in my 20's just reblogging fics. MDNI

Johnny joins him. “Mom didn’t teach you anything about respect?” The table goes quiet. Despite it being awkward now, you feel relieved. Looks like your teammates still have your back.

But, unfortunately the silence doesn't last long as the inferior sergeant snorts out a laugh. "Oh please, that ain't no woman!" Your throat tightens at that.

His lieutenant busts out laughing at the outburst. "Jesus, Lietenant, I know you like men but I thought you'd still recognize a broad from a beast." Your entire body burns. You really thought you did it. You made yourself smaller, dumber, weaker. Isn't that what they want? Isn't that what you need to be to be loved? Maybe not loved but just enough to be desired… to be wanted. What else do you have to do in order to be picked? What if there's nothing you can do to be loved?

Your thoughts of self-wallow come to a screeching halt when Ghost's fist connects to the other lieutenant's face. There's no doubt he broke some bones there. The sad-excuse of a sergeant freaks out, surprised with the sudden show of strength. He screeches at Ghost and ask what's his problem as he picks up the bleeding man.

"Men like you!" Ghost hisses. He grabs the two men and swiftly drags them out the bar, leaving behind a proud Soap and stunned you at the table.

What just happened?

— — —

Two thoughts immediately run through Johnny's head: that's my man and are you okay? He looks over at you and takes note of the lost look in your eyes.

"Hey bonnie," he coos. He scoots closer to you but stops as soon as he sees your body flinch. Baby steps. "I'm sorry about that."

You keep your gaze towards door. "Not the first time I've seen the Lieutenant punch a man. I'll live."

"Not talking about Ghost. If anything, he should have punched the both of them," Johnny quickly corrects. You turn to look at him, completely taken aback by what he's said. "Those guys. They shouldn't have spoken to you like that. You didn't deserve that."

You gulp hard and just nod your head. You keep your gaze on the door while Johnny keeps his eyes on you. He takes a good look at your figure. Despite thinking you look good, he can practically feel your discomfort. So without a second thought, Johnny takes off his long sleeve, leaving himself in a white tank-top, and nudges it towards you. You do a double take and pause as he pushes his shirt towards you.

Johnny waits with bated breath for your response but you say nothing and just alternate between looking at him and his shirt. Shit. Did he do too much again? Can he really not do anything right? Will he be the reason why him and Simon are going to lose out on—

"Thank you, Johnny."

As his shirt slowly wraps around your body, Johnny can't help but get slightly aroused by the fact that you're wearing his shirt. Fuck. He really hopes this isn't the last time.

"Good?" he asks.

Tears brim your eyes as you nod. Fighting against the urge to hold you, Johnny does the next best thing. He lays his hand over yours on the table and after a few squeezes, he lets you go. You thank him again and throw him a small smile.

Baby steps.

— — —

It's not long until Simon returns. He doesn't think he's ever felt this good after beating two guys to a pulp. The icing on the cake was watching you perk up when he came back to the table. For the first time in awhile, he feels hopeful. Maybe him and Johnny can do this. Maybe they can woo you and make you the happiest woman in the world.

All he needs to do now is clear up one little misconceptiom.

"I like women."

Perfect. He's done it. Now there should be no doubt in your mind that Simon is into yo—

Why are you looking at him like that? Maybe you didn't hear him. No worries. He can clarify.

"I like women too. They said I like men which I do but I also like women." You still look confused which only confuses Simon more. What's not to understand? He likes women, specifically you at the moment, but that is a conversation for another day.

Needing back-up from Johnny, Simon looks over to his lover but instead of support, the British man recieves a pointed glare.

...

…

Oooh.

Johnny is for sure going to smack him later.

"Okay… that's nice," you slowly say.

The three of you go silent which makes Simon nervous. Did he over-do it? Do you think he's weird now? Is this the end?

Fortunately, before he can spiral further, you speak up. "Still, thanks for that, Lieutenant. I really appreciate it."

Maybe he's not a total lost cause.

— — —

After thanking Ghost one last time, you make the effort to leave the table but are quickly stopped.

"Where do you think you're going?"

"Stay."

You try to reason with them. You already messed up the first half of their night. Why not leave now and let them enjoy what's left of it. That's the least your lonely self can do for the happy couple. Despite this making perfect sense for you, Ghost and Soap are not easily swayed.

"You didn't ruin our night. Those wankers did," Soap passionately defends.

You let out a deep breath and look over at Ghost, hoping he'll see reason. He pauses for a bit to take a good look at you and for a minute you think you're in the clear. He's for sure going to see how pathetic you are and let you go. You're nothing compared to the Lieutenant and his sergeant. The best thing you can do now is get out of their sight (and these clothes).

You wait with bated breath as Ghost leans real close to your face. He pauses. His breath hits your face. It takes everything in you to not take in a deep breath. Jesus, you're pathetic.

"You staying would make this night a whole lot better," he admits. Soap enthustiastically shakes his head.

"Please, bonnie, stay with us." You hesistate for bit. There's no way they want you to stay. You take a good look at both and try to catch a trace of pity in their eyes. But instead of pity, you find deep and honest admiration.

