#been working on this for a while... was just struck by the fact that I don't have much showing Ambroys' character in his “normal” “everyday” | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

bucky-bucky-bucky-bucky · 1 year ago

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Come Find Me | Bucky Barnes x Reader

I am back back back again! I have missed writing so much, I just don't have nearly the amount of time that I used to. But I'm in my last semester of school! So hopefully I'll be back on a consistent fanfic grind once I'm done :) PS: If you know what the title is referencing, you get a big hug from me.

Word Count: 13,439

Warnings: blood, talk of violence, reader injury

Bucky checked his texts every few minutes. Initially, he lied to himself about the reason behind it. He told himself he must’ve opened his conversation with you accidentally, or that he mistook an email notification for a text from you. Simple, innocent mistakes.

Either way, he always ended up staring at your side of the conversation, hoping for a gray ellipsis to appear.

But after a while, he could no longer deny the truth- and why would he want to? You were coming home.

You hadn’t been gone long, and your mission was projected to be a cake walk. But he couldn’t help it; he missed you. He missed you when you went on missions, when you visited your parents out of state, when you slept in your room down the hall. Missing you was part of him now, woven into the fabric of his being. It matched the material of his soul perfectly, like he was always meant to feel this way.

He fired off a quick “let me know when you land” message and waited, hoping you’d write back soon.

Usually, you texted him when you were headed back to the compound. It gave him a countdown to your return and something to look forward to. It also signaled to him that you were, in fact, coming home alive. Even if a bit banged up, you were well enough to shoot him a message. And that always eased his worries.

Today, however, was different. No text, no call.

It struck him as bizarre and sounded Bucky’s internal alarms. But he silenced them as best he could. He wasn’t going to let himself get worked up, not when you had a perfectly good reason for not messaging him.

This was your first time leading a mission with a new recruit under your wing. Bucky knew you devoted your full attention to your trainee, giving him absolutely everything you had. You took this position- as well as your pupil’s safety and success- very seriously. He knew you were probably busy helping your recruit learn a swath of new things, and who was he to interrupt?

Bucky opened the log and saw your jet had been marked as ‘incoming’ only minutes ago. A sigh of relief left his chest and eased his muscles. Sure, he would’ve rather heard that information from you, but it didn’t matter. Your jet would be here soon; he had no reason to worry.

The moment he saw that your jet was homeward bound, he lost the ability to think about anything else. He counted the minutes, the seconds. You had to be close, right? The log wouldn’t have said ‘Incoming’ if you were still hours away.

To pass the time, he folded laundry, answered emails, reread a few chapters of The Hobbit- but he couldn’t focus. He thought of you, only you. And no matter how hard he tried to distract himself, he couldn’t hang around his room any longer. He couldn’t stand it. He needed to be there when the jet landed. He needed to meet you on the steps of the aircraft and wrap you in a bear hug.

And there was no real harm in waiting near the hangar, was there? ‘If anything,’ he told himself, ‘It’s actually more convenient for her if I meet her there. That way, I can carry her bag- she’s probably tired.’

Anything to rationalize his desperate need to be near you.

He knew in his heart of hearts that you didn’t need him to carry your bag or help you off the jet. But this lie was all the convincing he needed. Without hesitation, he ditched his room and set off down the hall, your impending homecoming pulling him forward.

It was in that moment he noticed just how far the elevator was from his room. The walk seemed to stretch on and on, the hallway growing longer with each step. And how had he never noticed how slowly the elevator moved? It slid downward at a glacial pace, toying with his patience. For such an expensive, state of the art building, the elevator moved like an ancient piece of turn of the century machinery. Bucky cursed Tony’s engineering.

Everything seemed to add time, multiplying his moments without you. The universe liked toying with him, teasing him. And this was just another cruel joke.

The moment the doors opened, Bucky sprang free out into the hallway. He knocked into Clint and his group of trainees and called an apology over his shoulder without stopping. He couldn’t stop, couldn’t waste time- not when you could arrive at any moment.

His field of view narrowed into tunnel vision, only allowing for visualization of the path toward the hangar. He didn’t greet his fellow team members or allow for distraction. You were his one-track mind. That is, until something stopped him.

“Shit, sorry, man,” your trainee, Jake, laughed as he bumped into Bucky. He took a step to the side and attempted to continue down the hall, but Bucky blocked his path.

“Jake?” Bucky eyed a bloody gash on Jake’s eyebrow, “when did you guys get back?”

Jake gave a casual shrug and checked his phone, “I don’t know, five minutes ago?”

“Oh, okay…” Bucky reached for his phone, but found his screen void of notifications. If you landed five minutes ago with your trainee safe and sound, why didn’t you send him a message? It was out of character for you.

“Well, where’s your partner in crime? Or crime fighting, I guess,” Bucky tried to joke, but his tone was strained. He eyed each person who came around the corner, hoping to find your face. “Did you see which way she went?”

“Nah, she’s not here,” Jake was scrolling through Instagram, only half paying attention.

Bucky’s disappointed sigh left his chest deflated, empty. “Oh, did she say where she was going? Or when she’d be back?”

Jake pulled his focus from his phone and stared at Bucky with confusion on his face. His brows pulled together, his mouth hung slightly ajar. But finally, he made sense of Bucky’s words. “OHHH, okay, my bad- I think there was a miscommunication just now.”

Bucky sighed again- this time, with relief.

“Yeah, no, she’s not here,” Jake continued, “because she didn’t make it back.”

Bucky’s ears started ringing.

The sharp, piercing sound blocked out voices. Footsteps on the tile. Maybe Jake was trying to speak to him, but Bucky heard only the shrill sound of shock. Seconds later, his nerves fell numb. The utter absence of sensation disconnected him from his body. He was lost in a liminal atmosphere with no stability, no purchase. His entire being was shutting down, one sense at a time.

Bucky told himself to focus, to compute what he’d heard. He did his best to make sense of Jake’s words, but to no avail. His mind simply couldn’t understand the phrase “she didn’t make it back”. The words had shed their meaning entirely and sounded foreign to Bucky as they rattled around his skull. Goosebumps rose over the surface of his skin, and a cold sweat created a sheen across his face. He feared he might get sick.

“I- I’m sorry,” he forced himself back into his body, back to the present. “I don’t think I understand.”

“Things got pretty hairy- this was not the easy mission they said it would be,” Jake scoffed and rolled his eyes. “It’s not fair, I definitely got a way harder assignment for my first mission than all the other new agents, and I think it’s-”

Bucky’s glare could’ve sliced Jake in half, “get to the point.”

“Right, um,” Jake continued, “I told her over comms that I was leaving. I gave her plenty of time to meet me at the jet, but she didn’t answer. And she never came outside.” He shrugged, “I had to leave for my own safety.”

“So, you just-” Bucky felt himself losing his grip. “You left her there? Alone?” He didn’t realize he was shouting, didn’t realize he’d drawn attention to himself- until Agent Hill showed up.

She placed a light hand on Bucky’s tense shoulder, but instantly withdrew. He was shaking, practically vibrating under her palm. “Is there a problem here, guys? I don’t want-”

“He left her behind,” was all Bucky could manage.

Maria stared at Jake in disbelief, “you did what?”

A strange mixture of rage and heartbreak seethed behind Bucky’s eyes, “You don’t just abandon your partner-”

Jake’s attitude disgusted Bucky. He was detached, irritated. He rolled his eyes like an insolent child. “Relax, man. Jesus Christ, this isn’t the army. I didn’t promise to ‘leave no man behind’ or whatever-”

Bucky had heard enough. He lifted jake by the collar of his shirt, twisting the material in his metal fist. Jake’s head sent a sickening thud resounding through the space as Bucky forced him against the nearest wall.

“What the fuck?” Jake squirmed in Bucky’s grasp, “There are casualties in the field all the time, why am I being punished for-”

Bucky released Jake at once, sending him crashing to the floor.

His voice was quiet, hollow. “Casualties?” He swallowed hard, “Is she-”

Jake shrugged at he rubbed at the bruise forming on his neck. “I don’t know, I assume so. I didn’t stick around to find out.”

And just like that, Bucky was gone.

He took off down the hall, forcing himself forward as a soul-crushing panic swallowed him whole. No matter how many times he blinked, no matter how fervently he shook his head, he couldn’t rid his mind of the picture Jake painted for him. Each time he shut his eyes he saw you- alone. Your bloodied, broken body laying collapsed against a wall of a Hydra base. Your skin slick with blood. Your skin cold. Void of life.

He moved quickly, but not quick enough. He simply couldn’t outrun the familiar feeling closing in on him. His heavy, well-worn cloak of grief wound its way across his shoulders and twisted itself around his neck. He knew the suffocating sensation all too well. It weighed him down but couldn’t dampen his pace, nothing could; not when your life hung in the balance.

He was too well acquainted with loss by now, too familiar with mourning. There’d been a time when he wondered if he’d ever grieve again. He’d lost his family, his friends, himself- what else was there? What more could he possibly lose? But the moment he met you, he knew he’d one day mourn again. He just didn’t realize that time would come so soon.

A startling cold prickled at his skin, his lungs refused to inflate. How much time did you have left? How long would it take him to get to you? Were you even-

Hill’s voice yanked him out of his spiral, “Barnes, hey-” She made a grab at his shoulder, but her feeble attempt was no match for Bucky’s pace. “Where are you going?”

“To get her back.” Bucky’s tone was firm, resolute. He was going to bring you home or die trying.

“I don’t think that’s a good idea,” Hill nearly tripped over her own feet as she tried to keep up with Bucky’s long strides. “You heard what Jake said, it’s a dangerous location- more dangerous than we thought. I think it might be best to wait it out for a few days, let things calm down and then-”

Bucky turned suddenly, stopping Maria in her tracks. “I’m not just going to leave her there.”

Maria shrunk away from the fierceness in his eyes, “I know you’re upset, but she might not be-”

“I don’t care.” His gruff tone dissolved, making way for the fear he’d so desperately tried to hide. “Whether she’s alive or-” he couldn’t bring himself to voice the alternative.

Bucky knew what it was like to be assumed dead. He knew what it was like to be left in the field.

“She deserves to come home,” he said.

Maria couldn’t argue with him.

“Round up as many members of the med team as you can and have them meet me in the hangar. We’re leaving in ten minutes- sooner if we can.” Bucky turned and resumed his previous path, “I’ll be in the armory.”

Bucky grabbed as much weaponry as his duffel would carry without splitting at the seams and made his way to the hangar. He hoped to find ten, maybe fifteen members of the medical team waiting for him on the jet. He wasn’t sure of your condition, didn’t know how many breaths you had left. He wanted to give you the best possible chance at surviving the onslaught you endured.

But when he turned the corner into the hangar, he found only three scrub-clad bodies.

“Is this it?” Bucky boarded the jet and dropped his bag to the floor. He eyed the scant amount of medical support, their uncertain expressions. His hopes of bringing you home alive dwindled.

A nurse who’d stitched Bucky up more times than he could count gave him a nervous smile. “The med bay is swamped, the team could barely afford to let us come with you.”

Bucky didn’t want to hear it. He didn’t want excuses or rationalizations. All he wanted was to bring you home with your heart still beating. And three medical professionals, he decided, was better than none.

The flight to your location only gave Bucky more time to worry. He obsessively checked his weaponry, hovered over the med team’s supplies. But no amount of double and triple checking could save him from the spiral. He traveled down the path of every possible “what if?”, leading him only to heartache. No matter where he searched, he couldn’t find a positive outcome. And though he didn’t want to acknowledge the odds, he knew yours were slim- impossible, even.

And as the jet grew closer to your location, Bucky steeled himself for what he knew he’d find: you, his best friend, his reason for living, his everything- dead. Cold. Lifeless. None of the horrors he faced in the past could compare; no pain could ever be greater. Bucky knew he’d hurt for the rest of his life.

The clouds parted as the jet began its descent. Slowly, a large stone building appeared out of the fog like a monster in the horror movies you loved so much. It stood in an otherwise empty clearing, its shadow looming over the dying grass. Smoke billowed from holes in the roof, the walls. Whatever happened here was catastrophic. Disastrous.

Bucky’s heart sat lodged in his throat as he imagined you trapped in there. Goosebumps rose over the surface of his skin as he stared at the looming structure. He had to get you out, even if he died trying.

Just before the jet touched down, an idea popped into Bucky’s head. It scaled the high walls he’d tried to erect to protect himself from thoughts of your demise and grabbed him by the throat. It was smart- brilliant, actually. He was shocked he could even think straight given the circumstances.

“FRIDAY,” Bucky called out, “is comm 1209 working?” He shoved his own comm in his ear and waited for a response.

“Comm 1209 is on and in range,” Friday said. “Would you like me to connect you?”

He couldn’t say yes fast enough.

A few staticky clicks and pops vibrated against Bucky’s eardrum as his comm connected to yours. But he was too scared to speak. What if you didn’t answer? What if he heard you take your dying breaths? Just the thought was enough to make him sick.

He owed it to you, though, to at least try. He’d always said he’d do anything for you, that he’d risk it all for you- and he meant it every time. If reaching out to you over comms exposed him to something horrible, something traumatic and unforgettable, at least he tried. At least he attempted to keep his promise. And after everything he’d been through, what was one more life-shattering, soul-crushing nightmare?

“H- um…” Bucky swallowed the large lump obstructing his throat. “Hello?” He waited a moment, holding his breath the entire time, and tried again. “Hello?”

He waited.

No response.

“Doll? It’s me. It’s Bucky…”

The dead silence on the other end of the line dragged on. It seemed like his words disappeared into the air, unacknowledged. Unheard. Maybe the sound of his voice was reverberating inside your ear as you lay dying. Or maybe he was talking to your corpse.

The thought made him nauseous.

“Please, sweetheart. If you’re there- if you’re able- just say one word. Say anything,” he pled. A long bout of silence followed.

He clenched and released his metal fist again and again, desperate to rid himself of the panic settling into his bones. He was stupid to think you survived, stupid to let himself be optimistic. He made it here as quickly as he could, but he couldn’t save you. He was too late.

He wanted to take one of his many weapons and turn it on himself.

But a small sound stopped him.

“Buck…”

He almost fell to his knees. At the sound of your voice, an overwhelming warmth banished the cold that infiltrated his bones. Against all odds, you were alive.

A deep sigh of relief seeped from Bucky’s lungs, “Sweetheart…”

A hurricane of emotion rattled against the storm doors inside Bucky’s mind. He couldn’t stop thinking about the ‘almosts’. How he almost lost you, how you almost died alone in a Hydra base. But he couldn’t allow it to swallow him- not yet. There was no time for a breakdown. He needed to move, he needed to get to you.

He shrugged off the grief that rested heavy on his shoulders and swallowed the impending sob that vibrated inside his throat. “I’m here- I’m gonna come get you. Just tell me where-”

A staunch refusal came from your end of the comm, “No- no…” You took a sharp, rattling breath, “no way.”

Bucky didn’t like the way you had to fight to get your words out. You were clearly struggling, doing everything in your power to stay on this side of consciousness. He wondered how much time you had left.

But still, there was a familiar strength to your voice. Maybe it was the adrenaline, maybe it was the renewed hope of rescue; something was keeping you alive.

“It’s okay, sweetheart, just tell me where you are. The jet just landed. I’m gonna get you out and-”

“I said- I said no,” you breathed. “You can’t c-come in here, it’s too dangerous… we were a-ambushed.”

Even in your condition, even when Bucky was your only hope of rescue, his safety was your first thought. You’d rather die alone than put Bucky’s life at risk; the thought made his cheeks pink and filled his chest with a fuzzy warmth. But he didn’t have time to enjoy the feeling.

“If you don’t tell me where you are, I’ll just sweep the whole building,” Bucky said, using your worry against you. “That means more opportunities for me to run into Hydra operatives. More time inside the base- it’ll be way more dangerous.” He could practically see you rolling your eyes, “so it’s probably better if you just give me a direct route, don’t you think?”

Bucky smiled to himself as he envisioned you on the other end. He was certain you were arguing with yourself, cursing his rationale.

He waited for you to come at him with a sharp retort or a sarcastic quip but heard nothing. The silence on your end of the line dragged on. And on. It lasted far too long for Bucky’s comfort. Surely, you couldn’t still be thinking about his proposition? He’d given you more than enough time to make up your mind, more than enough time to come up with a response. It was time you didn’t have.

What if you’d fallen unconscious? What if, in those quiet moments, your soul vacated this earth?

Bucky couldn’t take it anymore. He disembarked the jet, resolving to search every inch of the base. But just as he reached the dark, unsettling building, you spoke.

“F-fifteenth floor. Northeast… northeast quadrant,” you sighed, defeated. “There’s a- a room at the end of this hall, I think it’s maybe an office?” Again, you took a long pause. The energy required to think, to speak, was energy you didn’t have. “Just f-follow the trail of blood.”

Bucky’s breath caught in his throat. He shuddered at the thought of your blood leaving a path down the stark white, sterile hallways of the base. But he didn’t have time to focus on anything other than getting you out; this was a rescue. He owed it to you to keep his head level. To focus on getting you out as quickly as he could.

“The power is… it’s out”, you said. “You’re gonna h-have to take-”

Bucky wanted to save you from wasting any extra energy, “The stairs. Got it.”

And while he normally didn’t mind getting a few extra steps in, he knew the time required to climb fifteen flights of stairs would push the limits of your survival.

But he pushed the ever-encroaching sense of doom to the side and put on a brave face for you. For himself. “Okay, I’m coming to get you,” he promised. “Stay awake, and don’t move.”

“As if I h-have a choice,” you laughed a breathy, hollow laugh. A long groan followed.

Your pain radiated through Bucky’s chest. He didn’t want to climb stairs or scour hallways- he just wanted to be there. To instantly materialize at your side. To bring you instantaneous comfort. He lamented the super soldier serum’s lack of teleportation abilities.

“You know what I mean, doll. Just stay awake, okay?” Bucky drew his gun and stepped inside the building. “Don’t fall asleep. Do anything you have to do- just stay awake. Can you keep talking until I get there?”

“W-what am I…” You let out a raspy exhale, “supposed to talk about?”

Bucky cleared a long hallway and found the stairwell, “Anything, just keep talking.”

Another extended silence filled the air; it nearly drove Bucky crazy. Your silences held limitless possibilities, horrifying ‘what ifs’.

“It w-wasn’t supposed to be… to be like this,” you finally said. “It wasn’t supposed to be this dangerous. This was Jake’s first mission- it wasn’t f-fair to him.” Heartache coated your every word. Even after your partner abandoned you, even after Jake forced you to suffer and bleed all alone- you still sympathized with him. Still felt sorry for him.

Bucky felt no such thing.

“I know, doll. Keep talking, okay?”

You sighed. “We s-split up for recon… that’s when they- when they came at me.” Your next few breaths were so shallow, your lungs barely inflated; the lack of oxygen left you dizzy. A thin veil of glittering spots sparkled and danced on the edges of your periphery. “It all h-happened so fast… there were so many of them. I just- I remember pain. And I hoped Jake was okay, w-wherever he was.”

Your heart was too good for this job. For people like Jake. Bucky admired your kindness, your empathy, your selfless nature. Even in the face of pain, of death- you thought about others. You often told Bucky how unfair life had been to him, lamenting his treatment at the hands of fate. Bucky found himself doing the same for you and your kind heart.

“I called out for h-him, I needed backup… I kept asking him to come help me-” A sharp cough rattled out of your throat.

Bucky cringed at the sound. It was the only sound in the building. He hadn’t heard anyone else. Hadn’t seen one Hydra operative- at least, not a live one. He came across their bodies every now and again but didn’t see a single living soul. He was sure they deserted after the explosion. Just like Jake.

The destruction, however, was everywhere. Bullet casings littered the floor. Blood stained the tile floors. Fluorescent lights flickered overhead. He had to get you out of here.

“But he n-never answered. And then he told me he was leaving. He said he was- he was outside already. He gave me n-ninety seconds to meet him at the jet…” Your words were tinged with devastation, with hopelessness, with betrayal. “I tried- I did my best to make it down the stairs. But I was- I was dizzy… I was b-bleeding.” The memory stung like your fresh wounds. “I kept slipping on- on my own blood. I just c-couldn’t move fast enough. It hurt too much.”

Wrath burned inside Bucky like a raging forest fire. But his utter heartbreak doused it completely, extinguishing the rageful flames. He found himself unable to think, to breathe. It took everything in him to keep moving forward. Who could ever leave you behind like that? Who could ignore your suffering and sentence you to death without a second thought? The image of you stumbling, struggling to run for your life gutted him.

