these handsome men 🤤🤤🤤 ahhhh I need to watch season 6 so I can remember how sexy Tommy is!

Ps: I got your request and I am happy to write it babe ❤️❤️

girls who learned all their vocab from books and are now constantly embarrassing themselves by pronouncing words slightly wrong in conversation

🥺

👉🏻👈🏻

Hands That Heal - Ch.5

Bucky Barnes x mechanic!fem!reader

Chapter Summary:  Things finally get heated with you and Bucky, once you help him overcome his insecurities. Chapter Warning: 18+ only, smut, oral (f), fluff Word count: 2138

Series Warnings: 18+ only, canon-typical violence, swearing, fluff, misogyny/degrading comments from some men, smut.

Chapters: 1 || 2 || 3 || 4 || 5 || 6 || 7 coming soon

RECAP: “And where am I meant to fit?” You asked as you put your hand on your cocked hip.

He shuffled back and opened his arm out, giving you the space needed to lay in front of him. You didn’t waste any time filling the space and your head rested on his warm arm while his metal one curled over your waist. There was no way you were going to be able to focus on the movie as you felt the tips of his fingertips teasingly caressing the soft skin of your belly where your shirt had shifted and slowly inch their way down. 

“Bucky?” You asked with a breathy voice you barely recognised and his fingers froze where they were. “Please, don’t stop.”

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i love when i “make a mental note” of something. it’s gone within 20 seconds