"I guess a few more drinks won't hurt."

Maybe this is enough.

Word Count: 1203

Previous - Masterlist - Next

“But sir I need to do this-“ anger evident in the frown of your brows, yet still wanting to remain professional you switch the sharp end of your voice to a softer tone.

“It won’t be painful I promise sir” reassuring him. tired you offer a fake smile, slowly attempting to inject the needle into his ve-

“Please docta don’t do this to me-“ Kyle shouts. failing to contain his laughter he bends down stumbling out of the chair, in the process undoing the tourniquet you worked hard on.

“KYLEEE” you push him back into the seat “LET ME DO THIS”

Professionalism be damned, he’s annoying as hell.

This has been going on for two hours now, Kyle Gaz Garrick volunteered to be your patient, practice dummy for your final that’s around the corner.

‘Managing unwilling patients’

You asked him if he could act a bit “difficult” because that’s exactly what the professor mentioned he was going to test the students on.

But all Kyle has done is raise your blood pressure ten fold.

“Excuse me ??? Did you just yell at me ? WOW” he snickers, fingers pushing your hands away trying to redo the trinket for the millionth time.

“Kyle I swear to fucking go-“ you almost strike him.

The action caught him off guard, putting on a terrified look, he gasps then wipes fake tears from the corner of his eyes.

“I’m calling HR on ya” accent heavy with sarcasm.

Yep you’re going to fail.

“And I’m going to stab you with the needle and then choke you with the tourniquet Kyle.” you shove him back into the chair.

You came into his life mercilessly—in the best possible way. Simon had been through more than enough unforgiving shit to believe in any higher power, but if he did, then there wouldn’t be a single doubt in his heart that God himself had sent you. You fit into him like you’d been put on earth for that purpose. Everything he’d been through suddenly wasn’t nearly as bad, so long as he could have you in his life.   

You understood him without speaking, you comforted him without prodding, and you loved him without hurting. 

The night terrors didn’t startle you—you still slept by his side and poured him water when he couldn’t even form coherent sentences, too shaken by his memories to think straight. The scars that adorned every inch of his skin had become a familiar map you traced with feather-light touches every night to put him to sleep. Whenever you spoke about him, there was always a trace of pride in your voice he’d never heard from anyone else. 

Maybe Simon Riley didn’t do hugs or kisses or cuddles, but you did. 

You sought his touch like your life depended on it. While you didn’t shy away from mundane, fleeting moments—squeezing his arm, running a hand through his hair, planting soft kisses on his cheek—what you really craved was to be held.

It took him embarrassingly long to notice the link between your shift in attitude and how long it’d been since his arms had been wrapped around you. It would’ve been easier if you’d used your words, until it became clear to him even you weren’t aware of it. 

It was gradual, but not subtle. One moment, you’d be curled on the sofa, book on your lap and humming something absentmindedly. You’d smile at him, or compliment him, or give him that look so full of love it made his brain short-circuit. Then you’d be irritable, annoyed the slightest of noise, and would stop whatever you were doing.

Today, you gave him a small wave before returning your focus to the book who’d stolen you from him for the past three days—something about dragons, something about riders. He had no idea, but he’d gotten you the second one already, just in case. 

He kissed the top of your head, drawing a satisfied hum from you. 

“M’getting’ a drink with Johnny,” he said, tapping the page of your book so you’d pay attention to him. “Won’t be long.”

You barely registered his words as you waved at him the way he’d wave at a cashier. He rolled his eyes, a gesture he never knew could carry affection, and grabbed his keys from the counter. 

The second he walked through the doorway, he heard the clock ticking in his head. He heard it while he sipped on his first pint of Boddies. He heard it while Johnny talked about his football team like the Celtic had any chance at winning anything outside the confines of Scotland. He heard it while he waited by the pump at the petrol station, foot tapping impatiently against the concrete. He heard it while he fumbled with his keys at the door, well aware of how long he’d been gone. 

It wasn’t until he stepped into the flat that the clocked stopped ticking, and in its place rang an alarm. A loud, jarring one in the shape of your abandoned book on the coffee table and the sound of the shower running. He pressed his lips into a thin line as he roamed through the flat, slowly removing his layers. 

He knew how to play the game—one you weren’t even aware of. 

He left his coat on the rack, next to your own. His shoes were left by the door, otherwise you would’ve cut off his legs. His face-mask had been thrown in the bin the second he walked into the bedroom. He left his phone on the nightstand and lowered himself on the bed, just by the edge. 

By the time you walked out of the bathroom—hair dripping wet, Simon’s shirt sticking to your body in ways that made him wish he hadn’t gone out with Johnny, shorts so short they barely covered anything—he sat with his elbows on his knees and his chin rested on one of his palms. 

You were upset. 

He could see it on your furrowed brows and slow, deep breaths. He could see it on the way you walked up to him without saying a word, silently looking down at him with those eyes of yours. He could see it on the pout on your lips. 