“And then- and then I heard the jet t-take off,” you sighed. “And I listened as it got farther and farther away… until it was g-gone. And I was- I was alone.”

He thought of you sitting alone in cold silence as the noise from the jet quieted. As your hope dwindled. The entire base must’ve felt like a tomb, like a massive, lonely grave meant just for you.

Bucky almost fell to his knees. Sobs throttled the inside of his chest, begging for release. Tears burned inside his lash line. Jake didn’t just leave you behind, he marooned you without care. And in his departure, he sealed your fate.

“I d-didn’t have a way to call for… for help. My phone was on the j-jet with jake.”

The sorrow that stained your words was all too familiar to Bucky. It was the same hopelessness that accompanied him every day that he was at Hydra. When he laid in the snow for hours upon hours after falling from the train. He never wished that kind of despondency, that kind of misery on anyone. And knowing that you, the person who deserved it the least, experienced it for even a moment shattered him.

“I realized I… I didn’t h-have any options,” you breathed.

A collapsed column blocked Bucky’s path as he tried to make his way from the sixth floor to the seventh. The concrete was too high, too precarious to scale. If he tried to climb it and got hurt, it would only serve to diminish your chances of survival. And he wasn’t willing to risk that. With a huff, Bucky exited the northwest stairwell in search of another route. This was a waste of time- time you didn’t have.

He painstakingly checked every hall until he finally found another stairwell. His breathing came a little easier as he rocketed his way up the stairs, growing ever closer to you.

“So, I found this- this room. It’s quiet. It’s out of the w-way. I needed somewhere to hide. S-somewhere to…” A small crack of emotion cut through your voice, “somewhere to die.”

It wasn’t fair. It wasn’t fair that Jake got to return home safe and sound while you struggled to stay alive. It wasn’t fair that you had to seek out your own deathbed. Bucky wanted to scream, to break things, to spill every last drop of Jake’s blood. But he was a soldier, and this was a rescue mission.

“This seemed like as g-good a place as any,” you choked on a weak laugh. “Beats dying in the middle of a h-hallway, I guess.”

Bucky’s automatic response was to swear that you’d make it out. To promise that you weren’t going to die. But he bit his tongue. He couldn’t make those kinds of assurances. He’d do anything to bring you comfort but swearing that you’d return home alive seemed almost cruel.

He pushed himself to move faster. He couldn’t let you die alone, especially not in this godforsaken place. As he sprinted up the last flight of stairs and ripped open the door to the fifteenth floor, he struggled to orient himself. You were in the northeast quadrant, but where was he? He searched for anything to indicate his location- but found no signage. No directory.

Everything inside of him rattled with dread, with anxiety. Any moment now, you were going to die. You were going to take your last breath. All alone. A thick, suffocating wave of panic crashed over Bucky as he realized- you were going to die disappointed. You were going to leave this world knowing that he hadn’t gotten to you in time.

It was then that he noticed a faded arrow painted on the wall, with “NEQ” painted below it in block letters. Northeast quadrant. He was closer than he thought.

“I’m gonna be there in just a second, doll,” he said as he followed the arrows. “I think I’m right around the corner.”

This was just his way of making you feel better, you were sure of it. The hallways were long and winding. Each floor was a maze of its own. Even with your vague instructions, it could take him a while to find you. Still, Bucky’s words brought you comfort in the way that only he could.

“I know, I t-trust…” A metallic taste filled your mouth. A warm ooze trickled down your chin and dripped onto your chest. The warm, fuzzy feeling brought on by Bucky’s assurances faded. Of course, you knew you were in bad shape. But as blood leaked from your mouth, you wondered if these were your last moments.

Instantly, you searched for the words to say goodbye to Bucky. Time was slipping through your fingers, life draining from your body with each passing second. But before you drifted off into a never-ending sleep, you had to tell Bucky what he meant to you. You’d use all your strength, your last few breaths- whatever it took. He just had to know.

But how does one say goodbye to a soulmate? You didn’t have the energy or capacity to make a grandiose speech. And the blood filling your mouth impeded your ability to speak. You wanted to tell bucky everything- how he comforted you, cared for you, made your life worth living. How your life revolved around him as though he were your personal sun. But nothing quite encapsulated the things you felt for him. Every word in the English language, every sonnet fell short. And the lack of oxygen getting to your brain sabotaged your phrasing.

“Buck, I think it’s… I think it’s almost t-time,” you rasped.

But just as you opened your blood-stained mouth to proclaim every feeling you ever had for him, the door flew open. Alarm coursed through your veins at the threat. Surely, a Hydra agent had stumbled upon your hiding place and was here to finish you off. The severe blood loss was no match for your training, thought. And, on instinct, you pulled your gun on the tall, dark silhouette standing in the doorway.

“Woah, hey!” Bucky raised his hands in surrender. “It’s me, it’s just me.”

At the sound of his voice, your arm fell limp. Your gun clattered to the floor. Your head lolled back against the wall. It had taken everything in you to try and protect yourself one last time. And now that your energy reserves were nearly depleted, you allowed your eyes to close.

“S-sorry…” A barely-there smile pulled at your lips. “My… my bad, Buck.”

“No, don’t be sorry, doll.”

Bucky knelt in front of you, taking in your broken, bloodied body. He’d seen carnage before, witnessed more death than anyone should. But this, you- it was different. It hurt in places he didn’t know he had. But he didn’t let it show. Knowing you, you’d spend your last few moments comforting him, trying to make him feel better. And so, he forced a warm smile and tabled his breakdown for the moment.

“I’m actually impressed. I mean, you might be hurt, but you were ready to take me out just now,” he forced a chuckle. “That’s my girl.” His cool metallic hand brushed against your blood-stained cheek.

And in that moment, something within you changed. Your eyes shot open. You blinked a few times before forcing your eyes shut once again. You gave your head a few good shakes. Surely, this wasn’t real- it couldn’t be.

You opened your eyes wide once again, taking him in. “Bucky?”

With one shaking hand, you reached for him in the most pathetic attempt he’d ever seen. You were weak, dangerously so; it scared him to his core. But you were alive.

He leaned in, meeting you in the middle, and let you stroke at his stubble for a moment.

“Yeah, I’m here,” he kissed your palm. “I’m so happy to see you.”

“You’re…” you other hand reached for him, but made it only a centimeter or two before falling into your lap. Bucky opted to take it in his. “You’re here?”

He nodded, “I could never leave you behind, sweetheart.”

He may have continued speaking after that, but you didn’t quite hear him. The emotion you’d tried so hard to swallow came bursting forward, crushing your every attempt at remaining levelheaded. Your fingers smoothed over Bucky’s cheek again and again. His name fell from your lips in what resembled a prayer. Tears rolled down your cheeks and mixed with the blood crusting over your skin.

A soft, warm wave of peace rolled in, covering you like a well-loved quilt. The pain disappeared; the sorrow evaporated. All that remained was Bucky. This was the warm spring that followed a dark, bitter winter. The first rays of sun after a vicious storm. The first taste of home after a long time away. You let the familiar warmth of Bucky’s presence drown out the rest of the world until only you two remained.

“Sweetheart, did you hear me?” With a gentle squeeze of your hand, Bucky called you back to the present. “I need to look at your wound, okay?”

A sharp rush of pain nearly blinded you as you lifted your shirt, exposing the bloody mess. But even as Bucky appraised the gunshot wound that turned your abdomen into horror scene, you couldn’t find it in you to worry. Your hands lazily found his shoulder, his chest, his face; you just wanted to touch him. To know, without a doubt, that he was there. That he was real.

“Hey, we… we need to t-talk,” you whispered as Bucky did his best to quickly bandage your wound for transport. “I n-need to talk- to talk to you…”

Bucky nodded, “sure thing, doll. Absolutely. We can talk about whatever you want. But right now…” he returned your shirt to its rightful position and met your gaze. “Right now, I need to get you out to the jet, okay? We can talk later.”

He guided your arms around his neck, lifted you into his arms, and moved as fast as he could through the winding hallways. His quick gait set your nerves alight with pain. Every bump, every jostle had you gasping for breath. And though it was a necessary evil, the guilt still sat in Bucky’s stomach like a rock. His repeated ‘I’m sorrys’ were nearly constant, doubling with your every grimace and groan. But he couldn’t slow down, couldn’t let the time slip away; you didn’t have much left.

Between pained sounds and twisted expressions of discomfort, you said the same thing on a loop. Again and again and again, you pled with him, using energy you didn’t have.

“We need to… to t-talk.”

“I h-have to tell you.”

“Can I talk to y-you about- about something?”

And though Bucky would’ve loved nothing more than to have a long heart to heart with you as you two often did, you weren’t strong enough. He couldn’t let you waste your finite energy on a conversation with him. And so, he responded to each of your requests with an ask of his own, begging you to save your strength. He promised that the two of you could talk tomorrow, that there was plenty of time for a conversation later.

But ‘plenty of time’ almost seemed like an empty promise. And ‘tomorrow’ felt like a lie. Would you have a ‘later’? He didn’t know. But he didn’t want you wasting your oxygen, not when he feared it might be your last breath.

Boarding the jet with you alive in his arms almost felt like a win to Bucky. Almost. Sure, he’d gotten you out with your heart still beating, but your condition worsened by the second. And the grave looks the med team wore as Bucky gently rested you on the treatment table dug a deep pit in his stomach.

They sprang into action, placing IVs and delivering medications. Scissors glided through your shirt and exposed your broken body to the med team. Bucky knew they’d seen their share of gnarly injuries over the years, but he swore that they recoiled at the sight of your wounds.

With a shake of his head, Bucky refocused. He had to get you out of there- to get you home. He headed for the controls and planned to set the jet in motion. But he made it only a step toward the cockpit before a hand caught his.

“S-stay…” you whispered. “Please.”

His heart shattered. “I’m not leaving you, doll, I promise. I just have to get us in the air, okay?” With great care, he placed a kiss to your hand and set it at your side. “I’ll be back in just a minute.”

Bucky’s body operated on muscle memory alone as he initiated take off. His mind was occupied, completely and totally, by the sound of your weak voice begging him not to leave. The sound played on a loop inside his brain, cutting him deeper each time. You’d already been abandoned once today; he was certain you feared it would happen again.

With a deep breath and a quick reset, Bucky did what he had to do. He needed to be on his A-game for you, needed to be his very best. Only a few hours ago, you’d trusted someone with your life, and they failed you. Bucky wasn’t about to do the same. He worked carefully to chart the fastest route back to the compound, opting to forego FRIDAY’s proposed path. It kept him from your side longer than he would’ve liked, but less time in the air seemed like the best option. The sooner he could get you to the med bay, with its massive, brilliant medical staff and unlimited resources, the better.

Just as he finalized the flight plan and asked FRIDAY to notify the med bay of your impending arrival, an unsettling sound pulled his focus. It was an ominous beeping, alarming your care team of a sudden, life-threatening change.

Gloved hands moved at lightning speed; voices yelled medical jargon back and forth. And you laid there on the table. No heartbeat. No respirations. Deathly still.

Bucky stood on the periphery, too horrified to get any closer.

He thought it best, of course, to stay out the med team’s way. But knew deep down it was an excuse. He was simply too terrified to lose you. If he got closer, if he saw you struggling to stay alive, all of this would suddenly become real. And he couldn’t handle that.

“Barnes!” A nurse screamed at him, “did you hear me?”

Bucky forced himself back to the present. “No… I, um-”

“She has no pulse- get over here, we need you to do compressions!”

Bucky’s desperate need to help you, to save you, overpowered his fear. And in an instant, he was at your side. He loomed over you, his hands locked together, preparing to help resuscitate you. But once again, his fear reared its ugly head. You were already so badly injured, so weak. And he was far too strong. What if he made your condition worse? What if he-

“Come on!” The nurse yelled at him, “start compressions- now!”

He did as he was told. He pressed into your body with a measured pressure, careful not to crush your chest. But his cautious compressions didn’t cut it. The nurses instructed him to push harder. To “actually compress” your chest- and Bucky followed instructions.

But as he did so, a sickly snapping sound exploded from your body. Bucky recoiled instantly; his face contorted in horror.

“What are you doing? Keep going!”

“I can’t- I think I broke her ribs,” Bucky shouted at the doctor. “What do I do?”

“Keep going!” The nurse yelled, “It happens- just keep going.”

Bucky broke out into a cold sweat. His stomach turned at the thought of hurting you, of causing you even more pain; you’d been through enough as it was. But he did as he was told. With each round of compressions, he swore he created new fractures. He felt every splinter, every crack as he put pressure on your chest.

He wanted to sever every last nerve-ending in his hand; anything to rid him of the sickening sensation creeping through his palm. But if doing this saved you, it was worth the nightmares.

He watched as the two nurses provided your supplemental breaths and tended to your endlessly bleeding wound. The doctor called ‘clear’ every so often, shocking you with a defibrillator in an attempt to restore your heartbeat.

Round after round of compressions, breathing, and shocks passed by without signs of improvement. You remained lifeless, unresponsive. A syringe of epinephrine delivered straight to your chest did nothing. And Bucky felt what little hope he had slipping through the cracks in your ribs. He couldn’t believe he was about to lose you; couldn’t believe he’d have to watch you die. Hot tears blurred his vision and streaked down his cheeks. His legs went numb. At any second, he knew his knees would give out, knew he’d crumble to the floor under the crushing weight of grief.

The doctor deemed the next shock your last, and Bucky almost doubled over.

“Come on, doll, just-” He swallowed a sob, “just stay. Stay. Do it for me, I’m begging you. Please?”

The doctor called one last “clear” and delivered your final shock, only to be met with the rhythmic beeping of your heart monitor.

“Sinus rhythm restored,” announced the nurse to Bucky’s left. She appraised the waves on your EKG and gave a nod. “She’s stable.”

After what felt like an eternity, Bucky took a breath. He stretched his tense fingers and did his best to relax the rock-hard knots forming in his shoulders. A new crop of hope bloomed cautiously inside his chest, but he couldn’t allow it to blossom and flourish just yet. You weren’t out of the woods; there was a very real possibility that your heart might stop again. And he wasn’t sure how many times the doctor could revive you before throwing in the towel.

Less than a minute after Bucky’s cautious optimism sprouted anew, a soul crushing sight dashed it completely. A sharp gasp filled his lungs, a shudder rocked his frame. Shades of deep, dark blue bloomed under the skin of your chest. Black and purple splotches stained your sternum. Some spots were already starting to swell. He extended a hand in your direction but recoiled in an instant, fearing he’d hurt you yet again.

“Happens all the time,” one of the nurses said with a shrug. “Believe me, broken ribs are the least of her worries.”

Somehow, her words didn’t make him feel any better. He ached to hold your hand, to sweep a gentle caress across your cheek. But he didn’t dare touch you after what he did. Every glimpse of your bruised, swollen chest sent bile rushing into his throat.

The three dedicated members of the med team worked tirelessly for the rest of the flight. They did everything in their power to keep your condition steady, to maintain the life they worked so hard to save. It brought Bucky comfort to see them staying so close, ready to jump into action if need be.

Bucky, like the med team, hovered. He couldn’t bring himself to leave your side. You seemed too fragile, your condition too tenuous. He counted your every breath, took stock of every beat of your heart on the monitor. Stepping away for even a second felt wrong. He needed to be there if you crashed again, if the doctor needed extra hands. He needed to be there to help.

And if you woke up, he wanted to be the first face you saw.

But you didn’t wake. A groan here, a muscle twitch there- that was all you could spare. And though Bucky wanted nothing more than to see you open your eyes, he thanked the universe for keeping you unconscious. He knew tsunamis of pain rippled in the wings, waiting to overtake you the second you woke.

Bucky held his breath as the jet landed. Every jarring bump, every vibration, forced his heart into his throat. He feared that even the slightest impact would send you into cardiac arrest. He flicked his eyes from the rising and falling of your chest to the rhythmic flashing of your heart monitor and back again. Nothing changed, no alarms sounded. And when the jet finally stilled, Bucky breathed a deep sigh of relief. He just needed to get you to the med bay for treatment, and this whole nightmare would be over.

He didn’t like being optimistic. It felt like a set-up, like false hope. If he told himself you’d survive and you didn’t, the fall would be that much harder, that much more devastating.

But being realistic wasn’t any better. Telling himself that you were too far gone, that you weren’t going to make it, felt wrong. To him, it seemed like he was cursing you. Like willing your death into existence. Like begging the universe to end your life.

And so, he opted for a neutral mantra. “She’s home,” he told himself. “She’s home. She’s home. She’s home.”

The distance to the medbay felt longer than usual. The hallways seemed to stretch on forever, the double doors to the triage center seemed to grow farther and farther away. Bucky followed your gurney closely, only allowing a few inches of space between the two of you. He couldn’t be separated from you again. He wouldn’t. He needed to be with you every second, watching over you.

A dark cloud of impending doom loomed over his psyche. It whispered to him, telling him that if he left your side, if he let you out of his sight, you’d die. You’d be gone forever. And it would be his fault. He knew it was nonsense, that this was just his anxiety operating on overdrive. But he couldn’t shake the fear. And risking it wasn’t an option.

“No visitors past this point,” a security guard placed an arm in front of Bucky as he tried to enter the triage unit.

Bucky tried to go around the man, watching as the medical staff carried you farther out of reach. “I’m not a visitor, I’m an agent-”

“No agents past this point, then,” the guard rolled his eyes. “Only patients and medical staff. You can have a seat over there.”

A small table sat against the wall, flanked by two chairs. It was a sad, makeshift excuse for a waiting room that operated as a device to keep people from hanging around. But bucky couldn’t be discouraged. He took a seat in one of the chairs, determined to wait there as long as he had to. He knew he’d missed a number of important phone calls by now, and probably several meetings. But he didn’t care; all that mattered was you.

Dread circled Bucky like a buzzard as he waited. It was taking too long- why was it taking so long? How much time did the medical staff need? You were stable when the jet landed, the nurse said so. Why were there no updates? All Bucky needed was a nod, a bit of information. But he remained in the dark, wondering if you died on the operating table.

Maria found Bucky slumped in a chair with a zombie-like air about him. He was expressionless, his gaze hollow. His palms traced the same track up and down his thighs in a never-ending cycle. One look and she knew: something was very wrong.

“Hey,” she called softly, hoping not to startle him.

But Bucky didn’t respond- he didn’t even react. He just sat there, his unblinking stare burning a hole in the tile. An uneasiness enveloped Maria. She’d never seen Bucky so empty, so despondent. As she stared at him, she found herself fearing the worst. ‘Maybe he just received terrible news’ she thought. ‘Maybe he’s grieving’.

“Hey,” she tried again, nudging her foot against his.

He came back to life with a start. A sharp inhale filled his chest, his eyes blinked wildly. But his palms never stopped moving in their endless cycle against his tactical pants. And he never actually looked at her.

“Hi…” he breathed.

Hill took the seat opposite him. She conjured the gentlest, warmest tone she could find, “is everything okay?”

Bucky balled his hands into tight fists and stretched them out again. Maria noticed blood- your blood- crusting under his fingernails and staining his skin. But before she could get a good look, he grabbed the arms of the chair. His palms rubbed fervently against the plastic handles for a moment until they moved to his face. He ran his hands along his jaw, his spiky stubble poking into his skin.

“Barnes, what happened? Are you-”

Finally, his head snapped in her direction, “I can still feel it…”

“Feel what?”

Bucky’s head fell into his hands. He pressed his palms against his eyes and dragged them down his face. Maria watched him fall apart in slow motion. He seemed to be unraveling, one cell at a time. And when he finally spoke, shame made his words almost unintelligible.

“She crashed on the jet…”

“Oh...” Maria did her best to keep a calm, even tone. Her concern for you vibrated in her chest, but she didn’t dare let it free- not when Bucky was moments away from a meltdown. “Is she-”

“The med team needed help. There weren’t enough of them- they needed me to do chest compressions,” Bucky said, his voice low. “And I broke- I crushed her ribs.”

A sharp shudder rocked his entire body. Just thinking of that moment, when his too-strong hands destroyed your chest, was enough to make him sick. To scar him for life. To haunt him. Of all the horrible things he’d done in over the years, this was the worst. He gave his hands a quick shake, hoping to rid his nerve endings of the sensation.

“I felt her bones snapping under my hands,” Bucky’s words dripped with shame. “And I can still… I still feel it.”

“Okay,” Maria said gently. “Well, if she-”

“She was already in such bad shape,” Bucky swiped a tear from his cheek. “And I… I hurt her. I made it so much worse.”

His head fell into his hands once again and did not reemerge.

“Hey, look at me,” Maria gave his arm a gentle touch.

Bucky only shook his head.

“Come on, Barnes, just look at me for a second.”

Again, he refused.

Maria abandoned her chair and sat instead on the small table. She never got this close to Bucky. Usually, she preferred to give him his space. He wasn’t the touchy-feely type- unless you were around. But he was lost in a shame spiral, adrift with no hope of return. And he needed rescuing. She placed her hands on his and gently removed them from his face.

“You saved her life,” Maria said. “Twice. You rescued her from the base, and when the med team needed help, you came through.”

“But I-”

“Did it work?” Maria asked, her tine almost stern. “Did the chest compressions work?”

Bucky nodded.

Maria gave him a shrug, “That’s all that matters. She can recover from a few broken ribs, but if you hadn’t been there-”

Bucky averted his gaze as his eyes filled with tears.

“Hey,” Maria grabbed his face, bringing his focus back to her. “If you hadn’t been there, she’d be dead.”

Maria’s words fought hard against the demeaning voice that lived inside Bucky’s head. It screamed at him, telling him that he shouldn’t believe her, that he was a monster, that he almost killed you. Usually, Bucky allowed his inner demons to run free. He listened to them without pause, believing anything and everything they told him, no matter how vile. But Maria was steadfast and unshakable in her sentiments; she truly believed what she was saying. And by some miracle, Bucky did, too.

“Thanks…” He granted her a hollow smile and a small nod.

Hill sat in silence with him for a few hours. She didn’t try to make small talk or ask what was going on inside his head. She simply existed near him, sharing the space so that he didn’t have to be alone. She ignored important texts and sent every call to voicemail. She knew it was exactly what you’d do for him, if you were able. And she did her best to fill your shoes.

Abruptly, Bucky’s head snapped in her direction. His pulse thrummed against his skin as a new wave of anxiety crashed over him. “She kept saying…” he sighed. “She kept saying we needed to talk. She wanted to talk to me about something.”

Maria cocked her head to the side, “About what?”

He shrugged. “I told her we could talk later because there would be plenty of time,” Bucky’s words grew shaky. He found himself near tears for what felt like the millionth time that day. Guilt sucker punched him. “What if… what if there isn’t more time for us? What if that was all we were ever going to get? What if-”

“You’ll get more time,” Maria said with certainty. “The universe has a way of evening things out. You were robbed of time once; it won’t happen again. Plus, you’re deserved some fucking karmic retribution- you’re owed this.”

Bucky wondered how she could be that sure of something so ethereal. But she was steady, solid as a rock. She didn’t waver in her words or add caveats at the end. She, somehow, knew it to be true. And Bucky couldn’t help but believe her.

But when Fury called her for the eighth time, she knew quiet time was over.

“I have to go, okay? Fury can’t do anything without me, he’s hopeless.” She stood from her seat and rested a hand on Bucky’s shoulder. “Call if you need anything.”

Bucky thanked her a million times over and, for the first time, gave Maria a hug. She would never know how much her reassurances helped him. She’d pulled him from the ledge and gave him what he desperately needed: perspective.

In the hours that followed, he let her words play on a constant loop inside his mind. “If you hadn’t been there, she’d be dead,” he heard her say. “You’ll get more time.” The sickening feeling of your bones snapping under his strength never faded, and the fear of losing you still had him in a chokehold, but Maria’s words quieted his mind.

In the sad, empty waiting room, time seemed to mutate. Some of the hours dragged, others whizzed by. Bucky wasn’t sure how long he’d been there. Was it ten hours? Or twenty? He didn’t really care. He’d wait lifetimes for you.

He saw the security guards change shifts once, twice. It was the only thing alerting him to the passage of time, as part of him believed it was standing still. On the third shift change, they told him to go home.

“They’ll call you if there’s an update”, said one of the guards. “It’d probably be a good idea for you to go get some sleep, or something.”

Bucky knew he looked like hell. Your blood left crimson streaks across his face and neck. And the dark circles he usually wore under his eyes were a deep shade of plum. But he couldn’t leave, he couldn’t sleep. Not when your life hung in the balance. Not when you needed him.

A few more hours passed with no news, and Bucky found himself teetering on the edge of insanity. An angry, desperate voice bellowed inside his head. It told him to bust through the doors and find you, no matter what it took- even if it meant hurting people in the process. The gun secured to his hip and the knife strapped to his ankle became eerily attractive. His hands itched to reach for the weapons, to hold someone at gun point until they allowed him to see you. But he couldn’t to give in to the fear, to the violence. It took him years of therapy and long talks with you to stop seeing himself as a monster- and he refused to destroy the progress you helped him make.

A doctor stepped out of the double doors and looked in Bucky’s direction, “Sergeant Barnes?”

Bucky was on his feet before he knew what hit him. This was it. After what felt like an eternity of not knowing whether you lived or died, he was about to have an answer. Sweat dampened his palm, his brow as he stood in front of your doctor.

He didn’t know he was even capable of this kind of fear, this kind of agony. And though he was an impossibly strong physical specimen, Bucky knew he’d never be able to lift the weight of the grief that followed your loss. He knew that, if you died, he’d spend the rest of his life dragging himself from place to place, unable to stand, unable to push back against the overwhelming, oppressive force of losing you.

Your doctor spoke quickly and professionally about your condition, but the words turned to mush the second they reached Bucky’s brain. The combination of medical jargon and pure panic made their meanings imperceptible. But one phrase managed to cut through the fog of Bucky’s anxiety and exhaustion: “you can see her now.”

And just like that, Bucky took off. His fatigued body did its best to carry him through the halls, stumbling every now and then on the smooth tile of the hospital floors. But he didn’t dare slow down. He had to get to you.

By the time he reached the door to your room, he found himself shaking- almost shivering- with anxiety. He knew you were alive, of course. Knew that the doctors had been successful in saving your life. But something in him doubted their handiwork. Something in him swore that if he didn’t get to you in the next half second, you’d flatline. Again.

He could practically feel his brain rattling around inside his skull, his teeth chattered against one another. And the sharp tremors in his hands made it nearly impossible to get a grip on the door handle. Panic and frustration coursed through him as the he tried again and again to gain entry to your room with no luck. A strangled sob forced its way out of his chest and caught the attention of a nurse- one of the nurses who helped keep you alive on the jet.

“Hey…” Her eyes drifted to Bucky’s shaking hands. “Need some help?” Before Bucky could answer, she’d abandoned the medication she was prepping, discarded her gloves, and made her way to his side.

“Here, let me.” Her soft, sympathetic tone was almost too kind; Bucky’s eyes blurred with tears. She turned the door handle and gestured for Bucky to go inside.

His “thank you” was for more than just the door.

Bucky took a few steps inside and drew in a sharp breath; he’d never seen you in such severe condition. Over the many hours that Bucky waited for you outside, all of your bruises grew darker, more menacing. They stained your throat, your face, your arms. He didn’t even want to think about the ones on your chest- the ones he caused. Dried blood crusted in your hair and formed a path down the side of your face. It sat caked under your fingernails and rested in the creases of your palms. Thankfully, your gunshot wound was covered by gauze and concealed by your gown. But knowing it was there was enough to make Bucky sick. He, of course, witnessed and inflicted, his fair share of carnage over the years. But he knew your wound would haunt him for years to come- simply because it was yours.

All he wanted was to be near you. To sit at your bedside and hold your hand. But he didn’t dare to get any closer. Electrodes attached a dozen wires to your chest. IVs sat lodged in the crooks of your elbows, in the backs of your hands. Machines and monitors kept track of your vitals. And who was he to disturb this fragile, vital ecosystem? What if he accidentally pulled out one of your IVs? What if he detached a wire by mistake? He’d already hurt you once today, he wasn’t about to do it again.

He, instead, opted to stand at attention. A few feet away. For your safety. He didn’t touch you, didn’t even say your name. He simply stared at you, counting your every breath.

An hour- or maybe two- passed by with him like this. Nurses checked on you, doctors poked their heads in. And every time, they told him he was permitted to sit by your bedside. But he just shook his head. Sure, slipping his hand into yours, being close to you- it would provide him with incomprehensible comfort. But he couldn’t, not when you were so severely injured.

After the third hour, Bucky feared his sanity was slipping. A wicked voice lodged deep in his psyche suddenly awakened. It whispered to him, taunted him. Maybe this was all a dream. Maybe he was asleep in the waiting room. Maybe you didn’t survive. Maybe…

And he would’ve believed it, had you not snapped him out of the vicious spiral.

“Buck?” He feared he’d never hear you voice again, but there it was. Hoarse and weak- but yours.

Bucky flew to your side. He cradled your face gingerly in his hands, completely consumed by the need to touch you, to feel you, to know that you were real. His palms laid flush against your cheeks, his thumbs sweeping over your skin. And in an instant, the sickly sensation of your snapping bones vanished.

A hurricane of tangled thoughts and emotions crashed over him. He had so much to he wanted to say, so much he wanted to confess to you. But the words refused to arrange themselves properly. Suddenly, Bucky wished he’d used his ample time in the waiting room to better organize his thoughts. He wished he’d sought out a pen and a scrap of paper and used them to plan and articulate his sentiment. But even if he’d found the supplies he needed, he wouldn’t have been able to jot a single thing down. Not with his shaking, unsteady hands.

Anxious words and broken sobs got stuck in his throat and formed a garbled, unintelligible mess as they left his mouth. But it was the best he could do. He stared at you, waiting for your response.

“I, um…” you looked at him for a long moment. The haze of head trauma, blood loss, and pain killers made you foggy. You did your best to trace your steps back through Bucky’s words, certain that your condition was the cause of your confusion. But after a significant pause, you came up empty. “Sorry, I- what?”

Bucky slid one of his hands into yours and gave a soft laugh. “Sorry. I tried to say-” He sat quiet for a moment. What had he tried to say, exactly? He wasn’t sure. With a small shake of his head, he re-rerouted. “Um, it doesn’t matter. Here, how’s this:” He cleared his throat and spoke with the sharpest pronunciation possible. “How are you feeling?”

Your laugh- Bucky’s favorite laugh- bubbled up to the surface. But regret swallowed you whole as pain shot through your head, your chest, your side. The hurt radiated through your entire being. It rendered you breathless, and left your face twisted in an agonized grimace.

Bucky didn’t like how long it took you to recover from the small chuckle you shot his way. A pang of worry shot through him. “Don’t exert yourself, okay?” He swept a thumb across your cheek, “you don’t wanna tear your stitches or...” He cleared his throat, “aggravate any, um, broken bones.” Bones that he broke.

“No, I’m…” you squeezed your eyes shut for a long moment before opening them again. The pain slowly receded. “I’m good, I’m okay. I just- breathing is hard. I forgot how shitty it feels to have broken ribs.”

Bucky nodded. His teeth sunk into the smooth flesh of his cheek. A metallic taste coated his mouth. He didn’t want to tell you the truth. Didn’t want you to know that he was the cause of your severe pain. But you deserved to know, didn’t you? With a deep sigh, he opened his mouth, intent on telling you what really happened. But you cut him off.

“Thank you, Buck. For coming to get me. I really thought I was…” Hot tears stung your eyes and blurred your vision. “I thought that was it for me, you know? And I just want you to know how-” you sniffed, “how grateful I am.”

Bucky left your side for only a second, retrieving a box of tissues from the counter across the room. He was back in no time and swept a tissue across your cheek to catch your tears.

“I know we always say that we have each other’s backs but you… you meant it,” you said. A small smile pulled at your lips, “thank you for meaning it.”

Bucky nodded. He did his best to keep his breathing steady, to stop himself from falling apart at the seams. He knew exactly what it felt like to be left behind, to wait for your last moments- alone.

“I wasn’t gonna leave you there, doll. I couldn’t.”

You gave a small nod. “Yeah, I- I wish my partner had felt the same way…” The hurt in your voice was unmistakable. It sliced though Bucky’s chest. “I didn’t think he would ever do something like that. I mean, I thought we were friends.”

The mere thought of Jake brought a familiar rage to the forefront of Bucky’s mind. He didn’t understand how anyone could be so callous, so uncaring- so indifferent to the well-being of others. The part of him that swore off unnecessary violence remained quiet as the rest of him imagined Jake’s demise. He wanted your disloyal partner to suffer. To squirm and squeal and regret that he ever left you behind. But that could wait- you were the priority.

“Yeah, I didn’t expect him to be that kind of person,” Bucky sighed, “he seemed like a stand-up guy.”

Silence filled the room as you thought over Jake’s desertion. His abandonment hurt. It stung in places you didn’t expect. You’d taken Jake under your wing and did everything in your power to be the best leader possible. All you wanted was to help him. To set him up for success.

And after working alongside Bucky for so long, you’d forgotten that disloyalty to one’s partner was even an option.

“He probably panicked,” you tried to rationalize. “And then once he realized what he’d done, maybe he…”

There was no rationalizing this.

An ugly realization slithered into your mind. “After he left, I think he probably hoped I’d just die… that way I wouldn’t be able to give my side of the story.” The weight of Jake’s actions hit you like a train. Rivulets of warm tears rolled down your cheeks, only to be swept away by Bucky’s gentle hand. With a small shake of your head, you did your best to banish the feelings of abandonment and betrayal. Wallowing would only make you more miserable. And you didn’t need emotional pain on top of the physical agony that already plagued you.

“Well, joke’s on him,” you shrugged, “cause I’m still alive.” Pain radiated through your chest, bringing a grimace to your face. “Kind of.”

Bucky didn’t understand how you could just dismiss the bad feelings. Couldn’t understand your propensity for levity. Your partner left you for dead without a second thought- and yet, you found a way to joke about it. It was something he’d always admired about you, something he wished he was capable of.

You gave a strained laugh, “I can’t wait to see the look on Jake’s face when he finds out that I didn’t die.”

Bucky wasn’t sure what prompted him to say it. It left his mouth without his brain’s authorization.

“But you did.”

He wished to take the words back, but it was too late. They hung in the air, just out of his reach.

“I…” you struggled to grasp Bucky’s words. “I what?”

This was not the time- or the place, or the way- to tell you the truth. But he didn’t have a choice. His clumsy words made his bed, and now he had to lie in it.

“You, um…” Bucky didn’t want to think about what happened, let alone say it out loud. But he owed it to you to be honest. Especially after Jake had lied to you about being a trustworthy partner. Bucky scratched at the stubble on his face, ran a hand through his hair. Anything to delay the inevitable. But he couldn’t put it off for long. “Your heart stopped- you died. On the jet.”

Only one word fell from your lips, “Oh…”

“And while I’m at it, I might as well tell you that…” Bucky took a deep inhale. He was in too deep now. And keeping this from you any longer felt like lying. “That your ribs are broken because of me.”

A quizzical look crossed your face, “what do you mean?”

“I mean… the med team was short staffed on the jet. There were only three of them. And when you crashed, it was- it was an all hands on deck situation.” He flashed back to the moment when the alarms sounded. When your EKG flatlined. A shudder ran through him. “They needed me to do chest compressions. And I- I didn’t want to hurt you, but the nurse said I wasn’t pushing hard enough to actually help you. And when I pushed harder- I broke your ribs.”

Bucky searched your face for something- anything. Anger. Fear. Betrayal. But he found nothing. Your expression was as neutral as they come. He feared that something lingered just below the surface. That once you fully processed his words, you’d erupt into a perfect storm of disgust and disappointment.

He told himself to wait silently until you made up your mind. But the outburst exploded from his lips before he could stop it. “I’m sorry- I’m so sorry, sweetheart. You know I’d never want to hurt you, I would never do anything to hurt you. But I… they told me I had to push harder. Or it wasn’t going to work. And I just wanted it to work, I wanted you to be okay, and-”

It took almost all of your strength to raise your hand and place a finger to Bucky’s lips. He fell silent.

“Buck, it’s okay.”

He tried to form a rebuttal, but you cut him off.

“You didn’t have to rescue me, but you did. No questions asked, no hesitation. You saved my life by getting me out of there. And you saved me again by helping the med team.” Your hand drifted from Bucky’s face and landed in his palm. “You didn’t do anything wrong.”

Bucky didn’t say anything else. His fingers traced gentle patterns on your palm. His eyes fell downward. You could almost see the shame eating him alive from the inside.

“Hey,” you intertwined your fingers with his. “I can handle a few broken ribs.”

“No, I- I know you can. I just…” A sad smiled flickered across his lips. “I feel terrible. You went through a lot. And I just don’t like knowing I made it worse.”

A long silence filled the room. You’d seen this side of Bucky more times than you could count. And you knew him well enough to know what followed. He was going to feel bad- terrible, actually- about this for a while. There was no accelerating the process or absolving him of his guilt. No amount of reassurances could save him from it. He just had to sit with it. One day, the weight would diminish. But it was going to take time. And that was okay.

You gave his hand a squeeze. “I thought your voice was a hallucination, you know.”

Bucky lifted his head.

“And when you came into the room, I actually thought that was a hallucination, too.” A smile stretched across your face, “I mean, I thought I was losing my mind.”

Bucky gave a half-hearted chuckle. He didn’t want to think about you in that room by yourself. About you struggling to tell what was real.

“But then you touched me…” You raised your hand and brushed it across your cheek, mimicking him. “And that’s when I realized that you were real- that you were there.” You fell quiet for a moment, lost in the memory of Bucky’s rescue. “It was like, in that moment, I wasn’t scared anymore. I wasn’t scared of the pain. I wasn’t scared of dying. I was just scared that…”

“What?”

“You have to promise not to laugh,” you told him with an authoritative tone. “Cause I know it’s corny, or cheesy, or whatever.”

“Sweetheart,” Bucky drew an X over his heart. “I’m not gonna laugh at you.”

You stared at him with narrowed eyes, sizing up his promise. But, of course, you knew Bucky would never tease or ridicule you about something like this.

“Okay, fine, I um… I was scared that I’d never see you again. If I died, I mean.”

Bucky’s lungs emptied. He couldn’t remember how to breathe, how to speak. A sudden ache ripped through his heart as it splintered and shattered into a million pieces. To know that you thought of him in what you believed were your last moments somehow ripped him apart and put him back together all at once.

Your voice cracked. Tears filled your eyes. “I was afraid that we’d already run out of time. I was afraid that we weren’t going to get any more.” A few soft sobs escaped from your throat, followed by a pained groan. But you pushed passed the throbbing in your chest. “But I was so relieved. Because I got to see you one last time. It was the most intense sense of peace I’ve ever experienced.”

Bucky struggled to hold on to his composure. He felt himself crumbling, weakening under the weight of your words.

“But then I realized- I realized I’d never get to tell you. And you kept saying we could talk later, but I didn’t know if there would be a ‘later’. And when I blacked out, I was so full of…” You shook your head ever so slightly, sending a few tears dripping onto your cheeks. “I had so much regret. Because I needed you to know.”

“To know what?” Bucky leaned in close, searching your face for any inkling, any clue. “Doll, it’s ‘later’. Tell me- whatever it is. You can tell me now, it’s-”

Your lips met his in a soft kiss. In it, everything you’d ever felt for him came rushing forward. Admiration. Longing. Lust. Obsession. Adoration. Love.

A sting of pain jolted through you as your split lip brushed his, but you didn’t care. His hands found your face, your fingers curled into the collar of his shirt. It was always supposed to be this way.

When the two of you finally separated, Bucky simply stared at you. He didn’t move, he didn’t speak. He wasn’t sure he knew how.

“I love you, Buck. I’ve loved you- for so long.” A huff left your chest, “So. Long.”

Still, Bucky remained silent. Nerves began crawling through you like vines, twisting their way through every fiber of your being. But you owed it to yourself, and to Bucky, to tell him the truth.

“And I just… I know how you see yourself. And I know you don’t think you’re even worthy of my friendship, let alone love. But I was so anxious, cause I thought you’d never know the truth. I thought I’d die without getting to tell you. And you’d live the rest of your life thinking that you’re not worthy, that no one could ever love you. But I- I love you. I just needed you to know.”

The silence made your ears ring. Bucky’s face still wore a mask of bewilderment. And you feared you’d ruined everything.

“You don’t have to say it back, though,” you said. “I’m not gonna stop being your friend if this is an unrequited thing.”

Finally, Bucky came back to life. He rolled his eyes and let a scoff escape his lips. He leaned in close, the tip of his nose almost brushing yours. “Unrequited? I broke every SWORD rule and policy. Abducted medical staff. Stole a jet. And went on an unauthorized mission. All to get you back. I didn’t even know if you were alive, I just- I had to bring you home.”

He closed the small gap that remained between your face and his and granted you warm, gentle kiss that tasted like home. “I did all that- and you thought there was even a chance that I didn’t love you back?” Bucky gave a playful roll of his eyes, “you don’t know me at all, sweetheart.”