He didn’t give you the time to speak. He reached and intertwined his fingers with yours. You smelled like that bodywash that drove him crazy—the one you’d used since you first met. The shirt smelled like him, which threw him off guard only for a second before he pulled you onto his lap. 

You straddled him with ease, a clear sign of how many times you’d done this. His lap had become your preferred spot—reading, kissing, talking. He let go of your hand only to move his palms to the small of your back. You wrapped your legs around his middle and let your forehead crash against the curve of his neck, taking in his scent. 

The alarm in his head went quiet. 

He ran a slow hand up and down your spine, letting the moment simmer in comfortable silence for a beat longer. You wrapped your arms around him—one over his shoulder, the other under his arm. Your hold wasn’t tight, but it felt desperate. You nuzzled the curve of his neck, and Simon felt almost pathetic for the groan you drew from him. 

The same arms that had held military-grade weapons now wrapped around your frame with utmost care. He pressed you against his chest tighter as he placed a slow kiss on your temple, your skin warm against his lips. 

Like a plant that’d finally been watered, you perked up at the gesture. You sighed softly before placing a slow kiss on his neck, finally lifting your head. 

He grunted at the sudden warmth that spread through his body, closing his eyes momentarily. “Careful there.”

You giggled, arms now wrapped around his neck. He took in the sight—your now bright eyes, your frown gone, and your smile wide. You placed a kiss to the corner of his lips, and it was then that Simon knew your tank was nearly full. 

His grip on your hips tightened, fingers digging into the soft, exposed flesh. He closed the distance between the two of you, lips crashing against your own. You tasted like toothpaste, he probably still tasted like beer—it didn’t matter. You let out a surprised groan against his lips, which lit a fire in his chest. 

You pulled away smiling. With your arms still wrapped around his neck, you leaned back, trusting Simon to keep you from falling over. He couldn’t help but smile back at you, almost involuntarily. His hold didn’t falter—he’d never let you fall.

“How’s the book?” he rasped, eyes still locked onto your lips with something that resembled hunger. 

You huffed. “Couldn’t finish it. Suddenly didn’t feel like reading anymore, dunno why.”

He chuckled, full of amusement. Maybe you hadn’t figured it out, but he knew why. But he wouldn’t say it, because if you’d been put on this earth for him, then he’d also been put on this earth for you. And Simon Riley would hold you in his arms for the rest of his life if you’d let him. 

Now he found himself anticipating these nightly performances. You had no idea, but he began to prepare, laying out a towel to catch his release so he wouldn't have to leave his bed. He'd strip down, his body already humming with anticipation as the first sounds drifted through the wall. He'd take his time, edging himself to the rhythm of your pleasure. His hand would wrap around his thickening cock, stroking slowly, so slowly, imagining what your pussy looked like. Did you keep it bare and smooth, or did you have a neat little thatch of hair he could twist around his fingers while his tongue explored every inch of you?

He'd learned your patterns. The way your breath hitched when you first touched your clit, too sensitive at first. That little humming sound you made before you could handle more pressure. He wondered if he could make you come with just his mouth, if you'd sit on his face and grind against his tongue until you were drenching him. The thought made his cock ache, pre-cum beading at the tip as he imagined you riding his face, your thighs trembling around his head, your sweet, musky scent filling his lungs.

The next morning, Ghost was halfway to the kitchen when your door creaked open, revealing you bathed in the hallway's dim light. He froze mid-stride, his eyes locking onto you tracing every detail of your face, those deliciously swollen lips, glistening as if begging to be claimed. When your tongue darted out, a deliberate, slow sweep across that plump lower lip, his spent cock stirred with immediate interest, thickening against the rough denim of his jeans. You lifted your gaze to his, offering a smile that was both sweet and impossibly shy, a glimpse of the innocence he'd been pretending not to notice. His throat worked, but no sound emerged.

Words felt dangerous. Too raw, too honest. If he spoke, he knew exactly what would spill out: "I listened to you finger that pretty cunt last night, and the sounds you made had me coming in my own fucking hand."

So he ducked his head, jaw tight, and forced himself to keep walking, the image of your tongue seared behind his eyes.

After that, it became a delicious torment. A game of silent acknowledgment. Would he catch you in the hallway after hearing those soft whimpers through the wall? Could he maintain composure as he watched those same fingers that had brought you to pleasure curl around your fork at breakfast, the memory of their slick movements making his own hands tremble? Would you notice the way his pants strained, the rigid outline of his cock betraying the thoughts racing through his mind as he imagined those fingers elsewhere?

It had been two months of this exquisite torture; two months of listening, watching, and wanting without a word exchanged. But that was about to change.

You'd been louder than usual the previous night, so much louder that he'd had to bite down on his fist to muffle his own desperate cry as he spilled all over himself, ropes of thick cum painting his stomach and chest. He'd cleaned up with shaky hands and dressed, despite the ungodly hour, driven by a singular purpose: to see you.

You stumbled into the kitchen, bleary-eyed and deliciously disheveled, your oversized shirt pulled up just enough to reveal the lace tops of your thigh-high stockings. You hadn't noticed him yet, sitting in the shadowed corner. His hand moved instinctively to his already aching cock, stroking through the rough fabric as you reached up into the cupboard for that favorite mug of yours.