You returned his eye roll. "Well, you're a really great friend to me. And you always have been. So, I didn’t take a rescue as a proclamation of love,” you gave a strained chuckle. “I just thought-”

“I’ve loved you for…” Bucky thought back over the course of your friendship. The day you first met, the first time you helped him through a panic attack, the time he made you the ugliest cake in the world for your birthday. He saw his life in two parts: before he met you and after he met you. And he so preferred the after.

“I don’t even know how long,” he shrugged. It was almost automatic. His feelings for you didn’t need a slow, gradual build up. They descended upon him all at once, like the world’s most beautiful avalanche. “It’s been a long time- an embarrassing amount of time, probably,” he laughed.

“Oh, so we’re both cowards then,” you shot him a wink. “Too afraid to tell the other how we feel.”

Bucky nodded, “It seems that way…”

“But you weren’t too scared to steal a jet and run into possible gun fire?” you quipped.

“Nope. Didn’t even think about it,” he said matter-of-factly. “I just wanted to find you.”

You’d never experienced a love- a commitment- like that. It sent a rush of warmth into your cheeks and somehow eased the pain plaguing your body. You knew in your heart you would’ve done the same for Bucky without a second thought. But knowing that he was so fiercely determined to bring you home felt almost unbelievable. You had the proof, though, right there in front of you. This man, who you loved, loved you too. And loved you enough to risk his life for you. It wasn’t something you’d ever ask him to do, and you knew you’d never have to. He’d do it without hesitation. Without reservation. He’d walk through fire for you if it meant bringing you home.

--------------------------------------------------------

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oceantornadoo · 7 months ago

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ch1 something borrowed something blue (mafia!price x simon's sister!reader)

masterlist | next

“Yer gettin’ married next week.”

You scoff at your brother staring at his Scotch whisky like it holds the answers to the universe.

“And you’re the king of Egypt. Funny, Simon.” He doesn’t laugh. Instead, he glances at Johnny, his husband and right-hand man. The two have a silent conversation, a head twitch followed by a pursing of lips. Johnny’s lips are cracked and split, something you can’t imagine your brother is attracted to. Superb mental health does not run in your family.

Johnny rises out of his chair, a wooden thing that creaks with effort, and takes his leave. He ruffles your hair on the way out while you try, for the thirtieth time, to shove his side. You are, yet again, unsuccessful. He’s built like a tank.

“M serious, love. ‘Ve been in negotiations the past month. It’s happenin’ next Saturday, St Etheldreda's Church.” You run through a list of churches in your head. St. Ethledreda’s is not in Manchester. In fact, you’re pretty sure it’s not in your territory. Which means…

“Why’re you naming a church in London?” Simon’s quiet as his eyes bore holes into yours. This is one of his favorite tactics to use on his men - staying silent until they find the answer themselves. You hate when he uses it on you like you’re under his command and not his younger sister.

“You can’t be serious.”

“We need an alliance an’ they offered.”

“Then write a fuckin’ treaty! Not a marriage certificate.”

“You know it doesn’t work like that.”

“It’s the 21st century.”

“Not in this family.”

That’s something you can’t argue against. Most people outside of your immediate circle don’t even know Simon’s married to Johnny, let alone into men. When he first came to power, you created a sob story for him - early marriage to his (female) childhood sweetheart, then fast-spreading cancer, ending with a man struck by grief. It allowed him a known reason for turning down arranged marriages while making him seem more human than your shared father. No one paid enough attention to you two as children to know the story wasn’t real, and fake certificates of marriage and death are a dime a dozen. Everyone knows he’s close with Johnny, his right-hand man, and that’s that.

“What about my bookstore?” It’s your pride and joy, plus it’s 95% legal. Mostly.

“There’s bookstores in London.” London. Only 200 miles away, but it’s like another world. Another world where you can’t walk down the street where every single storefront owner knows who you are. Where the cops are on your family’s payroll and don’t blink an eye at the gun strapped to your hip. It doesn’t matter if you were raised away in your formative years, losing your accent and most concepts of slang that baffle you. It doesn’t matter if you only share a father with Simon, that your mother was a Riley employee and not Mrs. Riley. Manchester is your home.

It doesn’t occur to you that you have a choice, mainly because you know you don’t. The firm, or mafia, gang, or whatever you want to call it, still operates as if women are objects to be traded and bought. Marriages are merely political agreements. Getting to run a bookstore, or cash-cleaning business, as a woman is almost unheard of where you’re from. Others might call you lucky, but it’s more like being a bird in a gilded cage. A glimpse of what a true, normal life might look like. Living in a flat above your store, hosting local book clubs, setting out free cookie samples - all to be ruined when Johnny stumbles through with a gunshot or the newest recruits are sent to grab more bullets from the basement. Every other week, you snap back from your daydream and remember that you’re a mafia princess at the end of the day, though duchess seems more adequate since the Rileys don’t have that big of a territory.

“And who is my husband-to-be in London?”

“John Price.”

“I’d rather marry Nikolai. In fact, I might just go elope.” Simon glares and you glare back. “I’m not marrying John Price.” You clarify, for emphasis. Simon leans forward in his office chair, looming over his desk like a puppet master. You’re in the chair across from him, crossing your legs casually like you’re not discussing your arranged marriage and potential future. “Contract’s done, love. Jus’ waitin’ on yer signature.” Your signature, the one change from the barbaric practices of old England. You could say no, but then Simon would have no choice but to cut you off. It would be a sign of weakness to the other families if he let a delinquent bastard half-sister run his decisions.

“I want to negotiate the contract.” It’s the closest your brother has ever been to rolling his eyes. They twitch with restraint, blonde lashes flickering. “This isn’t a TV show, kid. Yer not negotiatin’ yer bloody contract.” You uncross your legs, hands on your armrest like you’re about to leave. “Fine. Let me go call up the NCA, tell them all about my brother and his scary gang.” He sighs deeply, then pulls out his phone. “Bloody hell. Can’t wait t’ marry you off, fuckin’ arsehole.” You grab the bright pink stress ball on his desk, a stocking stuffer you gave him as a joke, and throw it at him. He doesn’t even bother to look up from his phone, huffing as the ball hits the side of his head.

“Here.” He tosses you the phone that’s already ringing. There’s no contact name, just initials. JP. “Riley. Got a problem?” A smooth baritone emits from the phone’s tinny speakers. “Hope you’re not busy this weekend, future hubby. I can’t wait to see you.” Simon sighs at the consequences of his own actions. John’s silent on the other end, processing your words. Bit thick, that one.

“An’ why’s that, sweetheart?” It’s a term of endearment but he laces it with vitriol. “We’re having tea on Saturday at my store. Bring your contract and favorite lawyers. See you then!” You hang up before he can answer, tossing the phone back to Simon. He shakes his head at you.

“Smile, Simon. It’ll be nice to bond with your brother-in-law.”

This is going to be a very long marriage.

If you even get down the aisle.

Why does reader hate John? Why is she also a little shit? All will be revealed :)

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simp4-lewis · 17 days ago

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Gratitude

Bob Reynolds x gn!reader | wc: 3.2

Notes: I didn’t revise this at all so if i’m basically saying the same thing over and over i’m sorry </3

Summary: After getting laid off from a mission, you go back to the tower, and see Bob engaged in various household chores, and it dawns upon you how much he does for everyone without complaint. You decide to take the opportunity of both of you being alone to show your gratitude and thank him properly for all that he does.

You were sent back from a mission because of a mild injury you got from the last mission. You attempted to hide it in the morning, but the discomfort was obvious when you were trying to fight, but it wasn’t that bad. In reality you knew they sent you back because you seemed a bit off lately, and because of Bob, the whole team has tried to be more mindful about mental health and resting well.

And while the gesture was nice, you felt ashamed that you weren’t being useful. But, it can’t be as bad as just lying on the couch all day, reading a book like Bob, right?

Wrong.

As you stepped into the common room, you heard the faint clinking of dishes being washed, the washing machine and dryer adding to the sound echoing in the room. Turning your head, you saw Bob standing at the kitchen sink, his back to you as he diligently scrubbed a plate with a sponge.

He glanced over his shoulder, his blue eyes widening in surprise. “Hey, Yelena told me you’ll be back.” Bob said, his face contrasted on the sponge circling the plate with precession.

You noticed the apron around him hugging his muscular waist, his broad shoulders filling out the fabric. Which were usually hidden with his long sleeve sweaters.

Before you could even begin to formulate a response, too stunned from the view, he spoke again, “I ran you a bath, by the way. It should be all set for when you want to... wind down.” He said awkwardly, a faint blush creeping up his neck.

You were momentarily perplexed by his thoughtfulness, your own weariness momentarily forgotten. “Oh, thank you…”

Not trusting yourself to speak further without betraying your sudden emotions, you turned and dragged yourself towards the bathroom, the warm, steamy air of vanilla and lavender, enveloping you as soon as you stepped inside. The sight of the bath, filled to the brim with fragrant, bubbly water, and a soothing glow from the candles placed around the tub. Instantly relaxing your senses. You couldn't believe the effort Bob had put into this, just for you.

You couldn't help but feel a mix of emotions swirling inside you. On one hand, the gesture was incredibly thoughtful and caring, a nice change of pace from the usual roughness of your life. On the other hand, it felt strangely intimate, like something a romantic partner would do for you, not a teammate and friend.

With an exhausted sigh, you lay in the warm, bubbly water, the temperature just right. You wondered how Bob managed to get the water to run perfectly. It was so perfect in fact, that the tension and aches of countless missions melted away. And yet you couldn’t relax, because your thoughts drifted to Bob.

You had always assumed he only handled the dishes, that his contributions to life at the Watchtower were minimal. But now, as you reflected on the cleanliness of the common areas, the stocked fridge, and the general sense of order that permeated the living space... you realized that Bob had been the one taking care of that all along.

A pang of guilt struck you as you considered how you and the others had been so focused on the missions, on protecting the innocent and navigating the complex web of politics and legalities that Valentina had entangled on the team. Meanwhile, Bob had been here, tirelessly working behind the scenes to keep the Watchtower a home, a sanctuary for them all.

After finally feeling refreshed and rejuvenated, you wrapped yourself in a soft bathrobe and made your way to the kitchen. The moment you stepped inside, the mouthwatering aroma of freshly baked goods filled your nostrils. You followed the smell to the counter, where Bob stood.

He must have sensed your presence, because he quickly slipped the tray onto the counter and turned to face you fully. A light sheen of sweat glistened on his brow from the heat of the oven, and the red flush of his cheeks could be from the warmth radiating from the appliance behind him.

His eyes widened as they fell on you, and a bright smile spread across his face. He quickly removed the oven mitts, tossing them in the counter before moving towards you, the floorboards creaking softly beneath his footsteps.

He shifted his weight from one foot to the other, looking uncertain for a moment. “I thought you might be hungry from your mission.” He paused, like he was debating his approach.

“I wanted to make sure there was something good to eat.“ His tone was soft and gentle, almost shy.

You weren't sure how to approach this new version of Bob. He seemed so domestic, so content in these mundane activities.

“I didn't know you knew how to bake,” You replied, reaching out to grab a cookie.

“I used to make homemade edibles when I—“ He started, then trailed off, shaking his head. “Doesn't matter.” He said quickly, pushing the tray closer to you.

Bob noticed your hesitation as you reached for one of the cookies. “I didn't use anything in these, I promise. They're just regular cookies,” He stated, his blue eyes meeting yours with sincerity.

You felt a wave of relief wash over you, and you tentatively took a small bite, your taste buds immediately exploding with flavors - the perfect sweetness of the dough, the rich, chocolate. Your cheeks tingled, a wide, genuine smile spreading across your face as you savored the treat.

“Wow…” You murmured, taking another bite, your eyes fluttering closed in bliss. “Damn, these are really good. You've got a real talent for this.“

Bob's face broke into a soft, pleased smile, a chuckle escaping his lips. “Thank you,” He said, his voice warm with gratitude. He seemed genuinely touched that you appreciated his efforts.

Saying thank you wasn't exactly your strong suit, but Bob's thoughtfulness and kindness had caught you off guard, leaving you feeling strangely awkward and not quite sure how to express your appreciation.

“Actually…” You started, clearing your throat slightly as you set the cookie down on the counter. “I should thank you. For keeping things so nice and tidy around here, and for running that bath for me,” You said, gesturing vaguely to your robe, “It was really nice.” Your words felt clumsy and inadequate, but you meant them all the same.

Bob blushed furiously as you leaned in closer, your words striking a chord within him. He was used to being the one taking care of others, but the thought of someone caring for him in return... it was a foreign concept, one that left him flustered and at a loss for words.

“I'm fine, really…” He stammered, his blue eyes wide and cheeks flushed a deep crimson as you invaded his personal space. He was about to protest further, but the words died in his throat as he felt your fingers slip beneath the hem of his shirt, exposing a tantalizing strip of skin and the trail of hair leading down from his navel.

Bob's breath hitched, his grip tightening on the countertop as he tried to ground himself in the rapidly unfolding, surreal moment. He watched, almost disbelieving, as you sank to your knees before him, your intent clear in the heated gaze you cast up at him.

“What are you—“ He started to ask, his voice coming out in a strangled whisper. But you silenced him with a single, searing kiss to the exposed skin of his lower abdomen, your lips soft and warm against his flesh.

Bob shuddered, a gasp escaping his lips as he felt your mouth move lower, your fingers deftly working at the waistband of his sweatpants. He knew he should stop you, should tell you that this wasn't necessary, that you owed him nothing... but the words wouldn't come. Because as much as he tried to deny it, a part of him craved this, craved your touch, your attention, your affection.

“You don’t have to…” He swallowed hard, his throat constricting around the lump of desire and disbelief that had taken up residence there. He heard your voice, soft yet filled with a conviction that sent a shiver down his spine.

“I want to,” You said simply, as if it was the most natural thing in the world. As if the thought of bringing him pleasure, filled you with a hunger that couldn't be denied.

His grip on the counter unwavering even as the rest of his body trembled with anticipation. He knew he should say something, should find a way to express the whirlwind of emotions and thoughts in his head. But all he could manage was a jerky nod, his ability to form coherent words temporarily lost.

So he remained silent, his heart pounding when he felt you tug his gray sweatpants down, the cool air of the kitchen kissing his newly exposed skin. The sensation made him gasp, his hips jerking involuntarily.

You couldn't help but marvel at the sheer size of him. The way it curved upwards, the thick veins pulsing with each heartbeat, the angry red tip glistening with need... it was enough to make your mouth water.

Unable to resist, you leaned in, placing hot, open-mouthed kisses along the trail of hair that led down from his navel. Bob shudders and gasps above you as you apply yourself to your task with gusto.

“Thank you,” You murmured against his skin, your hand drifting down to wrap around his throbbing length, barely being able to close your fist. You could feel him pulse and twitch in your grip, hot, hard, and thick. ”For taking good care of us, for making this place feel like home…”

Lost in a haze of desire, you found yourself murmuring a litany of thanks and sweet praise, wanting nothing more than to show Bob the depths of your appreciation. Your hand moved with a mind of its own, stroking and pumping his sizable girth with a fevered intensity.

But as the pleasure mounted, as you felt the heat pooling in your belly and the ache beginning to throb between your thighs, you suddenly remembered yourself. This wasn't about you and your own needs. This was about Bob, about giving him the gratitude and adoration he so richly deserved.

Pulling back slightly, you looked up at him, wanting to gauge his reaction, to see if he was lost in his own pleasure, or if there was something more you could do for him. Your eyes searched his face intently, taking in the flush of his cheeks, the parted lips, the look of lust that clouded his blue eyes.

“Is this good for you? You asked, your voice husky with desire but tempered with a genuine concern for his enjoyment. ”I want to make this good for you. I want to thank you properly...”

“Going.” He strutted between breaths. “Keep going.” Bob demanded, his voice suddenly rough in between breaths. But then, as suddenly as the heat of the moment had overtaken him, Bob seemed to collect himself.

He took a shaky breath, his chest rising and falling rapidly as he tried to regain some semblance of control. But even as he struggled to rein himself in, his blue eyes softened as they met yours, and he added softly, almost tenderly:

“Please…” The single word was both a plea and a gentle urging, a silent acknowledgment of the power you held over him in that moment.

As you gazed up at Bob, taking in the raw, primal hunger that danced in his eyes alongside a tender, almost reverent gentleness, you could feel the weight of his gaze like a physical caress.

It was clear that he was battling with himself, torn between the all-consuming need that demanded to be sated and the innate desire to be soft, careful, even worshipful with you.

The sight of his cock, flushed an angry red and leaking with a need that couldn't be denied, was impossible to ignore. And so, as if in a trance, you found yourself leaning in closer.

“Like this baby?” You murmured, your voice low and sultry as you rubbed the bead of precum around the sensitive head, feeling it twitch and pulse beneath your teasing caress. The intimacy of the moment, the sheer erotic charge that crackled between you both like a live wire, made your heart race with anticipation.

At the sound of the pet name, Bob seemed to shudder, a low, guttural sound escaping his lips. It was part groan, part whimper, a sound that spoke of a pleasure so intense it bordered on pain.

A wicked smile curved your lips as you heard Bob's high-pitched, desperate whimper. The sound sent a thrill through you, a dark satisfaction at having such a powerful effect on him. Seeing this big, strong man coming undone because of your touch... It was intoxicating.

Lost in a haze of lustful glee, a sudden idea struck you. If you wanted more of those sweet, broken cries, if you wanted to shatter the last of his control... you knew just what to do.

Maintaining eye contact, your gaze smoldering and full of sinful promise, you leaned in further. Parting your lips, your hot breath ghosted over his aching, straining length. Then, with deliberate slowness, you slapped his thick cockhead against your waiting tongue, the lewd sound echoing obscenely in the kitchen.

Bob's eyes flew open, his gaze locking with yours as a strangled gasp tore from his throat. The sensation of your slick, hot muscle against his most sensitive flesh was too much, too intense and yet, not nearly enough. His lips parted in a silent scream, his chest heaving as he struggled not to lose himself completely.

“Fuck…” He groaned, his voice breaking on the word. His fingers curled and flexed against the countertop, fighting the urge to bury them in your hair, to hold you in place as he rutted into your welcoming mouth.

But he held back, even as his hips twitched and jerked, torn between the desire to chase his pleasure and the need to let you set the pace, to be the one in control. His eyes, dark and wild with lust, remained locked with yours, silently begging for more, for everything, for the chance to finally, fully let go.

Inch by inch, you felt his thick, hard length slide past your lips, stretching your mouth wide around his impressive length. All the while, your eyes remained locked with his.

Bob couldn't help but let out a strangled groan, his hips jerking forward slightly as if seeking more of that warmth. But you held his hips firmly, keeping him in place.

You could see the way his Adam's apple bobbed as he swallowed hard, could feel the way his body shuddered and trembled above you. The power you held over him, the sheer, unadulterated desire etched into every line of his handsome face, sent a thrill of satisfaction through you.

As you took him deeper, feeling his cock hit the back of your throat, you could feel the way his fingers flexed and curled, itching to tangle in your hair, to grip you tightly and guide your movements. But he held back, respecting your lead even as his body screamed for more.

You tasted the salty-sweet essence of his arousal on your tongue, the way his pulse throbbed urgently against your lips. Bob's muscular thigh twitched against your cheek as you slowly engulfed more of his impressive length. The toxicating aroma that made your head spin with desire. You could tell he was teetering on the edge, his control slipping away with each inch you took of his thick cock.

His teeth sank into his bottom lip, harder than intended, as he fought to remain silent, to keep his composure. But it was a losing battle, and as you felt his thigh muscles clench and shudder beneath your touch, you knew he was quickly reaching his breaking point.

But even as you felt his frustration mount, even as his whimpers and moans grew louder and more insistent, you didn't let up. You took him deeper, swallowing around his length until your nose was buried in his happy trail, your chin pressed against his pelvis.

It had been so long since he'd experienced intimate contact like this, and the intensity of the sensation was overwhelming his senses.

With a strangled groan, Bob suddenly gripped your hair and pulled his hips back, his swollen cock slipping out of your mouth with a lewd pop. The sudden absence of your warm, wet heat around him made him shudder, his length slapping against his belly as it sprang free.

But before you could even process the cool air hitting your saliva-slicked lips, Bob's body seized up, his face contorting with pleasure too intense to bear. With a cry, he came hard, thick ropes of hot, sticky cum erupting from his cock.

His eyes flew wide, a mix of shock and horror etched into the lines of his face as he watched in disbelief. Because as he'd pulled you off, that single, desperate action had spurred his release to hit you square on the cheek, hot and sticky and more than a little shocking. Bob stumbled back, his hands still gripping your hair as if for support, his face draining of color as he realized what had just happened.

“I'm so sorry…” He gasped out, his voice a hoarse, broken whisper. “I didn't mean to... oh god, I'm so sorry.” His gaze was glued to your face, watching in shocked fascination as his orgasm continued, painting your skin with his essence.

You calmly brushed the remnants of his release from your cheek with your thumb, bringing the digit to your lips as you locked eyes with him. You made a show of slowly licking it clean, savoring the taste of his essence with a smirk playing at your lips.

Bob stared at you, utterly stunned, his mouth hanging open in shock. He couldn't believe what had just happened, couldn't fathom how he had lost control so completely. And as he watched you casually lick his spend from your finger like it was the most natural thing in the world, he could only manage a choked, disbelieving, "What the—"

You flashed him a wicked grin and a smirk, letting him know that not only did you not mind his lack of control, but you found the whole thing incredibly arousing. With a casual shrug, you stood up as if nothing out of the ordinary had happened at all, smoothing down your robe grace.

“Sweet.” You praised, then, with a wink tossed over your shoulder, you sauntered out of the bathroom, leaving Bob to collect himself and ponder the depths of your depravity.

Still reeling from the intensity of his unexpected climax, Bob quickly tucked his spent cock back into his boxers, the damp fabric clinging to his sensitive skin. With shaking hands, he yanked his sweatpants back up, his movements mechanical and unpracticed, as if his body was moving on autopilot.

As he finished righting his clothing, Bob's gaze became distant, his eyes glazing over slightly as he stared at the space in front of him, not quite focusing on anything. The shock of what had just happened was still written plainly on his face, his cheeks flushed a deep, ruddy red.

"What the fuck..."

Thank you so much for reading! If you have any requests send them out. ♡

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omgthatdress · 3 months ago

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So, Hailey Bieber is on the cover of Vogue. Her Met Gala look, which I placed in my top 5 worst dressed (right under Amelia Grey and Gustav Magnar Witzoe), has been consistently on other people's best dressed list.

While all of this has been vexing me, I realized that I've seen this before: first with Kylie Jenner, then Gigi & Bella Hadid and now Hailey Bieber. That is, the boringest bitch on the planet with the fashion sense of a tapeworm is somehow the hottest thing ever and everyone wants to be her.

Thinking about all this, I can't help but think of the question which shook me to my core and fundamentally altered my understanding of how fashion works: Is it a look, or is she just skinny?

The sad fact of the matter is most people don't know shit about fashion. They see a skinny beautiful person tidily put together in a plain dress and have been socially conditioned to think this is what fashion is. And in the meanwhile I am convulsing on the ground in disgust.

She's not particularly fashionable, she's just fashion Crisco: White, flavorless, and digestible.

BUT there's something I can't deny, and that is Hailey Bieber has definitely struck some kind of cultural nerve. After all, she was the one who started the much loathed "clean girl" beauty trend that has dried up my source of drugstore lipstick in fun colors.

I still must wish her well. She's had some scary health issues that I'm genuinely sympathetic towards. Sounds like she's also dealing with some serious Meghan Markle Syndrome (a bunch of deranged fangirls absolutely FURIOUS that Justin Bieber married her instead of them, or their self-insert, Selena Gomez.) I wish her marriage well (J/K DUMP HIS BROKE ASS). But, girl, try something colorful for once.

Patreon & Ko-Fi

#Hailey Bieber

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starcrossedxwriter · 2 months ago

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Still Standing Part 2 (Smoke x Black Reader)

A/N: Ummmm a bit late but here you go for all my Smoke girlies! 💙💙

Read part 1 if you haven't already!

Warnings: This is a reader fic (not Smoke x Annie - unless you wanna read it that way! I just love this gif (sue me lol), SMUT, DNI, mentions of violence and abuse.

*** The love between you and Elijah was forged one silent moment after another. He did not capture your heart with clever words and long winded soliloquies. He did with his presence. His ability to exist in utter stillness. His steadiness. Storms could be raging around him, designed to rattle, shake, and scare him. But none of it worked.

He never rushed.

And when he struck? It was with perfect precision and control.

It’s what made him Smoke. Lethal and unforgiving. Merciless.

But it was also what made him Elijah. How in his childhood silence, he watched everything about you. And showed you the depths of his understanding of you in the most exact ways. As if he studied you long enough to learn your soul.

How he brought you your favorite flowers for the first time once on a whim. A fact he knew not because you ever told him, but from noticing which flowers you spent the longest tending to in your garden.

How he endured being yelled at by your mama for staying too late when a storm was headed in. All so he’d be allowed to spend the night because he knew thunder frightened you. He’d stay up with you working or talking, holding you through the worst of it. You found out what it felt like to fall asleep in the warmth of his arms that way, only breaking apart if you heard the creaking floorboards of your mama coming to check on you.

It was the way he held you close to his chest after you bandaged his cuts and bruises after their father’s beatings, knowing you needed the reassurance that he was alright.

You had long stopped allowing yourself to fantasize about what it would feel like to be cocooned in his silent focus again. To be loved by a man as devoted and singular as he.

But at this moment, his silence was not the calm you once dreamed of returning to the heart of. It was thick, prickly with the tension of everything bearing down on both of you like a ton. Trauma, lost time, lingering questions, concern.

When he walked out of the barn some time later, his energy felt as if someone had dropped all the weight of the world onto his back. Blood splattered across his crisp white shirt, only interrupted by his charcoal vest. He did not say a single word to either of them as he slid his jacket back on. Stack whispered something in his ear as he passed him a rolled cigarette.

It was about you, you knew when Smoke’s eyes flickered over to you before climbing into the passenger seat. You imagined it was just to share what you’d said or done while the two of you waited, which had been nothing. Nothing that you knew would still be of interest to your husband.

You‘d allowed Stack’s gentle arm to lead you to their car and climbed into the backseat without a fuss, not uttering a word to your long lost brother. You just stared blankly with bloodshot eyes at the barn entrance, chewing your lip raw, body trembling as a small piece of you deflated every time the door opened and your husband did not emerge.

Stack had attempted to engage you in conversation, he could never stay quiet for too long. But even that could not thaw you out. You were not sure you even really heard him. Every brain cell was occupied with thoughts of him.

Your blank expression was not from a lack of things to express. But from the sheer overwhelm of too many questions and discussions.

What did he do to Red?

How the fuck were they back here?

Why were they back here?

Why did he leave you?

Would he leave again?

But it was folly to ask a single one to either brother. Stack was, rightfully so, far more terrified of his big brother than you so you weren't going to be able to pry a word out of him that Smoke did not want you to know. And when Smoke wordlessly climbed into the passenger seat, you knew he was not going to answer a question until he decided you were alright. All your questions about him would have to wait.

You and Stack could almost see his internal spiraling as Stack drove them a few miles home. You could feel him agonizing over what almost took place, what would’ve happened if he hadn’t been there. You could feel his focus on you the entire ride. Every few minutes, his head tilted toward the backseat.

With only the corner of his eye, he examined you. How you anxiously chewed your lip, how your arms cradled around yourself, how you sat trembling but so stiff despite the exhaustion etched in your eyes.

You felt every millisecond glance, each one helping him understand what you needed to feel the depths of his love and devotion.

That tension rattled around you three until you reached your home. Stack helped you out, a relaxed grin taking over his features. The years away aged your husband a bit more than his brother. You wondered when he last smiled? Elias smiled all the time and always made sure you were too, even if it was while you rolled your eyes at him. But Elijah, smiles were rare for him. Laughter too rare. You imagined Elias and you were the only two people on Earth blessed enough to witness either.

It showed even in how they settled around your kitchen table, Stack leaning back in his chair without a care in the world. While Smoke sat but remained on high alert, sitting straight as if someone tied a board to his back. Always watching, always examining.

You busied yourself to fix them both something to eat. The same prickly silence expanded like air to fill your quaint kitchen. You felt his eyes following you in every motion and movement throughout your kitchen. Here, he was not regulated to side glances in the car. Here, he could consume you like the most riveting novel, memorize how your body changed in the last eight years.

You placed Elijah’s porcelian bowl down first, the man merely nodding.

“Thanks, darlin’.” His gratitude reflected sincerely in his eyes despite his lack of movement. His fork remained untouched, his body rigid as steel. His eyes decidedly cast on you.

You raised your eyebrows in a brief challenge. No husband of yours was going to sit at your table and not eat a proper meal. And the attitude starting to form as your free hand rested on your hip communicated just that.

But he remained unbothered as he continued smoking, consuming his drugs of choice. Tobacco and you.

This man of mine, you thought to yourself. Stand-offs such as this were far too common Being one of two people Elijah trusted came with the honor of being the person he trusted to care for him. But it had to be on his terms and only when he deemed it necessary. Stubborn as hell when he wanted to be. And today, he wanted to be.

But you couldn’t fathom loving anyone else.

You imagined he often had similar thoughts about you.

“If that nigga won’t eat, I sure as hell will. Specially if that’s yo gumbo?”

Stack’s words ended your staring match in defeat, forcing you to move on to hand his brother his food.

You remembered the last time you made their favorite meal, a family recipe from Louisiana that had been passed down to you. You made it for them on their last birthday in the Delta, before they left for Chicago. The first of many birthdays you expected the three of you to celebrate in you and Elijah’s home.

“Yea. I get the urge to make it every once in a while. Made it before Hattie’s. Helps remind me of home, I guess.”

In the last eight years, the memories of that last birthday were a buoy at sea you clung to, filling you with the joy the days alone depleted. You remembered Elijah, Elias, Mary, Grace, and Bo sitting around your table, smiles bright, laughter loud, bellies full with all of the twins’ favorites. You remembered Elijah’s gentle hands sliding around your waist to pull you into his lap as you passed him, your body exhausted from a long evening of hosting and an even longer day of giving him the birthday he deserved. And every time you tried to get up to pour someone another drink or fix him or Stack another bowl of gumbo, he’d gently tighten his grip forcing you to rest against him.

You remembered thinking that this was exactly what you wanted the rest of your life to be.

You and Elijah would grow old in the home he built to your exact specifications. With every passing birthday, your walls would grow full and vibrant with the memories of the life you built together; your furniture would become more and more loved and worn with time as the gathering spot for your family; your house would become louder and more rambunctious with the children you’d have together.

You remembered thanking the ancestors for that day, for how profoundly in love you were with your present and the rich future you saw with Elijah and this chosen family you had together. It had not been much. In your world, your people were not afforded much more than 'just enough.' But to you, it was everything.

The first birthday without him forced you to contend with the reality that such a coveted dream was barely clinging to life. Was it dead and lost to you forever? Everyone around you believed so. Or would your Sun return and breathe life back into your universe and future? At first, you held onto that hope that you could get everything you once had back again. But with every passing birthday, the dream lost its color, lost its sharpness and clarity as it slipped farther and farther away from you. And so did home, forcing you to cling to every fleeting memory and wisp of it that you could.

Your eyes lifted from your hands to glance at your husband, his eyes squarely set on you as if he knew what home really meant.

Him.

“Them ghosts you be talkin’ to might be onto somethin’.”

You jokingly hit him upside the head with your towel before returning to the stove. You knew the twins didn’t believe in the same powers you did. You didn’t believe in what they did either. But there was respect on both sides, acknowledgement that all of it worked together, somehow and someway. That their individual ways had their place in this world and why, against all odds, the three of you were still standing.

“Heard you takin’ care of crackers cross town now?” Stack asked in between bites, his bowl vanishing faster than light itself traveled.

You waved your hand, dismissing the concern you already heard laced in his tone. You did not need to turn around to feel your husband’s gaze intensify against your skin.

“Remind me to kill Grace tomorrow,” you muttered in annoyance. “Just a couple of the wives… one of ‘em Geraldine works for is from somewhere down in Louisiana. She likes her healin’ a bit stronger than the medicine them white doctors use.”

“Just be careful, aight? Met a lot of white folk n they all trouble.”

You chuckled, your eyes glancing from the towel in your hand to his brother who was still laser focused on you.

“You know mama used to say the same bout you two. ‘Always trouble with the SmokeStack twins’”

"'N whatchu think?”

“Trouble ain’t all bad. There’s good trouble in there too if you can find it.”

“And the SmokeStack twins? What kinda trouble we to you?”

“The kind that makes it worth it.”

Elijah’s hand stilled, his cigarette halfway to his mouth as he recalled the first time you told him that. The night Smoke was born and became the world’s, and Elijah became yours. Though, if you let him tell the tale, he was yours long before you caught on.

“Mama, please. Somethin’ could be wrong. He don’t live far.”

Two days. You hadn’t seen Elijah in two days. And that was just so unlike him. For over two years, you spent almost every day together, even if he just stopped by for a few moments.

With your increasing responsibilities in your home and grandmother’s shop, Elijah’s presence was the stolen sweet moment in long, aching days. A sacred ritual. As your granny became too sick and her work fell to you, Elijah always seemed to know exactly what you needed when he stopped by. Some days, he would just come by to help you finish whatever task your grandma and mama set you to. Sometimes, he’d take on the task himself to give you a brief respite in your garden. And some days, he'd convince you to let him whisk you away to sit on the bank of the river or under the shade of a tree. And he let you lay your head on his shoulder and he let you just be.

And you tried to be the same for him.

You gave him your hand to squeeze when he needed to talk about his father or worry himself about how he could protect his brother, as if they both weren’t just boys themselves. You bandaged up his cuts and wounds privately, giving him the space to be in pain and vulnerable. You held him as he shared his fear that the talk around town would be true. That he and Elias were doomed to be as rotten as their father was. And you told him every time he needed to hear it that he was so much more of a man than his father could ever be, that they would survive him.

Without even noticing, he’d become everything to you. And the sweetest boy - who captivated your thoughts when you should be focused on so much else - had no one to check on him. No one to know or care if something was wrong with him or his brother. All they had in this world was each other… and you.

If you did not go, who would?

“You can wait till mornin’. Sun goin’ down, n Elijah lives too far to go now.”

“But mama-”

“Stop all that back talk now,” your daddy called from his perch on your porch.

“One more word bout it n you won’t go tomorrow either. How about that?”

“Yes ma’am,” you grumbled, deciding it was better not to push your luck.

“N I keep tellin’ you I don’t want you anywhere near his daddy or his house. I’ll let you go over tomorrow to check on em if it’ll get you to quiet down bout it n do your work in peace but then the twins gotta come here.”

“Elijah won’t let his daddy hurt me.” The conviction in your voice was unwavering.

“Can’t stop him from beatin’ the hell outta his own flesh and blood. Don’t see how he can protect you. From his daddy or anyone else for that matter. Even himself.”

You stilled, turning your head to her.

“I don’t need protection from Elijah. Why would you even say that? He’s a good boy, mama.”

“He’s a good boy now, Y/N. But we all know who his daddy is…”

“Elijah ain’t his daddy. He’s just him. N he’s a good friend to me, mama.”

Your mama shook her head and turned around to return to the stove. “You know I have eyes too, Y/N. I see the way that boy looks at you. N’ I see the way you look at him."

"N what way is that?" you asked defiantly.

"The way I looked at your daddy when we first met. Actin like you ain’t sweet on each other. It’s friendship today, yall too young for much else. But in time, it won’t be friendship. 'N not all good boys grow to be good men, Y/N.”

You shook your head in disbelief at her words. You tossed down your towel. “I know him, mama. You keep sayin' I got a gift but you don't trust that I know him? I know what I need to know."

“Quit hasslin’ that girl, Evie," your father jumped in, saving you the beating with a switch your mother would unleash if you kept pushing her. Even if you were technically right.

"You wasn’t listenin’ to Mama Mabel when I started comin round either. She just like you. Young, stubbon, n in love.”

“We’re not in love,” you tried to interject when your mama cut you off.

“Aint the same thing at all. We was grown, not two kids chasin’ after each other. That boy ain’t no good. Everybody in town know it. Why you think you’re the only one that spends any time with the twins?”

“Cause you raised me to do right by people who do right by me. N Elijah does right by me, helps me. Why ain’t that enough for you?”

“She right, Evie. N nothin’ you say gon’ change her mind n you know it,” Your father stood tall, his broad shoulders and frame taking up the door frame into the kitchen.

“I guess errbody in this house know better than me, huh? Like I ain’t the mama n I just don’t know shit,” your mama ranted as she angrily stomped back into your parents’ bedroom.

You bit down on your lip, your anxiety at upsetting her clashing with your gratefulness for your father for defending you. You understood it was your mother’s job to be concerned and protective but what you felt for Elijah? It was not some childish infatuation. And you knew he felt more for you.

“Do me n you a favor n don’t push it again tonight, aight? I’ll make sure she lets you go tomorrow.”

He leaned down so you could peck him on the cheek, too tall for you to reach even when you stretched. “Thank you, daddy.”

Tomorrow had never seemed so distant, as if they were asking you to wait ions not hours.

You’d get up at first light to check on him, you decided as you laid in bed. Elijah was an early riser anyway so he’d be awake. You made a plan to sneak over a few pieces of cornbread for them for breakfast too. Seemed like they only ate well at your or Mary's house and they had not been around in days. It would not be much but you could convince Elijah and Elias to come over for dinner once you saw them.

You tossed and turned into the night, sleep difficult to sustain as worry consumed you with every passing moment. The wind against your window, the calls and rustles of nighttime critters called out to you, begging you to break your mother’s rules altogether and race to him.

Something was wrong. You could feel it.

However, despite your age, you knew this was not the world for reckless choices, not for people who carried your skin tone. Reckless choices led to death and harm, harm you were forced to confront daily.

So you tempered yourself. The morning. At first light. You’d be safe and you’d make sure he was too.

A soft thud against your window disrupted your fitful tossing and turning. You glanced over your shoulder, deciding it must’ve been a small bird or something running into it. However, before your head could fall back onto your pillow, you noticed a hand knocking on it again.

Who on Earth would be at your window?

But you knew it could only be one person.

“Elijah.” You whispered it as a prayer as you catapulted yourself out of bed.

Your nightgown swayed around your feet as you tiptoed to your window. Something warm nestled in your chest, loosening the sharp talons of concern enough for you to breath again.

You gently pushed open your window, the clouds bathing you both in darkness. As your eyes adjusted, you could see Elias’ frame leaning against the house a few feet away.

“Elijah! You know it ain’t safe to be out in the middle of the night. You two alright?”

“I didn’t know where else to go,” he whispered, his voice more unsure than you ever remembered it being. “But he needs you.” He paused, hesitating for a second before his eyes fell down to his hands. “I… need you.”

Your eyes misted, three simple words steamrolling you like a train. You knew since your first meeting two years ago that, in some complex way, Elijah needed you as you needed him. But he never asked for it, never explicitly said the words.

But here, in a voice as uncertain and broken as you’d ever heard him, he asked for you. And there was not a world in which you would deny him.

A shift in the clouds bathed them in moonlight, his bruises and the dried blood splattered across his shirt. You did not need to be able to see Elias to know, if Elijah looked this bad, his state was far worse.

You clenched your eyes. You knew something had been wrong. You reached your hand through the window, cupping his cheek briefly as your heart splintered for him and his brother. How could anyone hurt them like this? They deserved so much better.

His head nestled softly into your palm as if it was the first comforting touch he had felt in far too long, a single tear sliding down his cheek. Your thumb whisked it away as he sniffled, clearly trying to hold it all inside.

“You got me, I promise. Meet me at the shop door.”

A look of guilt formed on his face.

“Yo mama? Don’t wanna get you in trouble.”

“Sleep. But I don’t care.”

He pressed a kiss into your palm, your heart fluttering.

This boy… your mother’s words of warning floated back to your mind. She had been so wrong. Whatever this was was so much more than friendship already. You were not certain you could live without him. You tentatively leaned forward and pressed your lips to where your palm had just been. You had never kissed him before but it felt right, like what he needed to know you would choose him, be there for him, every time.

“Come round to the front, okay? I’ll be right there.”

You grabbed your granny’s shawl, which she has given to you shortly after falling ill, wrapping it around your shoulders. You quietly snuck out of your room and down the hall to the shop attached to your parents’ home.

You were quiet, praying your mama and daddy stayed sound asleep for a while.

You held open the door, both staggering in, Elijah leading Elias to the bed while you turned to light a few candles.

With a candle in hand, you started to rush toward Elijah but a minuscule jerk of his head forced you to change course. Elias first, always.