You stretched up onto your toes, and your shirt rode higher, exposing the perfect curve of your bare ass. You were wearing nothing but a tiny scrap of lace, a thong so thin it barely deserved the name. A low, guttural sound escaped his throat, primal and possessive, making you spin around with a startled gasp.

"Lt?" you squeaked, frantically yanking your shirt down as if to cover the evidence of your own vulnerability.

"Morning," he growled, the word thick with unspoken desire as he took a deliberate sip of his tea, his eyes never leaving yours.

Your fingers toyed nervously with the hem of your shirt, twisting the fabric as if it could anchor you against the storm brewing in his gaze.

"I— I didn't know you were up," you mumbled, turning your back to him to make your tea, your movements suddenly clumsy.

Oh, he was up. His cock was straining against his pants, so hard it bordered on painful, the outline clearly visible in the dim light.

"I'm always up when you are," he said, the double meaning so thick you could almost taste it, a dark chuckle rumbling in his chest.

"Oh," you breathed, the sound barely audible. "I don't know if— I mean— I—"

"It's okay," he reassured, his voice dropping to that deep, husky register that made your thighs clench involuntarily. "You sound lovely. Absolutely fucking beautiful."

"You can hear me?" you squeaked, slapping a hand over your mouth as if that could somehow erase the truth.

"I can hear everything, sweet girl” he said, rising from his chair, his shadow falling over you as he towered above you, forcing your head back to meet his intense gaze.

Your eyes went wide, mouth opening and closing like a fish out of water.

"I- I- Lt. I didn't mean to-"

"You don't have to explain yourself. You're a grown woman. I'm a pervert. It's fine." He said, running his thumb over your bottom lip.

"I didn't know you could hear me." You whispered, pressing a kiss to his thumb. "I would have been- quieter."

"No." He growled. "Don't be quiet. Not on my account." His thumb pressed into your mouth and you instinctively closed your lips around it.

"I think about you when I-" you trailed off, cheeks burning.

Ghost groaned, bucking his hips forward to press his hard cock against your belly.

"You have no idea what you do to me." He mumbled, pressing a second thumb into your mouth.

You moaned and swirled your tongue around his thumbs, wishing it was his cock. You felt yourself pulse, your cunt drooling into your panties. You wanted to beg him to touch you. To push you down to the ground and fuck your little pussy with his fingers. But he just held your face and stared at you with his dark eyes.

"When you go back to your room, I want you to touch yourself. But this time, I want you to say my name." He ordered, pulling his thumbs free with a pop.

"Yes, Lt." You nodded, leaning forwards to lick at his palm.

"I'll be listening. Don't worry, I'll come get you if you're a good girl." He smirked, stepping back.

You whined, a desperate pout on your lips as he walked away. You knew you'd do as he asked. Knew you'd moan his name into your pillows as you came on your fingers.

But as you sunk to your knees on the cold kitchen floor and pressed your thighs together, you wondered what he would do if you were a bad girl.

What if you made so much noise he had no choice but to come and shut you up?

Would he fuck your face?

Would he fuck your ass?

Would he spank you?

Bucky raises a brow. "And you think eating a few hors d'oeuvres with them will dissolve years of conflict?" He asks you incredulously as he walks around the counter. "That is, if this isn't a trap?"

You fight the desire to roll your eyes and instead wrap your arms around him. "No, but it'll be a start," You say, looking up at him. "They've waved their white flag. Don't throw it back in their face."

His hands tightly squeeze your hips. "I told you when I married you that I'd do whatever you ask me," He reminds you lowly as his lips brush against yours. "Granted, I didn't have this in mind, but if it's what you want, then so be it." He gives you a soft kiss before his eyes slightly darken. "But if tonight ends in blood-"

You lightly hit his chest. "Jamie, you better not fight any of them," You say sternly. "They're extending an olive branch. I want you on your best behavior."

Bucky lets out a sigh. "I'll do my best," He promises. "But don't say I didn't warn you, fairy."

It's a forty minute drive in the limo to the Brugia estate. Bucky had an important business call to take so he's up front with the driver, while you pre-game with Sam and the others. They're in high spirits despite their wariness of the Brugias' intentions, but you're a little guarded. Though you're now Bucky's wife, and are treated by most of his people as such, you can't help but feel that there's something missing.

"What's got you down on a night like this?" Sam asks as he nudges your arm. "Need another shot?"

Shaking your head, you sit back in your seat. "I don't know, Sam," You reply. "I guess I thought that, after I married Jamie, things would change. Not drastically, but..."

"What's he done now?" He asks you with a frown, lowering his voice so the others can't listen in.

"No, it's nothing to do with him," You assure him quickly. "It's more to do with everyone else. They're polite, and all, but... they don't look at me the way they look at Jamie. It's glaringly obvious that, whatever pedestal they put him on, I'm not up there with him. I'm just an accessory he wears," You explain, feeling a slight weight leave your shoulders as you finally admit how you feel out loud to someone. "As if they don't think it'll last. Our marriage, I mean. Like I'm not worth the effort. They don't..."