As you approached them, you had to muffle a gasp. While their father had always done his worst, this seemed beyond even that, their bodies bloodied and bruised to a degree that should send their father straight to a county jail. Blood caked around a poorly patched wound on Elias’ head, which you figured accounted for the blood splattered on both their clothes.

You were so focused on their injuries that you did not even notice the pistol held tightly in Elijah’s hand.

Elias’ head hung low, a certain shame and despair settling around him that you weren’t accustomed to. His signature smile gone and the mischievous glint in his eyes completely extinguished.

Your finger lifted Elias’ head as you gently pulled the bandage off his forehead, the young man hissing in pain. Your breath was sharp as you took in the gash on his head.

“What he hit you with?” No one’s hands could produce such a wound. He hesitated. “You can tell me,” you whispered.

You were not as close to Elias as Elijah, of course, but as you fell in love with Elijah, a more sisterly love similarly bloomed for his more talkative half.

“Pistol whipped me. H-He didn’t mean it… tho,” Elias offered slowly, his voice breaking slightly as his hand lifted to wipe away a tear. “He was ju-...“

You glanced over at Elijah whose eyes seemed to soften for a mere moment with guilt before settling into something far harsher.

“I know. But let’s worry bout you for a while. Not him, hmm? Let me bandage this up right so you can get some rest. Then we can talk bout the rest in the mornin.’”

“Will it scar?” He asked quietly, a fear you often heard with injuries to people’s heads and faces.

“I think I can preserve your good looks,” You offered with a grin as you grabbed everything you needed to clean him up. “This gon’ sting a bit.” You paused for a moment before adding, “You know even with a scar, Mary would think you’re still the better lookin’ twin.”

You tucked your legs under you as you worked, cleaning his wounds and bruises with intense care. Your words about Stack’s crush, Mary, lightened the load weighing him down. His body perked up ever so slightly and he gave you the tiniest half smile.

“Ain’t nobody thinkin’ bout Mary,” he muttered, unconvincingly.

You merely nodded with a skeptical look on your face. “Uh huh, I’m sure nobody is. You know… she’s sweet on you too. Too shy to say it, maybe but she asks bout you all the time. Like today when I ran into her at the store.”

“What she say?” he asked far too quickly.

You giggled, even Elijah cracking a smile that made your heart soar.

“Thought nobody was thinkin’ bout Mary?” You teased playfully. “Just asked if I’d seen you round. Told me to tell you hi if you both came by.” You lifted his head to study it again before nodding. “Head wounds bleed an awful lot but you don’t need stitches or nothin’. Keep it covered, don’t mess with it, n’ it shouldn’t scar too bad. Got some salve for the cuts and bruises."

“Thanks, Y/N.”

“Of course, Elias. I’m just sorry you…” You stopped yourself, they never needed or wanted anyone’s sympathies. “Just sorry. How bout you lay down while I tend to this one?”

“If he’ll let you.”

“I think he’ll let me. I got the magic touch. But I’ll need you if he gives me any trouble. I’ll grab you another blanket.”

However, when you turned around, Elijah had already pulled another out and sat it beside you.

Of course he knows where we keep the spare blankets.

You draped the extra blanket over him, gently ensuring it covered his entire body. Your hand rested on his shoulder for a brief moment before you turned to grab the few things you needed to care for Elijah.

“Thanks.”

The word was soft, almost inaudible, but you heard and felt it all the same.

“You’re welcome. I’ll be back to check on you in a bit.”

You gestured for him to follow you to your bedroom. You snapped the door shut, knowing you’d be in a world of hurt if your mama caught you with a boy in your room. But you’d accept whatever punishment she doled out. Caring for Elijah would be worth every minute.

“Shouldn’t be in here. Your mama will…”

“I told you, I don’t care bout none of that Elijah,” you offered as you went to sit your burning candle on your nightstand before turning back to his rigid form by the door. Now able to truly focus on him, you saw it. His pistol.

The gun should’ve scared you, should’ve made you call for your daddy to talk to him. But you found that you were not in the least bit scared. All you saw in his eyes was exhaustion. Not anger, not rage… not an intent to cause harm. Just a weariness you were only familiar with in the eyes of the elderly, people who were haunted by too much.

It wasn’t fair.

“You’re worth every bit of trouble I’ll be in.”

Your words seemed to almost startle him as if no one had ever considered him worth sacrifice. You could tell he almost could not process such an idea, such consideration and devotion directed at him.

“Thanks for takin’ care of him,” he offered lowly as you closed the space between the two of you.

“Don’t gotta thank me. He’s gon’ be alright. So you gon’ put that down ‘n let me take care of you now?”

The old pistol shook as soon as you drew his scattered attention to it, likely for the first time since they stepped into your home. Now, no longer under the eye of his younger brother, the cracks in his iron wall started to show.

Your hands slowly cradled his face as he tried to avert his gaze, his eyes glassy from tears he refused to let fall.

“Elijah… you’re safe now.”

Silence. You did not repeat yourself, did not rush him to move or surrender his weapon or soul to you. That was not the way with Elijah. No, you just stood still beside him in the silence until he felt safe enough to move or speak.

“I… I needed it,” he finally whispered, his words barely audible. “H-he wasn’t gon’ stop. H-He was j-just gonna keep on hurtin… N’ Elias… he- I thought he was-” his words splintered as he finally spoke life into whatever brought them to you. “I had to do it.”

You did not miss the implications in his words, how he spoke about his father as he was - not how he is. You foolishly assumed the blood had been Elias but now the look in his eyes told a very different story. Your eyes clenched shut for a moment, your head bowing in sadness. Not for the loss of his father’s life, he did not deserve to live given what he did to his own sons. But for what Elijah was forced to do to be safe, to be free.

“H-he hit em with it n… I… took it. I d-didn’t even think… just had to. Y-You gotta believe me, I didn’t… h-he was gonna-”

Your hand moved to grab his free one as his sentences broke apart into pieces, frantic and erratic. He pleaded his case but you did not need to hear it. You saw what his father was capable of so you knew exactly what he feared, what your small corner of the world would believe.

“Breath for me, Elijah.” You helped him take deeper breaths, your hand moving to his chest to ensure his heart rate slowed back down a bit.

“I believe you, I know what you had to do, Elijah. But hey, look at me,” You gently lifted his chin so his solemn brown eyes were set on yours. His free hand gripping your hip to bring you closer to him. “It’s just me here. Just your girl. N I promised to be good to you so… you don’t need that in here, not with me.”

He said nothing, an internal battle raging so loudly around him that you could almost hear the debate. To acquiesce the weapon would force him to confront what transpired, what they lost throughout their childhood, and what they lost today. And you did not know if he was ready for that just yet. But you’d stand here as long as it took for him to rest.

“You can put it down. Just for while? Let me take care of you, Elijah. Please. Put it down for me, baby.”

At your pleas, he lifted his hand, allowing you to pry the weapon from his fingers. It pained you to move from his presence, even for the few seconds it would take to stow the gun somewhere safely. In those few seconds, the tremble in his hands spread to his whole frame.

“It’s okay, it’s okay,” you whispered as you rushed back up to him, enveloping him in the most tender hug you could muster.

You could feel his surrender. First, of his body as he went slack, falling heavy and fully into your embrace. His legs gave way to his weight like paper beneath him, forcing you both onto the weathered wooden planks of the floor.

Then, of his heart as he shifted you into his lap. He intertwined your bodies so tightly, you no longer were certain where he began and you ended. No space for the ancestors between you as you clung to each other as if you were the rarest of air.

And his last and most vulnerable surrender of his soul as the dam finally burst and tears fell and sobs bubbled to the surface.

Neither of you spoke, time simply slipped past you both without conscious thought because every thought was wrapped up in your private cocoon. You just allowed him the space to feel it all privately, and stayed exactly where you were so he knew he’d always have comfort. He’d always have you.

Eventually, he shifted to look at you, his eyes bloodshot and filled with the emotional and physical exhaustion of the day. Of his life.

“Didn’t mean to… I’m sor-” he started to say but you would not hear it or accept it.

“Don’t apologize to me. Whatever you need, I’m here. You wanna lay down?”

He nodded softly, allowing you to extrapolate yourself from his arms long enough to get off the floor. You led him gently to your bed, both of you climbing in without thought or hesitation. Your bodies were chaste but the energy around you cracked with intimacy, yearning, need. You kept a gentle hand on his arm while you laid facing each other.

It was improper, you both knew, but you were not sure you cared. You were not sure you would have even been able to rest if he were too far from you.

You often found yourself searching for Elijah, finding his presence in a crowded room before anyone else's. You did not quite understand it, how instinctual it felt to be near him. But it was the strongest you’d ever felt tonight, this irresistible pull to be as close to him as possible, decency be damned.

“You think it makes me like him? Like everybody say?” The words were so faint but the weight of them, the fear in his voice let you know if he had been scared to ask it, scared of the answer. “T-that I was able to… maybe I’m a monster too.”

“No.” The sudden blaze in your eyes was fierce. "Never wanna hear you talk about yourself like that. He was the monster n you saved yourself. Freed yourself n your brother from him. That's all that matters.”

“N you? You not… scared of me cause of what I did?”

“I could never be scared of you, Elijah. You’re my best friend. You hurt him to defend someone you love, defend yourself. N that’s brave… that’s strength n courage. N that tells me everything I need to know about your heart. Your soul. N the kinda man you’ll be.”

He seemed skeptical, even in the darkness. So you continued, taking his hand and bringing it to your chest, “I know who you are, Elijah Moore. You’re a protector… you’re loyal, devoted, kind, gentle. You could never be a monster… Not to me.”

His hand rested tightly on your hip. Your bodies inched closer to each other, Elijah’s lips capturing yours. The first brush of his lips was light as a feather before he pressed in. Slow and deliberate as everything Elijah did was.

If someone had stolen your heart right then, you imagined its glow would eclipse the moon. In his arms, you felt flooded with such light that you could shine as bright as the Sun outside. You’d never been kissed before, never felt the fire of another’s touch quite like this. But it was surreal, magic as if the ancestors had blessed this stolen moment.

You loved this boy. And he eliminated any confusion or doubt you had that such a love was reciprocated. It was and it was the sweetest freedom this world had to offer. Your soul felt as if it could float away with Elijah Moore and no one and nothing on this Earth could stop you.

You whimpered as he pulled away, your body jerking forward in a bid to reclaim his lips. He rested his forehead against yours, pulling your body so you were flush against his chest.

“I love you, Y/N,” he whispered in your ear. “Don’t know what’s next… what Elias n I gon’ do but I know I want you around. That I wanna be more than good to you as a friend.”

“I love you too, Elijah.”

When you returned to the present, you realized you were not the only one who retreated into the past. That memory played like a film in both your minds, the only oblivious one seemed to be Stack who was contently rolling a cigarette, wanting for one of you to speak.

“Or at least one of you is,” you cleared your throat and threw him a teasing grin, desperate to stop the tension from rising to a boil. “Ancestors haven’t given me the final verdict on you yet, Stack.”

“I’ll just have to have a talk with em, then?”

“They don’t respond to threats,” you reminded him with a playful grin. “Don’t think you’ll get very far.”

“My powers of persuasion have evolved over the years, lil sis. They even work on you now.” He gracefully threw his hat back on his head as he stood, handing the cigarette he had been rolling in between bites of food to his brother.

However, this time, he rejected it with a slight shake of his head as his hand reached for his pipe, still in the window sill where he always kept it.

He caught your eye, which had softened at the exchange. Stack still rolled for him, not out of habit or kindness. But out of necessity. You hoped, when he first returned home from the war, that the tremors were temporary. That one day, he’d be able to do something other than hold a gun with a steady hand. Even though he’d proclaim, for your benefit, his gratefulness at being one of the “lucky ones.”

“Just an unsteady hand n bad dreams,” he’d say. “Nothin’ worth cryin’ over. "

But you knew, back then, that he did not feel lucky when you examined the resigned and defeated look that haunted his eyes with every tremor. The pang of sadness in yours to see him struggle with a pain your gifts were not enough to heal, a pain that made you question whether all your prayers and work to keep them safe had been enough.

Stack merely chuckled and handed over his lighter. “See nothin’ round here’s changed. Gonna grab a few hours of shut eye,” he gestured toward the spare bedroom in your home.

“Go head. Smoke that o-“

“On the porch, I know I know. Whatever yall bout to do… just don’t be too loud. I need my beauty rest.”

Before stepping outside, he walked up to you and pulled you into a tight hug. You were surprised at first before you leaned into it earnestly. He was not Elijah but there were wisps of comfort in Stack’s embrace, tendrils that wrapped around you with warmth and comfort.

“You aight, lil bit?” His voice low as his own eyes examined you, reviving a nickname you'd once prayed would be left in the past..

The lighthearted smile on his face took a moment to reach his eyes, replacing the flash of real concern you spotted within them. As loyal and protective as his brother when it came to you. You had not realized just how much until now, but you had missed him so much too.

“Yea I’m ok. Think that twin of yours’ll believe me?” Your voice dropped a bit to a fake whisper, grinning as Smoke rolled his eyes. He always claimed you and Stack were “conspiring” to tease him, gang up on him.

He chuckled before placing a chaste kiss on your cheek.

“Not a chance. Just glad we were…” He stopped himself, glancing at Smoke before allowing the unfinished words to settle in your kitchen as calmly as an off note on a piano.

It felt wrong to remember it here. Breath life into it here. But you knew you would have to. Elijah would not allow you not too.

“Me too,” you answered simply. “Thanks. And for bringin’ this one back to me in one piece.”

“Anythin’ for you. Night,” he squeezed your hand one last time for good measure and clapped Elijah on the shoulder before disappearing out your back door. It creaked in the night air, a tense symphony to the long-awaited private reunion with your husband.

You watched the door until it shut with soft finality. Restlessness, itchy and uncomfortable, spread in your chest as you two stared at each other. You glanced down at his plate, food still untouched.

“How long?”

Your eyes bored into him, not uttering a single word. Stretching and twisting his patience but you never particularly cared about that when your mind was focused on his well-being. When was the last time he even ate a real meal? Your eyes flickered his bowl and back up to him in a pointed fashion. A demand from his wife, one you knew he would not refuse. Elijah grunted his exasperation before eating two heaping spoonfuls to appease you.

Not enough to relax you but just enough to loosen your lips.

“How long?” The new edge in his voice felt just as sharp and quick as a blade. Reiterating. Demanding.

“Couple months. Hattie can’t stand on her feet for long anymore with her back. You know my brothers, they can only guard the door n try to fuck every girl that walks through it. Hattie said, ‘Needed somebody charmin’ n pretty to serve drinks n they ‘bout as charmin’ n pretty as rattlesnakes.’”

He took another bite off his plate, your body slowly easing back into the counter Elijah’s hands crafted for you. This maddeningly sweet dance you two weaved since you were children. A battle of wills and instincts between a caretaker and a protector. Two sides of the same stubborn ass coin. But when you both demanded answers but also required care? It was a battle to see who would surrender control and lean into vulnerability first?

Often, you succumbed first, soaking up the healing aura of Elijah for as long as you could spare. It had taken so long for him to convince you that it was not selfish to need him. To put yourself first. That it was not a burden to him as you feared, it was a privilege.

But you were not sure you were ready to crumble just yet. You did not know whether you wanted to fall into his arms and weep, curse the ground he walked on for abandoning you, or just run into your bedroom and sob. And you knew he would push and force you to make a decision sooner rather than later. It was inevitable but you could buy yourself some time.

“But there won’t be a charming soul left in the family now when Hattie gets her hands on me for breakin’ all those bottles.”

“Stack’ll talk to her in the mornin. Give her money for the liquor.”

“Thank you. She got a softer spot for money than me.”

“Everybody got a soft spot for money ‘cept you.”

“I just know it don’t get you nothin’.”

“Gives you freedom.”

“No kind that’ll last. Real freedom ain’t tethered to somethin’ someone can take from you.”

You bowed your head as your body leaned into the carved back of Stack’s former chair, silence surrounding you. It felt so familiar, countless minutes turned to hours spent in this kitchen while you worked or cooked and Smoke just sat with you. He just existed with you, let you talk his ear off or sit in utter silence. Whatever you needed in that moment, while he existed in your peace.

“You alright?”

“Suppose so. Still standin’.”

“Been a minute. But you know that ain’t what I asked, darlin’.”

He knew no one understood him like you, understood the intention behind every word he spoke like you did. Often, he did not need to say anything at all.

“I’m fine. It happens.”

“Some other nigga put his hands on you?” His eyes flashed with red, his hand instinctively twitching toward his gun.

“No, no. That ain’t what I… just that you know, men gettin’ drunk n too handsy at a juke ain’t exactly anythin’ uncommon. Shook me up a bit but no sense dwellin’ on it.”

He said nothing, infuriating silence loud pounding your kitchen like the bass in the juke joint.

“I’m fine, Smoke.” You attempted to reiterate.

His hand paused as he started to bring his pipe up to his lips. You let out a sigh and cursed under your breath.

Smoke. The fatal tell. If you used his moniker in this house, he knew one of two things were true: He was in trouble or you weren’t ready for him to be Elijah. Because there was no hiding with Elijah. Your love demanded authenticity, it demanded truth. Your deepest joys and purest happiness to the agonizing sorrows and terrifying vulnerabilities. In each other’s arms, there was no pretending.

You tried to deflect, push the conversation back onto him before he could pick at that thread further.

“You gon’ tell me why you came back? What trouble you and that fool out there brought back with you?”

“No trouble this time.”

“There’s always trouble chasin’ Stack. Which means there’s always trouble chasin’ you.”

“No trouble chasin’ either of us. We did what we needed in Chicago, now we back.”

“Why? For how long?”

“For you. Only reason to come back. Now… you gon’ keep standin’ over there or come here so I can take care of you?”

You raised your eyebrow, communicating that you were not ready to fall into his arms so quickly regardless of what he saved you from. He left you. You accepted it, you understood it, you justified it. But you would not pretend that it had not broken something in the depths of your spirit, leaving you lost without a piece of your heart for years.

And being back in his presence made every bit of it bubble up again. All that love, all that righteous rage, all that agony. You felt it. Those endless nights you laid awake sobbing resigned to living with the knowledge that - despite the depths of love you held for him - you weren’t enough to keep him here. The knowledge that life would be duller, so much darker without him and you'd just have to learn to live with that.

If you were going to open the floodgates again, let all the love you stored for him flow like waters through the Delta, you needed to know he was not just passing through. You needed to know that when the sun rose at dawn, he’d still be there. And when the sun would rise the next day and every day after, he’d still be here. With you.

You wished you were strong enough to withstand such torment again. But you wouldn’t. Seeing him again, even wrapped in his silent steadfast energy again, you did not think you’d be able to survive without him again. So you needed to know he was not planning to abandon you again, that he was going to put in the effort to earn your trust.

“What if I don’t need you to take care of me anymore? Been takin’ care of myself fine… Tonight excludin’,” you muttered, acknowledging the miniscule raise of his eyebrow at your words. “But hardly your business to tell me I need takin’ care of when…” you stopped yourself, turning away from him in frustration and shame at what almost crossed your lips. You didn’t want to still be angry. Your fingers curled into a tight fist to stop yourself from unleashing all that suppressed hell and outrage on him.

“Say what you gotta say, baby. I can take it.”

“You… you left me here. Abandoned me here alone. Broke your promise for eight years."

Your eyes glistened with tears, all that devastation threatening to boil over along with all the love you were struggling to maintain control over. There was not one without the other in a love like this.

”What if I’m still mad about that?” Your voice fell quieter, back to chewing your lip. “What if I’m still mad at you? What if I… hate you?”

The word did not even feel right directed at him. But that was what most women and men whose spouses ran off into the night felt. Hatred, deep and boiling, all consuming. Isn’t that what everyone would tell you to feel? To scream and curse him for leaving and then sauntering back as if nothing had changed. Some part of you desired to feel that, to just be angry. Anger was easier than confronting the hurt, all the nights you questioned your love, your worth. All the time lost without the person you could not live without.

He tilted his head as he blew out a billow of smoke. He sat it gently by his ashtray, never taking his eyes off of you.

“I’d deserve it. N I’ll spend every day of the rest of my days provin’ that I’ll still be good to you… like I promised.”

He stood up, slowly closing the space between you with calm and assured steps. He stood before you and all you wanted to do was touch him. Your hand twitched, desperate to rest on his chest, feel his hard-earned muscles beneath them, but you tightened a hand around your arm to stop yourself. Your body swayed as if his aura compelled you forward, a captivating drug enticing you to just surrender to him. You almost forgot why you were resisting.

His hand cradled your cheek, a content sigh escaping without warning at his touch. Soft. Warm. Healing.

“Yell at me, curse me… give me your worst, Y/N, for as long as you need, darlin’. I’ll take it. I’ll own it. Cause I love you. Never stopped lovin’ you. You get to be mad at me all you want. But I know he hurt you.”

“N-No, he didn’t. You made sure of that.”

“Just cause he ain’t leave a bruise, don’t mean he ain’t hurt you, baby. Ain’t that what you told me?”

“Hate when you repeat my words back to me,” you grumbled.

“I know you do, baby. Can’t help that you’re always right.” His hand gently tilted your head so your eyes were focused on him. You knew he could see it all. The anger, the heaviness, the sadness… the guilt and shame.

“I just wanna take care of you, like you’ve always done for me. If you’ll let me? Please.”

His voice was the soft embrace of a prayer, the steadiness of a summer rain shower. You could see the warm fog that was him encompassing you, slowly eating away at the walls you erected when he left until there was nothing standing between him and your soul.

In the contemplative silence, he retreated to his chair, sitting with his legs spread wide. An action that communicated your agency, that it was your choice whether to seek his comfort, seek his love. His words were a plea you could easily refuse. You could walk away, curse him as he suggested, and leave him alone at your table to feel a fraction of the rejection you did.

But how would that heal you? You wanted to feel whole more than you wanted to be prideful. And only his anchoring spirit and tender touch could stitch you back together this time.

Your steps toward him were tentative, each step increasing your courage. However, you stopped yourself just before he was at arm's length. He’d wait as long as it took, you knew. A natural nurturer and protector falling in love foretold some challenges. You each required patience, and a certain degree of coaxing, to strip yourselves bare. It was difficult, even with each other, to reveal the pieces of yourselves that were composed of glass, not steel. The pieces too fragile for another soul to hold.

One final question. And you knew you couldn’t surrender without an answer. Because in those eight years, in that abyss of heartache, you had become more like glass than he remembered. And you would not withstand the blow of him leaving again, not if this was not permanent.

“You leavin’ again?”

His eyes filled with sincerity, whatever was left of the boy you fell in love with and the man you married shining through.

“Next time I leave you, it’ll be to leave this world. I’m not goin’ anywhere again.”

His words loosened out the knot in your stomach, forcing you to nod. You had no other excuses, no other reasons not to feel everything the night conjured, every emotion consuming you.

You stepped in between his legs, your hands gingerly resting on his shoulders as you stared down at him. His hands gripped the soft curves of your hips to bring you as close as humanly possible before perching you on his thigh.

Your hands slid up to cup his face, his beard tickling your palms. Your eyes stung as you just stared at him for a brief moment.

“Elijah,” you whispered his name like a blessing as your entire body finally gave in, sagging into him as you finally felt the weight of the last eight years.

His broad hands tightened you to his hardened chest. If you leaned in any further, you’d be living in his skin. This was more than you could have dreamed. The callouses of hands against your skin, the soothing rise and fall of his calming breaths, his reassuring familiarity of his scent.

So perfectly him.

His natural musk from a long day in the Mississippi heat. The lingering hints of citrus in his cologne. The sting of gunpowder from defending your honor. Even the fading bite of copper from drying blood. Richly weaving the soothing scent of a man fiercely devoted to you. The soothing scent of home.

And with every moment in his arms, it became harder to hold the rushing waters back. Your poorly constructed dam fracturing with every second he held you. Because this was the one thing time was not powerful enough to diminish. Elijah remained forever your healer, forever the one place you could retreat to feel everything. And you were his.

“Look at me.”

You did not heed his instructions, your body tensing against his from the shame.

“It’s alright, darlin’. You’re ok.”

His patience. Steady and calm. He rubbed soothing circles against your back, he whispered assurances in your ear until you pried yourself out of his neck to look at him.

“There’s my girl,” he whispered, his smile brighter than you’d ever seen it, a smile that reminded you he was your safe haven.

The tears that welled up in your eyes immediately spilled over as they met his concerned ones. You tried to wipe them away but he stopped you.

“I-I told him no, Elijah. I-I told him I w-was still yours. H-He just w-wouldn’t listen ‘n I got scared. N I j-just froze. I’m s-sorry. B-but I didn’t want him o-or that. You b-believe me, don’t you?” you stammered, your voice cracking as sobs threatened to escape your throat.

You did not realize how your fingers dug into his jacket, gripping the wool fabric tightly as you begged him to understand.

His hand massaged the base of your neck, the spot where all your tension resided, as he held your gaze to him. “I know, sweetheart. I know. Don’t apologize to me. Ain’t your fault. That the only time? He hurt you before?”

You could see the anxiety and concern in his eye, the fear that the answer would be no. That all the threats of violence he left in his wake had not been enough to protect you from the realities and evils of many men. Abandonment forced you to question much about your marriage over the last eight years. But one truth you could not deny was that Elijah would unapologetically turn their corner of the Mississippi River into a graveyard to avenge you, to punish any other man who thought they could harm you and live to tell the tale.

“Yea, only time.”

“Y/N.”

“Only time, I swear. Red is… was harmless, I thought.”

He held your gaze for a singular moment longer than he needed before he allowed your eyes to fall away from his and he buried his face in your neck.

“Only harmless man is a dead one,” he muttered into your supple skin.

“Well I imagine he very harmless now then?”

“And restin’ for eternity at the bottom of the Mississippi River. No nigga in this town gon’ be a problem for you again. I know what I did ain’t how you wa-“

Your intention was to assure him that all you felt was gratitude for his actions. But the first brush of your lips against his set your soul ablaze. Whatever self control you believed you possessed vanished, you were as wild and untamed as flames as your hand cradled the back of his neck, the other clutching tightly to his suit. A carnal need to bring him closer than you’d ever been before.

You held it back as long as you could, held onto the fraying threads for as long as possible. But they were broken and you needed him. More than a hug or kiss or sweet words. You needed him to strip you down and heal you from the inside out.

Frantic.

Desperate.

Hungry.

Elijah did not often let you take the lead, did not often allow you dominance in the bedroom. But today, he allowed your lips and tongue to do whatever they craved. To consume him.

It only ended with a need that superseded the desire flooding you. The frustrating human requirement to breathe.

You rested your forehead against his, chest rising and falling with every inhale and exhale.

“Thank you, Elijah.”

If you had not been on his lap, Elijah would have been hard-pressed to hear your words. your voice so soft, vulnerable, and sweet, everything he was not. You had never done that before. Specifically thanked him for his violence when it served you. Fussed at him for doing it against your wishes? Sure. Offered him a kiss shortly after fussing that he knew meant thank you, a reluctant understanding of how their world worked? More than once. But to utter the words? This was a first. And the only way he could think to properly acknowledge it was with a soft kiss.

Slower. Measured. Intentional. As all things Elijah did was. His hands shifted your waist, turning you so you naturally straddled his lap.

“What do you need, darlin?”

You sniffled. You allowed the comfortable silence you were accustomed to with Elijah to fill your space, calm the storm raging in your heart and soul. Slowly, those winds stopped lashing against your skin, the thunder quieted and you could find clarity again.

He was the only balm your soul needed, the only one that would work.

“I need your hands to be the ones I remember touchin’ me… not his.”

You knew the meaning was not lost on him, a quick flame of lust lighting in his eyes before he tempered himself.

“You sure?”

“Never been more sure of anythin’.”

And that was all the permission he needed. In a fluid motion, he stood, your legs instinctively wrapping around his waist, his hands gripping your ass, as he walked you to your bedroom. He could not see a thing as he kissed you, his legs moving off instinct to your marital bed.

He gently sat you on the edge of the bed, his strong arms shedding his suit jacket before he sank down to his knees before you. He stared up at you with the reverence of a man staring at his reason for being.

“You know I dreamed about you every day?” His steady low voice felt as smooth as honey, as calming as a soft summer breeze, against your soul. He kissed the top of your thighs as he pushed the cerulean blue silk fabric of your dress up.

“Your laugh, your smile, the way you feel in my arms… how you taste, your moans. Tried to come back to you so many times.”

“Why didn’t you?” You breathed out, everything in you aching for him.

“I was a fool, baby. N I’ll spend every day makin’ it up to you.”

His teasing touches proved he still knew how to expertly play the instrument that was you. Fine tuned to perfection, he knew every inch of you intimately. And the music he created? It summoned more than mere pleasure. It was a magic all its own, strengthening the glittering threads that connected your souls. In him, you saw the past. The present. And a new future.

His fingers hooked into your panties, your hips lifting just enough for him to pull them off. You expected him to discard them to the side but instead he brought them to his nose, inhaling the scent drenched into the fabric. His eyes fell closed as he inhaled, a shuddering breath escaped him as if the scent of your slick injected him with new life. And then, he discarded them with a cheeky wink in your direction.

His hands gripped the meat of your thighs, spreading them widely to reveal his promised land. He licked his lips, his eyes focused on the essence leaking from your folds, already creating a mess at the zenith of your thighs. You knew his intention by the glint in his eye and you instantly became aware of how long of a night it would be. Smoke could stay head down between your thighs for hours, unsatisfied until you were boneless. Until your brain was a vacant plane of yearning and pleasure.

“I missed you too, baby. Lay back for me, darlin.”

He hooked your legs over his shoulders, bringing you closer to the edge of your bed as you leaned back on the soft quilt. You did not lay down fully, choosing to prop yourself up on your elbows. Eye contact was an aphrodisiac for you both. To see the other in their most human element, so uninhibited. No one who knew you both would call you reckless. Tempered, steady, patient. But in these four walls, you could be wild. Watching him uncoiled something in your gut, unlocking a new altitude of pleasure to reach.

His eyes locked onto yours as his tongue communicated what he did not have the words to.

His agonizing remorse.

His unyielding reverence.

His everlasting devotion.

His unquenchable thirst.

All for you.

He poured it all into every stroke of his fingers into your weeping heat, every lick of his tongue against your sensitive button. You felt like a person gasping for air, every cell in your body struggling to consume him after being without it for just too long.

“Elijah! It’s… too much!”

“That’s right, scream my name, baby. Missed hearin’ you scream my name.” He detached himself from your flower long enough to gift you with a soft nip to the inner thigh before returning to his favorite meal.

It was almost too fast, how quickly you found yourself dangling from the edge of the cliff. The rocks rough against your palms as an oasis of bliss invited you to lose all control in it. But you found your brain would not allow you to let go, not just yet. You tensed as you inched closer to the point of no return but it did not feel as simple as it once was to give into him.

“You can let go, baby. I’ll be here, I’ll catch you. Cum for me, sweet girl.”

Some called you the witch, but what was he? What spell did he cast that gave him such control over you, mind, body, and soul? Only he could command your body to such a degree? That every barrier crumbled at his assurances, his word? That he knew the layers of your soul so intimately that he knew his actions had shaken your trust, your foundation. And that one night would not erase that. But it was proof that he would offer whatever assurances you required, as often as you desired, to knock down every barrier your brain erected. Brick by brick, for as long as it took to earn your forgiveness again.

“Fuck! Fuckkkk! I c-can’t… Elijah!”

Your head fell back in ecstasy. Shuddering, shaking, breathless. The meager orgasms you gave yourself paled in comparison to what his skills provided. This was more than a reunion. It felt like a renaissance of your love, a revival of the sheer extent of joy he gave you space to feel.

“That’s it, darlin’. Fuck, you taste too good. So sweet,” he lapped up your juices hungrily, sending continued jolts of pleasure as you fell back fully onto the comforter.

“Elijah… please,” you moaned, your body twitching away from him from the overload of pleasure.

Your curls had fallen out of the updo you had created for the night, your eyes half closed lazily as your hand rested on your chest. You just needed to catch your breath. You were lucky these days if your orgasms moved you with the strength of the creek near your home. Elijah’s were the force of the ocean, knocking you right off your feet. And yet, you did not know if you actually wanted him to give you reprieve.

You were exhausted. But the chant building in the back of your mind was so much louder. More, more, more.

And frankly, far more enticing.

“You ready for me, pretty girl?”

“Please… I need you.” You would rest plenty amongst the ancestors one of these days. As for tonight? Your words were colored in desperation to be filled to the brink. To feel everything your body harbored and release it into the world.

You watched as he stood up, just long enough to shed the rest of his suit. It accentuated his hard-earned muscles, taunt and straining against his thick physique. But as delectable as it looked on him, it would look far better on the floor.

He unbuckled his pants, his eyes never leaving yours, as he pulled them off.

You licked your lips, your eyes glossing over with lust as you took in his manhood. Hard, thick, and leaking just enough that you wanted to ignore the ache between your legs and steal a taste. You missed the weight of him against your tongue, the salty taste of his cum. But you knew he was not going to let you steal that treat just yet. He was as desperate to be inside you as you were for him to be.

Your logical brain snuck to the forefront for a single moment, showing through in the faintest flicker of fear buried underneath fogs of lust in your eyes. His girth. Even when he made a sport of bending you over every surface in your home day after day, the stretch could still take your breath away. But eight years without him? Without nothing more than a finger or two? You would need him to take it a lot slower than he remembered.

Would that bother him?

“See what you still do to me, darlin? How bad I need you?”

His hand slid down your thigh as he kissed you before gripping your hips. He lined himself up with your weeping entrance. However, he paused as your body tensed beneath him, anticipating the sharp pain of his thrust.

“What’s wrong, darlin?”

“N-Nothin’.”

“It’s somethin’. You wanna stop? We ain’t gotta-”

“NO! No!” You almost shouted, Smoke holding back laughter at the aggrieved look on your face at the idea that you’d ever want this to end. You glanced up at him with your perfect doe eyes and whispered, “It’s not that. It’s… silly.”

Elijah shook his head as he lazily rubbed his tip along your entrance, coating it in your juices and teasing you. “You ain’t never said nothin’ silly to me. I ain’t movin’ till you talk to me.”

Maybe we do hate him, you seriously considered for a moment. When all you desired was a hiding place, the man you fell in love with would never allow you to wallow in darkness. It was why you fell in love with him, even if you hated it sometimes.

“I just… haven’t been with anyone since you left. Not like this, anyway. N I remember what you like. Just… may need you to go a little easy on me at first, baby.”

“Worried you can’t take me, baby?” The heat of his breath tickled your skin as his lips dragged against your neck. His touch was so featherlike, you questioned whether he was actually touching you. “Cause I know you can. My girl can take me. Just relax n I’ll go as slow as you need.”

A lesser man would’ve just sheathed himself in your heat without consideration to the hesitation in your muscles. He likely would not have even noticed. But not Elijah.

He sucked at a sweet spot on your neck, his greatest discovery on his many voyages of your body, to add bursts of pleasure to the painful sting as he pushed inside you.

“Shit, shit, shit. Elijah… i-It hurts,” you cried out at the familiar stretch of being filled by him.

“Deep breaths, darlin’. Keep those pretty eyes on me.”

He kept his eyes on you as he sank deeper and deeper into them, and you. You breathed through it, feeling every inch of him fill you again, your soft whimpers and moans instructing his pace. When he bottomed out inside you, he held you there for a few moments, letting you adjust to it.

Your eyes connected for a moment and it felt as if the world cracked open around you. Everything else sifted away like sand. There was no him. No you. Just a love so eternal, it floated you above to the heavens before gently guiding you back home.

“Fuck. You’re takin’ me so well, darlin.”

For Smoke, you knew slow only meant cautious. His strokes remained as deliberate and powerful as you once remembered. However, today, he maintained a pace that forced you to remember what every inch of him felt like.

His grip on the meat of your hips was tight as if he worried something would steal you from right beneath him. Your legs wrapped tightly around his waist as he fucked into you with controlled precision, his entire being focused on bringing you pleasure.

“Yes! Shit, Elijah! I love it, I love it.”

“You like how I’m fuckin’ this pussy, baby? I can tell this fuckin’ tight pussy missed me, darlin’.”

“You f-feel soooo good, Eli… don’t stop. Ah!” You cried out at the uncomfortable stretch in the back of your thighs as he brought your legs to rest on his shoulders, allowing him fuck you deeper.

A litany of curse words flooded your room as you felt him deep in your guts as he fucked you slow and hard. Your eyes rolled back into your head as every stroke forced you deeper into your mattress.

“No nigga gon’ touch what’s yours n what’s mine again, you understand? You’re mine.” His words were punctuated by the loud slaps of skin as his hips hit the back of your thighs with every thrust. “Tell me whose you are, baby?”

“I’m yours!” You panted, your heart fluttering like a sea of swallowtails in the wind at his declaration. And there was no one else’s you’d rather be. “I l-love you. Fuckkkk, I love you.”

You felt as if time slowed down for you or perhaps you were too enthralled in each other as he showed you the secrets of this universe time after time after time. He had no reason to rush as he moved you from position to position and forced you to feel every moment in each one. You screamed his name over and over again as he fucked you with abandon.

The closer he came to, what you knew would be his last release for the night, he had lost all control. Your body fell into his as he pounded into you, your thighs giving out while you rode him. Your body breathless and utterly spent. But you both were chasing one last high, the perfect explosion of euphoria that would allow you to collapse in a heap of limbs until midday tomorrow.

“Eli… baby.. I-it’s too much. I c-can’t…”

“Don’t run from me, darlin’. You can take it, pretty girl. Last one for me,” he demanded, the vibrations of his voice enthralling you like a spell you could not withstand.

He pounded into you, your pussy clenching around him as you felt your orgasm build.

“Where you want it, darlin’?” He asked, his words accentuated with grunts as he bounced your body up and down on his dick.

You could barely formulate thoughts, your mind a canvas with his name painted over and over again. You just wanted to feel him. You were spent, your body maxed out and you still craved more? To feel every single thing he could offer?

“Inside me, baby!”

“Don’t say that shit to me, Y/N.” His voice was a lethal warning. A dangerous proposition that you both knew would unleash a feral side of Elijah, a man possessed.

But that was exactly what you wanted. What you needed.

“Need you to fill me, baby. Please,” you unabashedly begged into his ear, tears streaming down your face from the force of his strokes.

“Gonna fuckin’ flood this sweet ass pussy, fill you with my baby. You’d like that? Keep you in here, safe, round n pregnant?” Every word accompanied his most powerful strokes of the night, reaching places you believed to be anatomically impossible.

But you asked for this, demanded it actually. And you did not have an ounce of regret.

You crashed first as a last particularly deep thrust sent you tumbling off the summit. Your toes curled as he thrust into you final time, your orgasm only continuing in waves as you felt him fill you with warmth.

Your orgasm faded slowly as you felt him pulsing like a heartbeat inside you, coating your walls with his seed. He held you against him for a few moments, giving you both a moment to get your boots solidly planted on solid Earth. But there was also some small part of you that just did not want him to move, did not want this moment to end even though it lasted all night.

He let you feel him deflate inside you, his hands rubbing soothing circles on your back as he held you close. You whimpered when he finally released himself from your warmth, shifting your boneless frame into a new position.

“Stay right there, baby. Hold on.”

“As if I could go anywhere,” you muttered lazily, you imagined your legs would work about as well as a newborn baby’s.

Your eyes started to fall shut in the few short moments it took him to grab a wet towel to clean the mess between your thighs. Once he was satisfied, he lifted your body and repositioned you so you were resting on your pillow.

Elijah walked around to his side of the bed, everything on his nightstand exactly as he left it. He had been so worried, scared that he would not recognize you or this place when he returned. He would’ve understood it, accepted it. He left, not you. But it would’ve been a difficult hurt to reckon with.

Time ensured that things had evolved. You had grown older, wiser, as he had, more slick at the mouth like Stack than he remembered. But the core of you, the girl he fell in love under a live oak tree? She was still standing, still as steady, vibrant, and uniquely her as he remembered.

Smoke had seen all the jewels and all the suffering this world offered its hands. He’d traveled every part of this world with his other half to find it, the amount of money or power to feel like no one could have power over them again. But no trucks filled to the brim of money could make him feel a fraction of the freedom you did. He had not needed to go searching for more when he had you and his brother. That was everything that mattered.

He slid into his side of the bed and immediately brought you into his chest. Muscle memory. Your soft brown eyes opened long enough to savor one last look at him before sleep consumed you. Your fingers played in the coarse hair of his beard as he brought your thigh to drape over his, allowing you to be as close as possible.

“Never thought I’d have this again. Thank you for comin’ back to me,” you whispered, pressing a soft kiss to his lips.

“Don’t thank me. I shouldn’t’ve left. N I’m sorry. But I’m gonna make it up to you like I said.”

“I know you will, Elijah Moore,” you grinned at him. “But don’t think we ain’t still havin’ that fight tomorrow,” you warned.