"Respect you," Sam finishes before slowly nodding. A few moments pass before he turns his head to look down at you. "I ever tell you about when I started working with Bucky?" Once you shake your head, he continues. "I grew up with next to nothing, not even a name, until I was adopted. That wasn't much better, though. I was put to work early; doing drug runs and stealing money bags. It was rough, but it taught me a lot. I met Bucky when we were sixteen years old. His father had just passed and his uncle Jack refused to take charge, leaving Buck to take on the family business. He didn't always have the respect he has now - you know that, right?"

You nod, recalling the stories Bucky's told you about when he first took over. It wasn't simple, and he had a lot of people to win over.

"Well, imagine how little respect I was given. Some random little runt off the streets that Bucky seemed to believe in for some reason," Sam goes on to say. "Most of the people who work for Bucky worked for his dad. And their fathers worked for his grandfather, and so on. If you don't have that history, it's hard to be accepted."

"So, how did you do it?" You ask him. "How did you get their respect? I mean, I'd argue some of those guys respect you more than Jamie."

He chuckles at that. "They did what they do to anyone they don't trust- they tested me," He answers plainly. "They got one of their police friends to arrest me, to see if I'd rat on them. When I didn't, they welcomed me in with open arms."

Frowning, you look up at him. "Somehow, I can't see them doing that with me," You say flatly.

"Bucky would kill them if they tried anything like that on you," Sam says with a laugh. "Trust and respect aren't one in the same. You've been in Bucky's life a long time. They already trust you."

"But they don't respect me," You mutter. "How do I gain their respect? Make them fear me?"

"Fear and respect aren't the same, either," Sam points out. "Sure, there's a little overlap, and Bucky definitely has both those things."

"They should be afraid to disrespect me," You say bluntly.

"They are," He responds before adding, "Because they're afraid of what Bucky would do to them if they did."

You let out a huff. "What about what I would do?"

He raises a brow. "Tell Bucky?"

Offended, you hit his shoulder. "I don't just hide behind my husband," You claim firmly. "I can fight my own battles."

"Well, maybe one day you'll get the chance to prove that," Sam says with a shrug. "Respect isn't demanded. It's earned."

The talk doesn't make you feel much better, but it does make you more determined. You figure that, the more you get involved with Bucky's work, the more likely you'll get an opportunity to show his people that you're your own person who can defend herself.

It's almost midnight when you arrive at the Brugia estate.

Bucky holds your hand tightly as you walk up to the large doors. It's an impressive property, but a little tacky for your liking, with rows of brightly colored sports cars filling the front. The front doors open before Bucky has a chance to knock, and immediately, the loud music booms. A man stands there, a smile on his face, and he's wearing a purple, velvet suit. Two younger men stand behind him, the three of them looking too similar to not be the infamous Brugia brothers.

"Evening, Barnes," The eldest one in purple says, giving Bucky a wry smile. "I have to say, I was surprised when we received your RSVP. Aldo was sure you'd think it was a trap."

"Enzo," Bucky replies with a slight nod. "Admittedly, the thought crossed my mind. But my wife, Y/N, convinced me to give you a chance to say your piece."

Enzo's eyes light up at his words, and he takes your hand before placing a kiss to the back of it. Bucky instinctively tightens his grip on your other hand, which remains encased in his. "It is always a blessing for a man to receive a loving woman in his life," Enzo says, before releasing your hand and taking a few steps back. "Please, everyone, come on in."

After the initial introductions, Enzo and Carl - the eldest two - take Sam and Bucky to the side to discuss how they can work together. Bucky's other men do their best to look intimidating as they stand together. That leaves you with Aldo, which Bucky doesn't seem too happy with, but he knows you can look after yourself.

"I have to say, I was incredibly surprised to hear that you had accepted our invitation," He admits as he walks you over to the bar. "I didn't expect Barnes to be the type to grovel."

You're thrown by his wording but you do well to keep your face straight. "Grovel," You repeat lowly. Raising your voice, you glance over to Aldo and say, "Who said he's grovelling?"

Aldo doesn't answer. Instead, he asks the bartender for two shots of something you've never heard of before.

"What is it?" You ask, picking up the small glass of dark red liquid.

"Awakens the senses," He claims before clinking his glass against yours. "Saluti."

Deciding it's harmless, seeing as it's doubtful he'd try to poison you with your husband on the other side of the room, you shrug and take the shot with him. He looks pleasantly surprised, as though he expected you to refuse it.

"I never thought I'd see the day when Barnes had settled down," He says, looking you up and down. "Especially not with such a beautiful woman."

He may not have the balls to poison you in the same room as your husband, but he has no shame in flirting with you. "Yeah," You reply, looking around the crowded hall. "I never thought I'd land someone so beautiful, either."

Aldo hums, moving closer to you. "Barnes is a lucky man. And who knows? After tonight, he could become a lot luckier," He says cryptically.

"What are you talking about?" You wonder, frowning at him.

"I mean, if we were to align with him," He clarifies. "He'd be a much more powerful man with the Brugias on his side. Together, we could rule more than just New York."

"Right," You mumble, not enjoying the way he's staring deep into your eyes.

He moves closer still. "I know the type of woman you are. I know you want to prove yourself as worthy of being his queen," He says, his tone shifting from light and friendly to something darker. "As a woman, you need to establish your use, else he'll get bored and look somewhere else. Do you agree?"

You say nothing.

"Let me tell you something; Barnes is a traditional man, just like me," Aldo goes on to say. "He knows the kind of agreements men like us have. The things we trade with one another in return for allyship."

Narrowing your eyes, you wonder where he's going with this.

"It's just a part of the business," He states.

"What is?" You ask, sick of his vague statements.

"You're gonna let me fuck you," Aldo says bluntly, throwing you for a loop. "Barnes will let me use you as I see fit, and then my brothers and I will strike a deal with him. They might want a turn, too, and if that's so, you and Barnes will be more than happy to oblige. Do you understand me?"

Shocked by how brash he's being while saying the most abhorrent things, your lips part, and you take a step back. You turn around to see Bucky and Sam still talking to the older Brugia brothers. Bucky's hands remain at his side, so you doubt they're having a similar discussion to you and Aldo.

"This isn't the kind of thing men discuss over dinner," Aldo tells you. "It's a silent agreement. When I take you upstairs, Bucky will know what's happening, and he'll understand that it's necessary. Why else would he bring you here looking so beautiful? Now, are you ready to comply, or would you like another drink?"

Your mind is spinning. Confusion, surprise, and disgust swarm together in a flurry, blurring into one - and then, out of nowhere, a fourth contender joins. Anger. He's louder than the others, taking over until all you see is red.

For Aldo to assume you're nothing but a sex object that Bucky can use to gain advantage over enemies makes your guts churn. Is that how everyone sees you? Even Bucky's men, who claimed you as their Queen, do they see you as nothing more than a bartering tool?

Aldo's hand on your lower back pulls you from your thoughts.

"Take your hand off of me," You say firmly, giving him a warning glare.

His smirk only deepens and the position of his hand only lowers, until it's on your ass. "Don't be like that, baby," He mumbles. "We're all friends here. Right?"

Having had enough, and sick of the smug on on his face, you pull back your hand and punch him square in the jaw. A few of the guests immediately look over, shock on their faces. Aldo stumbles backwards, his eyes wide as he brings his fingers up to his bloody lip before he looks back at you, appalled. You don't give him a chance to say anything and punch him again, right in the same spot, making him groan in pain. This time, he looks angry. He takes a second to recover before stalking over to you and slamming his fist into your cheek.

This the point at which the kerfuffle gets the attention of Bucky. Him and the other men look over at the sound of gasps and shouts, only to see you on the floor at the feet of a bloody-faced Aldo. Immediately, Bucky begins to stalk over, Sam hot on his heels as each of them plan in their heads how they'll draw out Aldo's death to make it as slow and painful as possible.

You recover before they reach you, getting up to your feet. Aldo lets out a scoff, but you're on him before he can get a sly comment past his lips. You jab him in the throat with your fingers and lift your knee into his groin, making him double over with a groan. The burning pain on your cheek only pisses you off, driving you to continue hurting him. How dare he touch you? Does he not know who you are?

You kick him in the stomach and he falls onto his back, but he's no amateur. He's quick to get back up, aiming to grab your throat, but you dodge him. Sam and Bucky reach you but you push your husband back, shooting him a warning glare that says, stay out of this or you'll get beat, too. It takes a lot for Bucky to stand back, but when he sees you driving your balled up fist repeatedly onto Aldo's face, he knows you can handle it. He watches on in adoration - and a slight sense of intimidation - as your skin is spattered with Aldo's blood.

His brothers step forward, but Sam and Bucky keep them at bay. "Don't even think about it," Sam utters to Enzo, who holds his hands up in defence.

"Hey, this is between them two," Enzo says, him and Carl sharing a laugh.

Aldo falls to the ground, trying to kick at you but lacking the energy to land a real blow. You meet him on the floor as you sink to your knees next to him and continue slamming your fist into his face. At one point, you feel the bones in his nose crack.

"Alright, alright, you've taught him his lesson," Enzo calls out.

You look up to see a crowd has formed around you. Bucky and Sam look shocked as they stare at your bloodied hands. With heavy breaths, you slowly stand back up, unable to tell if this is a dream or if it's really happening.

Carl walks over with a smirk, kicking Aldo's still body. "C'mon, little brother, get up," He says, shaking his head. "Embarassing yourself in front of all our guests."

Slowly walking backwards towards Bucky, you feel his hand on the small of your back and allow it to help you calm down. "Fuck me, fairy," He mumbles, pulling you closer to him as he cups your cheeks and looks down at you. "Are you alright?"

"I think so," You whisper back to him.

His lip pulls up at the corner. "That was-"

"Fuck!" Carl suddenly yells from behind you.