He would gladly fight with you all day if that was what you needed to heal, to move forward.

“I don’t expect nothin’ else.”

His lips curled into a rare smile, not his half one. But a true smile, as small as it was, it flooded your world with the light of the Sun. Decades with him and your heart still skipped a beat when Elijah Moore smiled at you. Your eyes welled up with tears as you savored the moment.

“Still make you cry that easy, huh?” He teased. “With just a smile?”

You gently swatted at his shoulder in faux annoyance. “Thought you’d given me your last smile a long time ago, I guess.” Your hand rested on his chest as he held you. “I missed it.”

“I’ll always give you a smile, Y/N. And my shoulder,” he winked at her, an ode to their history. Rich and long it was, but it still felt like yesterday.

He opened his arms, inviting you to snuggle into his chest in your preferred sleeping position. Your cheek rested against his chest, the light thumbs of his heart lulling you to sleep. A sigh of relief and contentment escaped your lips as you settled against him, his arms tightening around you.

Sleep came easier than it had in eight years. You were finally home.

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A/N: It's 2 am, idk who I think I am being up this late but when I tell y'all I was on a ROLL hahaha anyway, this became so much longer than it should've and took too long (sorry!) butttttt had to do big daddy justice hahaha

Drop a comment and let me know what you thought! Thanks for reading!

Also I got a lot of the tags but not everyone! So sorry!! I'll update when it isn't 2 am lol

#black writers #michael b jordan x oc #black panther #michael b jordan #michael b jordan x reader #sinners #sinners 2025 #smoke x reader #elijah smoke moore

510 notes · View notes

lyvhie · 10 months ago

Text

forgive me, father | lmk

priest!mark x fem!reader (18+ mdni)

summary: it was really difficult to finally corrupt your favorite priest.

a/n: just a short one i wrote at the subway on my way to college while i try to finish other fics 😔

cw: smut, religious themes, virgin!mark 😝, unprotected sex (i always forget), pet names, read part 2 here.

mark dedicated himself to a life of righteous servitude to the will of god. it was his mission to fight against the darkness and corruption that threatened to consume his world, an obligation to save those who could not save themselves. everything he had done, every choice he made, was done in the belief that it was god's will.

yet all that came crashing down, when you arrived. the one person who could disrupt his entire mission, undoing everything he had worked for, making his service to god seem meaningless.

when you first stepped foot into the church, mark's eyes were on you, but not much thought was given beyond a passing glance. you were merely an unfamiliar face among many. yet, as the days passed, he found himself drawn by the way you looked at him.

he felt your eyes on him, and found your gaze almost stripping him of his usual composure, as if you could see through all his facades. he could sense the desire in your gaze, and it made him feel both exposed and strangely captivated.

but it was fine. mark was no stranger to the attention that came with being a young priest. people were often impressed by his dedication to his role, yet quick to comment that it was a shame for someone as attractive as him to be bound by the church.

things took a turn for the complicated when you started coming to the confession booth with your sins in tow, seeking god's forgiveness. you made it a habit to request a session in the confessional after every mass, claiming to have sinned and in need of forgiveness.

on the surface, it seemed like a normal part of his duties as a priest, but he couldn't shake the nagging feeling that your visits were not entirely about atonement.

mark's suspicions were confirmed when your confession took a darker turn. you claimed that the devil himself was visiting you in your dreams, taking the form of him and engaging in the most sinful and perverse acts imaginable.

mark was momentarily speechless, struck by the detailed and explicit nature of your dreams. the fact that you spoke so blatantly and without shame about your experiences left him reeling, as if there was a hint of pleasure beneath the surface of your innocent confession. though he couldn't see your face, he could detect a sense of enjoyment in your voice, making him question if you were truly seeking absolution.

he tried to keep a stoic and neutral demeanor throughout your sessions, recognizing that it was his duty as a priest to listen to your worries and absolve you of your sins. yet, deep down, he couldn't deny the effect your words were having on him. the vivid descriptions and your lack of shame stirred something within him, tempting him to let go of his priestly restraint.

mark found it increasingly difficult to maintain his focus during the mass with your glances and suggestive actions. the way you would look at him, biting your lip, wearing clothes that teetered on the edge of propriety, it all made it nearly impossible for him to concentrate on his duties as a divine messenger.

“father…” mark's ears caught the sound of your sweet and coy voice as you approached him after the end of the sacrade. "it happened again," you said, asking for the chance to confess your sins once more.

his only answer was a gentle smile as he guided you to the confessional booth. despite his best efforts to maintain composure, he couldn't help but feel a mixture of anticipation and unease at the thought of what you might confess this time.

“forgive me, father, for i have sinned,” mark braced himself as he heard your familiar start, already tensing in anticipation of what was to come. “it has been a day since my last confession, and despite your absolution, god still seems to be testing me."

“i see," he said quietly, his voice a bit tighter. "and how exactly did you give into the temptation?”

your voice came through in a sigh, and despite your seemingly disappointed tone, mark could detect the deception beneath it. "our last encounter was even better than everything else we had until now," you confessed. "as usual, he climbed into my bed and lay with me, whispering sweet nothings into my ear as his hands roamed my body, touching me with so much sweetness. despite my pleas to god for wisdom, i find myself unable to resist him.”

and so the confession proceeded just as he expected. you told him how the devil, disguised as him, played with all the sweet spots on your body, bringing you to ecstasy countless times to the point where you forgot your own name or at least thought about how what you were doing was wrong, making you crave for more and more. you told him about how frustrating it was for you to have to wake up and realize it was a dream and be forced to satisfy your needs by yourself.

as your words filled the confessional, mark desperately sought to distract his mind. he silently recited the entire lord's prayer, clenching his fists beneath his cassock in an attempt to control the aching erection that strained against his clothing.

mark's heart leaped in his chest as he snapped out of his thoughts, only to find you beginning to conclude your confession. "that's why, father..." you said, your tone suddenly taking a different turn. "after conversing with god, i’ve come to understand that the only way to free myself from these torments is to utterly surrender to these desires.”

“w… what do you mean by that?" confusion etched on his face, he wasn't sure where this was leading.

“i realized that my confessions are doing nothing to help me stop sinning," you sigh. "although your words of comfort ease my heart, it's not enough. what i truly need... is you, mark.”

mark's breath hitched in his throat as your words reached his ears, the way you said his name sent shivers down his spine. he wasn't fool; he understood the implications of what you were saying, and this froze him for a moment as he pondered his response.

it's not that he wasn't used to this kind of approach, but the problem is that it was completely straightforward and came from you. he would be lying if he said he didn't feel some level of attraction towards you.

mark silently thanked god that the confessional booth was separated by a wooden wall, shielding you from the sight of his flushed face. his heart pounded in his chest as he realized the effect your words and presence were having on him. it scared him how easily you could make his emotions spiral out of control, awakening desires he never thought he would feel for a congregant.

mark swallowed hard, taking a deep breath before he began to speak gently. “listen,” he said, his voice composed yet filled with compassion. “while i sympathize with your situation, you must understand that i have duties as a servant of god that prevent me from indulging in acts that go against my beliefs.”

he took a moment to gather his thoughts, contemplating the difficult position he was in. "not only that," he continued. "but there are the obligations of my chastity vows. all i can offer you is my daily prayers, in the hope that god will save your soul."

after his words, an eerie silence filled the confessional booth. mark was consumed with worry, wondering if his response had been too blunt, perhaps even hurtful. maybe he inadvertently made you feel desperate with his refusal to support you in such a hard moment.

he tried to call your name in an attempt to soothe you, but before he could even process what was happening, the door to his side of the confessional booth suddenly swung open, and there you were, stepping into the cramped space. the small confines of the booth made it impossible for the both of you to maintain any distance, your bodies pressed closely together.

in the dim light, mark could make out your face, and it was evident that you were far from happy. annoyed, frustrated, or even angry — whichever it was, it was the first time he had seen such a look on your face. it was a stark contrast from the usual coy or sultry expressions you usually wore.

mark's heart skipped a beat as you spoke, your voice taking on a lower tone. "you know, i’m tired of this game," you said, locking eyes with him.

he swallowed hard, feeling his lips suddenly go dry. "what do you mean?" he managed to ask, his voice trembling slightly.

your voice was sharp, laced with annoyance, as you spoke. "you know damn well what i’m talking about," you continued, your eyes narrowing. "every day, i come here, saying all this nonsense about the devil to share my fantasies with you, and yet here we are, with you still acting like some pure little priest instead of fucking me.”

mark's eyes widened slightly, his mouth opening and closing a few times, struggling to find the right words to respond.

when he finally found his voice, he began hesitantly, "i... i can't, you know i can't. i'm a priest, and i have—"

you cut him off, scoffing and rolling your eyes. "cut the bullshit," you said firmly. "you can't, but you want it. i see the way you look at me, father. it's the same eyes i give you, so don't even bother lying."

mark flinched slightly at your words, feeling a pang of guilt at being seen through so easily. he couldn't deny it. he knew he was having a hard time concealing his true feelings.

mark swallowed hard, his voice quivering slightly as he attempted to deny your accusation. "i do not..." he started, his words faltering. but before he could finish, you leaned even closer, your faces mere centimeters apart. he could feel the heat radiating from your skin, the scent of your perfume filling his senses.

mark couldn't help but follow your gaze as your eyes wandered down to his lips, and he felt an undeniable magnetic pull drawing his attention to your own lips. almost involuntarily, his eyes fixated on them, noticing the subtle wetness left by your sultry tongue. the small confines of the booth made it impossible to ignore the growing tension between you.

"i'll kiss you.”

mark's eyes widened in shock as you announced and, before he could protest, your lips were already on his, pressing against them with a force that left him dumbfounded. the action was so unexpected, so brazen, that he couldn't find it within himself to pull away.

and honestly, he didn't even know if he wanted to.

your gentle touch on his chin was like a command, and he found himself parting his lips to allow your tongue access. a guttural sound escaped his throat, equal parts surprise and pleasure. in a moment of weakness or perhaps surrender, he gave in to the intoxicating kiss, his tongue greedily responding to yours. the taste of your lips and the heat of your tongue sent shivers down his spine, awakening a hunger within him that he had locked away for so long.

mark's hand instinctively found its way to the back of your neck, pulling you even closer as the cramped space around you seemed to grow hotter with each passing moment. his heart pounded loudly in his chest, the rapid rhythm almost resonating in his head. a whirlwind of conflicting thoughts filled his mind — how wrong it was, how he was throwing away everything he had defended as a priest.

with effort that felt as if he was fighting against his own nature, mark managed to summon enough strength to break the kiss and pull away from you. both of you were left breathless, struggling to regain your composure as a thin line of saliva connected your mouths. his eyes were clouded with a mixture of desire and conflict, torn between duty and yearning.

"ah, finally," you sighed, a hint of satisfaction in your voice. "i’ve been waiting for this so long, you have no idea."

mark felt the words nearly escape his own lips, a silent 'me too' trapped in his throat. but he clenched his jaw, his voice sounding harsher than he meant as he responded, "don't do this again."

your frown deepened as you heard his response, your earlier enthusiasm now replaced by confusion and disappointment. "what?" you asked, your voice laced with disbelief.

mark shook his head as he struggled to hold onto his convictions. "this is just... not right," he repeated, his voice filled with guilt. "that was a mistake."

"are you really going to insist on this?" you repeated, your voice gentler now, as you leaned forward to plant a few gentle pecks on his lips.

but mark's response was a feeble protest, a whispered "stop." he tried to resist, turning his head to evade your kisses, but you pursued him relentlessly, and he couldn't help but reciprocate for a brief moment before pulling back again to avoid your advances.

“stop,” he spoke more firmly this time, his grip on your shoulders tightening as he held you in place. "please," he said, his voice tinged with guilt and resolve. "let's not... just stop,” he then let out a deep sigh. “i will forget what just happened here," he continued. "so about your dreams... i'll keep praying for god to help you, and you should do the same."

you clicked your tongue, the sound cutting through the tense atmosphere, your eyes narrowing as you both engaged in a silent exchange. mark felt the weight of guilt heavy on his shoulders, he knew deep down that he could not give in to your desires, no matter how much he wanted to.

a sense of resignation washed over you as you recognized the firmness in mark's voice and accepted that he would not be swayed this time. you let out an annoyed huff and pushed his hands away from your shoulders.

"fine," you muttered, irritation evident in your tone. “thank you for the special session, father." with that, you briskly stepped out of the confessional, leaving him behind.

as your footsteps echoed away and the church fell into a heavy silence, mark emerged from the confessional, his legs feeling weak and shaky. he leaned against one of the wooden pews, desperate for support as he closed his eyes tightly, trying to regain his composure and calm his trembling body.

mark exhaled slowly, he knew he had barely dodged temptation, but the memory of your lips against his still lingered in his mind. with a solemn expression, he made his way to the dressing room, preparing for the long night ahead, knowing he would need to spend hours in prayer and reflection, seeking forgiveness and strength to resist to you.

he sank down onto the couch and buried his face in his hands, his cassock now neatly folded on top of the small coffee table. as he sat in silence, he couldn't help but acknowledge the physical evidence of his encounter with you. his pants were now uncomfortably tight, and he knew he would have to deal with it his own way when he got home.

despite the image he portrayed as a devout priest, mark was not immune to human desires and weaknesses. he had occasionally fantasized about moments like this with you too, allowing himself to acknowledge the human emotions and needs that existed within him.

but the pull of priesthood was strong, and he quickly cast away these conflicted thoughts, replacing them with fervorous prayers, seeking forgiveness for even considering any form of deviance from his sacred path.

however, this time, after finally having tasted just a little bit of you, he wasn't so sure he was strong enough to not give in to temptation, especially after finding out that your confessions were just a way to get his attention — which certainly worked.

mark's thoughts were abruptly interrupted by a series of knocks on the door, causing him to raise his eyebrows in slight confusion. he tried to recall if he had any scheduled meetings or visits from believers that night, but nothing came to mind.

with a mixture of curiosity and concern, mark made his way to the door, his mind racing with thoughts about who could be seeking him at such a late hour. he hoped that no one had witnessed or heard the intimate encounter he had shared with you in the confessional, silently praying that he would not have to deal with any unwanted questions or accusations.

“father, it's me.”

mark's worries subsided a bit as he heard your voice on the other side of the door. although he wasn't necessarily eager to see you at that particular moment, it was preferable to encountering anyone else.

but soon he got tense again. you saw each other not long ago and the goodbye wasn't really one of the friendliest you've ever had, so what exactly brought you here?

he reached out to open the door and, once again, before he could even form any words, you grabbed his face and roughly pulled him against your lips, kissing him with such a hunger that left him breathless.

despite the initial shock, mark found himself responding to your kiss with equal fervor, his hands instinctively resting on your hips as you pushed him backwards onto the couch. the unexpected turn of events left him disoriented, but the growing desire coursing through his body overshadowed any rational thoughts.

mark couldn't help but let out a soft moan as you settled yourself on his lap, straddling him with your legs on either side of his body. you pulled back a little to look at him, seeing how out of breath he was made you laugh.

“looks like someone was waiting for this, hm?” you asked as you moved a hand down to caress his bulge over his clothes, making him inhale sharply at the sensation.

mark wasn't thinking about god or sin anymore, now he was just thinking with his dick, barely able to hide how happy he was that you came back as he nodded at your question, his eyes clouded with need.

mark knew that resisting you any further was like trying to swim against a strong current – a futile endeavor. his gaze, now fixed on you, silently pleaded with you to do something about the aching need that had taken hold of him. he no longer wanted to deny the burning desire that danced within him, even if regret would come later.

and you definitely understood that, his big, sparkling eyes told you everything you needed to know, and a smile appeared on your lips. you leaned in to kiss his neck, and then whisper in his ear.

“i’ll be your first, right?” your whisper sending shivers down his spine. “yes,” he said shyly, feeling his ears getting hot. seeming satisfied, you chuckled, tracing the shell of his ear with the tip of your tongue “you know, i thought about a lot of ways to make you cum.”

talking dirty to him was one of the options? because it was working already.

"but as much as i want to play with you," you continued, your hands quickly finding their way to his pants, skillfully unbuttoning them and pulling it down with his help. mark sighed in relief as his dick finally managed to breathe, standing proudly as droplets of precum ran from the tip to the base. "i also really need you so desperately and i've waited for so long, so let's do it quickly.”

mark nodded fiercely, his heart was beating so loud that he was sure you could hear it. he couldn't hold back his moan when you wrapped a hand around his hard cock and stroke it a few times. it was much more better than do it by himself, honestly.

he was holding his breath in anticipation, as he saw you popping up a little to align his cock with your pussy, gasping when he felt you tease yourself with the tip, brushing against your slick folds.

you hadn't been exaggerating when you mentioned your sense of urgency earlier. your choice of outfit for the day was a deliberate one, a thin dress without any panties beneath, specifically selected to make things convenient.

you wanted to tease him more, but your own sense of urgency only allowed you to slowly sink down, you were so wet that he slipped in easily. a guttural sound came from the back of his throat as he felt your gummy walls enveloping him in a warm embrace.

"oh, god," he breathed out, squeezing his eyes shut and throwing his head back. he could swear heaven looked exactly like what he was feeling right now.

all the times he had jerked off thinking about you, about what it would be like to be in a moment like this, nothing compared to the actual feeling of being balls deep inside you.

and you were no better than him, all the wait was worth it. your face was buried on his neck as you savored the feeling of his tip kissing your cervix.

his hands tightened their grip on your hips, holding you firmly in place. his chest rose and fell with each shallow, quickened breath, his eyes fluttering open just in time to catch the playful laugh that escaped your lips.

"feel that good?" you asked, a hint of mischief in your tone.

as you spoke, mark looked up to meet your gaze, his face now flush with a deep blush from embarrassment and pleasure apparent. “yes,” his voice barely a whisper. “it feels amazing. fuck, it does.”

a slightly arrogant smile took over your face as you heard his admission, it was a wonderful delight to know that you were the one making him feel this way without even having started the real thing.

"then, i'll make you feel even better," you pecked his lips before placing your hands on his shoulders and start to move.

now this was driving him crazy — more than it already was. he couldn't quite put into words, but the way he kept rubbing your inner walls, the way you occasionally clenched around him, the way his name rolled off your tongue in a sweet moan, everything was from another world.

mark wasn’t quite sure what to do other than let you take the lead, but his body moved on its own as he began thrusting his hips up to meet your movements halfway.

his moans and whimpers grew louder as he felt his climax building up, it usually wasn't this quick when he did it himself, but he couldn't hold back when he had your pussy gripping him like that.

he managed to call your name softly, “i-i’m gonna cum,” he warned, beads of sweat running down his forehead. “mhm, i know,” your voice slightly husky. “since it’s your first time, i’ll let you enjoy it until the end,” you continued, “you can cum inside me, sweetie.”

his eyes widened at your words, but he wouldn't and didn't want to protest, he wasn’t on his best judgment right now. he only wrapped his arms around your waist, pressing you against him tightly and burying his face on the crook of your neck, thrusting harder, faster.

he felt the familiar knot of his belly, his body tensing and his balls tightening as his thrusts became sloppier. it wasn't long before he came undone under you, painting your walls white as he bit down hard on your neck, muffling his loud moan.

mark leaned back, sinking into the plush cushion of the couch, pulling you with him. the room fell into a hushed silence, the only sounds that could be heard were the soft, uneven breaths of the both of you. mark's arms wrapped around you in a simple yet intimate embrace, holding you close against him, as if he didn't want to let go just yet. his cock softened inside you, keeping his hot seed there, prolonging your feeling of being completely full.

“what are you thinking right now?” you break the silence after a moment and mark chuckled softly at your question, his grip on you loosening slightly as he relaxed into the embrace.

he took a moment to gather his thoughts, his fingers tracing small circles on your back. "i was just thinking about how i might have never experienced such a wonderful… moment if you hadn't been so insolent," he replied, a hint of amusement in his voice.

you pulled away slightly, resting your hands on his shoulders to get a better look at him. a cheeky smile tugged at your lips as you teased, "i’m glad i could be of service. you'll never forget me now," you paused for a moment, your gaze fixed firmly on him. then, you leaned in a bit closer, your voice lowering to a sultry tone. “and, i hope you're ready for more.”

“m-more?” mark blinked a few times, his mind slowly processing the reality of what had just occurred. he was still reeling from the overwhelming pleasure of your touch and now, with his mind clearing, the reality of the situation was sinking in.

“well, i told you i thought of many ways to make you cum, didn't i?”

#mark smut #mark lee smut #mark x reader #nct smut #nct x reader #nct dream smut #nct dream x reader

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