You spin around to see him on the ground with his fingers pressed to Aldo's neck. "He... he's not breathing," He utters lowly as his eyes slowly roll up to land on you, nothing but pure contempt in them.

There's a beat of silence before at least twelve people pull out their guns, including Bucky, Sam, and the two remaining Brugia brothers.

"You killed him!" Carl yells, fury on his face. "You will pay for this!"

A second before bullets begin to fly, you feel yourself being dragged away. Your legs have no choice but to run with the person whose hand is tightly clamped around your arm, and amid the chaos you can barely see a thing. All you can hear is gunshots and screams.

It isn't until you get outside that you realise it's Peter that stole you away. He continues dragging you to the limo, only stopping once you're seated in the back. Peter takes his gun out and aims it towards the doors of the Brugia mansion, waiting for a threat to make itself present while you catch your breath.

"Fuck," You mumble, wondering if you've just got Bucky or any of his men killed. The thought of Bucky being hurt makes you spiral, and you lean out the door to grab Peter's shoulder. "We need to go back. We need to get Jamie and Sam back."

"It's not safe in there," Peter replies sternly. "They'll be okay."

"What if they're not?" You cry, turning back to the inside of the limo. Grabbing the small black case that lives under the back seats, you open it up and pull out the small pistol. You check that it's loaded before spinning back to Peter. "We can't just sit out here. We have to-"

Just then, you see some figures emerging from the front doors. Peter straightens his back and the two of you aim your guns, unable to decipher whether the men walking towards you are friendly or not in the dark.

You squint your eyes, trying to see clearer but failing. "Peter," You whisper shakily. "Who are they?"

"I don't know," He replies flatly.

Preparing for the worst, you stand up and leave the limo, taking a few steps forward. Peter doesn't stop you, which you're grateful for.

"Don't come any closer," You call out as the men arrive within earshot. "Not unless you wanna die."

"That's not very nice," One of them says, his voice instantly relaxing you.

Your shoulders fall and you let out a heavy sigh, and Peter lowers his gun, too. Bucky rushes over to you, with Sam and a few of his other men trailing behind. He grabs your hips and pulls you tightly into his body, enveloping you in his arms. You're filled with utter euphoria as you pat his back and shoulders, checking for wounds.

"You're okay?" You ask, pulling back and looking him up and down.

"I'm okay," He replies before he turns his head to the side. "Sam, round up the others and find another way home."

"What?" Sam hisses, but Bucky's too busy packing you into the back of the limo to respond.

"Jamie," You whisper as he gets in and shuts the door behind him.

He ignores you, pressing the button on the right side door, causing the partition to come down. "Take us home, Bobby."

Shit. He's pissed.

The driver turns his head and gives a nod, setting off while Bucky pulls the partition back up. He turns to you with a wild look in his eyes, the lighting in the limo finally allowing you to see the bruises and blood dotting his face. Half-expecting him to tell you how stupid you are for what you did, that you almost got him and the others killed, that you put yourself in danger, you brace yourself.

"What you did in there," He begins, placing his hand on your cheek. Here it goes. You almost wince, pre-empting his angry rant. He opens his mouth to continue. "I've never been so fucking hard in my life."

You suck in a short gasp, wondering if you heard him right. "What?" You ask with a small voice.

Bucky takes your hand and places it on his crotch, and low and behold, his boner threatens to burst through his pants. "You heard me," He mumbles, leaning in unless his lips are a mere breath away from yours. "I've never seen you like that. You were... gorgeous."

"Really?" You ask, your hand still on his clothed cock. "You're not mad?"

"Mad?" He repeats with a dry laugh, shaking his head. "Fairy, I'm in love."

You can't say anything else before he's on you, pushing you down onto the seats. He spreads your legs before leaning down to kiss you, hungry and wanting. Your dress is all but ripped off of your body as he moves his mouth down to your neck, sucking and biting on your skin. His hips can't help but grind and hump against you, his motions sending pangs of pleasure through your body.

"Fuck me," You whimper, running your hands through his hair. "Please, daddy."

He all but rips off his suit jacket and pulls down his zipper. You know he isn't about to take his time or be gentle or make love to you, and you've never been so excited. He pushes your panties to the side while rubbing his cock against your soft inner thighs, his precum staining your skin.

"You're the sexiest woman I've ever seen," He utters while sinking his cock into you. You throw your head back as you anticipate him filling you up, and he doesn't disappoint. Your pussy sucks him deeper into you and Bucky falls forward, his head in your neck. "Oh, fuck, baby."

Your nails dig into his shoulders through his shirt as he bottoms out. He lifts his head and brings his mouth to yours. His breath hits your lips. For a second, the two of you just stare into each other's eyes while his cock sits inside you. Then, with a clenched jaw, Bucky begins to thrust in and out of you. He quickly gains speed, his eyes still boring into yours.

"You're mine," He grunts, slamming into you. "You're all mine. Nobody else will ever get to fuck you like this. No-one."

"Just you, Jamie," You cry, your chest fluttering as pure pleasure overwhelms you. "I'm only yours. Forever."

"Forever," He repeats with a whisper, fucking you harder with his hand wrapped around your throat. "You're mine to own. Mine to fuck. Mine to breed."

His words make your eyes roll back. For a couple that have agreed they don't want children, you and Bucky can't help but give into your breeding kinks.

"Yes, daddy, yes!" You moan, placing a chaste kiss to his lips.

"That's it, good girl," He grunts, his thumbs stroking your cheeks. "So good at taking my cock, aren't you?"

Your heart races as your mind swarms with nothing but dedication to Bucky. The chaotic events that took place just moments ago can be thought about later; right now, all that matters is him.

"Fuck," He groans, resting his forehead against yours. He brings his thumb to your clit and rubs circles on it, making your legs tense up around his waist.

"Bucky," You breathe out. "I'm close."

"Yeah? You gonna cum for me, baby?" Bucky asks with a lazy smirk on his lips as he continues rubbing your clit. "C'mon, show me how good I'm making you feel. Cum for me."

A shiver travels down your spine with a cool trickle, ending with an explosion of ecstasy. You scream his name, at least you think you do- for a few moments, you can't hear anything. Then, slowly, Bucky's voice fades back into earshot as he chants your name, his cock twitching inside you.

"Take my cum, fairy," He groans, thrusting harder as he reaches his end inside you. "Just like that, my good girl, my baby."

You're breathing heavily as he collapses onto you, fully spent. His face rests against your rising and falling chest, his hands finding yours and linking your fingers together.

After a few moments of utter bliss as you both slowly float down, Bucky sits up. You remain on your back as you stare at the roof of the limo, listening to the sound of his zipper with a whisper of a smile on your lips.

Once you've fully recovered, you sit up too, and he pulls you onto his lap.

"Jamie," You begin, swallowing thickly. "Did he... is he really dead?"

His eyes flicker up to meet yours. He takes one of your hands and kisses your fingers before nodding.

You're expecting to feel something heavy at his confirmation. Guilt? Fear? Regret? You search for those things, but all you find is indifference. Perhaps that should scare you in itself.

"I killed him," You mutter.

"You did," Bucky says. "And, knowing you, I don't doubt for a second that he deserved it."

Just then, you find it - a tiny hint of doubt. Conflict in your mind. Did he? You replay the events of the night. His words. The way he touched you, as though you were just something to hold. Something to use.

You rest your free hand on Bucky's shoulder. "He did," You reply.

He kisses your fingers again, before taking your hand and placing it on his cheek. "You gonna tell me what he did?" He asks you with a quirked brow.

Your lips purse. "No," You decide. Knowing what Aldo said to you will only give Bucky anger, with nowhere to release it. He's already dead.

Though he wants to know, Bucky also knows that he won't enjoy hearing it. If you think he doesn't need to know, then so be it.

"Hey," He whispers, squeezing your thigh. "I love you."

"I love you," You return.

You recognize the glint in his eyes to be one of concern. And rightfully so; you just killed a man. You knew marrying Bucky would put you in a heightened position of danger, but it never once crossed your mind that you'd ever hurt anyone. The fact that Aldo deserved it makes it easier to swallow, but it's still shaken you.

But this is your life now. You can't crumble because you've done something you weren't expecting to - being Bucky's wife means you'll have to do some unsavoury things sometimes. You weren't forced to kill Aldo - you wanted to hurt him. You didn't want to kill him, but it happened.

Your lawyer brain wonders if you'd get away with it if the law was something you still had to worry about. "I'd probably be able to swing involuntary manslaughter," You find yourself saying out loud. "I mean, if I got arrested."

"You're not gonna get-"

"No, I know," You assure him. "I'm just saying. I have no priors- oh, except for that little fraud thing your uncle Jack framed me for. If I cried self defence, I'd probably get less than 5 years."

"Fairy, you don't need to think about that," Bucky says softly. "No matter what you do, you will always be safe with me."

"I know, Jamie," You insist. "I know I'm safe. I don't think a SWAT team are gonna barge into our bedroom tonight. I'm just... thinking. Processing."

"Okay," Bucky mumbles, giving you the space to process things the way you need to.

With a small smile, you can't help but release a little laugh. "Did you really... was that...?"

He frowns, gently rubbing your thigh. "What are you asking me, hmm?"

"Uh..." Your cheeks heat up and you look down. "That really turned you on?"

Bucky laughs before pushing your chin up. "You still get shy asking me stuff like that?" He wonders with a glint in his eyes. "You're my wife now, fairy. If you wanna make inquiries about my dick, feel free to."

"I just- I didn't know," You stumble, grabbing a fistful of his shirt. "You really... enjoyed seeing me like that?"

He stares at you for a few seconds, thinking to himself before speaking. "You're never quicker to get on your knees than when I'm covered in someone else's blood," He states bluntly. "We're the same animal, fairy."

You start to laugh, but the look on his face makes you stop. You realize he's right- you're just as deranged as him. There's very little about you that's different to Bucky - very little that separates you.

"The same animal," You repeat with a mumble, before he pulls you in for a deep, long kiss.

happy new year <3

bucky x fairy masterlist

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