bun who got john walker pregnant

He had invited you on a walk to Central Park to break up.

Fuck.

John stuck his hands into his pockets, eyes roaming the sky above your head. Clouds were gathering, rain threatening, his collar turned up against the already harsh wind. “Please don’t make me explain.”

You took a step toward him, a reflex, a panic, fists balled at your sides. Life had never been easy to you or kind. Deprivation. Loneliness. You were someone’s dangerous, ill-advised dream, a Hail Mary conceived in a lab, never knowing a moment’s kindness or acceptance until you were invited to join the New Avengers. They wanted you because you were a dangerous fuckup.

You turned in a dejected, confused circle, throwing looks at passing joggers and ducks gliding on the pond like they were personally responsible for this pain.

“I think you owe me at least that,” you said, softly. “An explanation. Anything. I thought…” You pushed out a sigh, hands in your hair, power erupting along your skin. That was bad. Bad bad. You were in public; you had to keep it together. A terrible thought bubbled up, that John was doing this in the park specifically because you were volatile. Tears slipped out, you couldn’t help it; you had stupidly gotten your hopes up, a thing you had promised yourself you would never, ever do.

John wrung his hands, eyes glossy as he noticed the tears sliding down your cheeks. For a man who wanted nothing to do with you, he certainly looked torn up at the sight of you crying. He jerked toward you, hands flexing, closing, then opening as he shook his head.

“I’m not…normal.” He said it so softly you had to lean closer to hear him.

“John. None of us are normal.”

“No, you don’t—” He cut himself off, fisting his hands in his hair, turning away quickly before spinning back around. His chest was pumping, his eyes searching the ground at your feet, and the skin of his face was so red it looked like it might erupt. “This can’t go any further. You deserve someone…someone else. Someone not like me.”

“What are you not saying?” You wiped at the wet tracks on your face, catching his wrist before he could shift away and down the hill toward the pond. The clouds bunched, gray and heavy, a few fat raindrops spattering on your cheeks.

John shook his head. “Please.”

“Please what?”

He glanced at the sky, swore, then hooked your wrist around and took your hand, leading you down the shallow hill, the grass growing slippery as the rain picked up. There was a tunnel with a bike path running over it, and John led you there, pulling you into the darkness. It smelled sandy, like wet concrete, the rain pelting the metal tracks above in an uneven staccato while John leaned against the graffitied wall and caught his breath, collected his thoughts.

You watched him, patient, hurting, surprised that he hadn’t yet let go of your hand. His fingers knit with yours and he contemplated the connection for a moment.

“You’re not…” He sighed, head falling back. “You’re not curious why I haven’t tried to get you into bed?”

“Thought maybe there were a few gentlemen left in the world.”

He huffed out a dry laugh. “That’s charitable, thanks.”

“Are you going to tell me the real reason?”

John squeezed his eyes shut, clearly terrified at the thought of doing just that. His hand trembled against yours. “I didn’t ask you out for months because I knew we would get here. I lied to myself, pretended it wouldn’t matter, that I’d figure it out, but—” He pressed his lips together, tearing his eyes away from your hands to glare at the ground. “I’m a fucking embarrassment, and you shouldn’t have to put up with that.”

“None of us are perfect.”

“Stop.” He let go, turning into the wall, slamming the knuckles of his left fist into it so hard the concrete shook, powdered. “Stop. Stop being so fucking nice. You wouldn’t be, trust me, if you knew all of it. You’d…you’d look at me like I was a freak like every other girl I’ve been with since the serum.”

Your mind raced, tripping over possibilities. All the times you had run into each other in the common room in the morning, before bed, all the dumb action movie nights you had shared, discovering a shared, corny passion, all the brutal missions and shared looks during briefings and sleepless nights on the observation deck shooting the shit… You couldn’t imagine anything he would say that would scare you off.

You approached carefully, the rain drowning out your footsteps as you put both hands tentatively on his back. He flinched, hunching against the wall.

“John, just tell me one thing, okay?”

His shoulders lowered a fraction. He nodded.

“If this…if this thing you’re worried about wasn’t happening, would you want to be together?”

“Yes. Yeah. Fuck.”

Your heart jammed up into your throat. “Can you let me decide if it’s a dealbreaker? Can you trust me that much?”

It took him a minute, but he finally lowered his arms, shifting around with a grunt to face you, eyes gray and hazy in the dark of the tunnel. A bike went overhead, the tires thunking softly over the uneven ground. John sagged forward like all the fight had gone out of him, like he had lost a battle in his head he would never allow you to see.

“Something happens when I get excited.”

His voice pitched low, gruff, laced with fear.

“Okay.”

“It’s…incredibly god damn embarrassing.” He glanced away, body locked, jaw hardening in its forward position. “The serum jacked up my hormones. The lab can’t correct it, believe me, I’ve begged them to try.” You waited for him to go on, patient, though you wanted to lurch forward and shake him, make him just say it. John pinched his forehead between thumb and forefinger, partially shielding his face as he finally spit it out. “Stuff comes out of me.”

Your eyebrows lifted, lips parting. “What stuff?”

“Fluid,” he said, mouth twisting like it was the worst word in the English language, like saying it made him want to gag. He sighed and grabbed his own chest, giving you a: “Get it now?” sort of silent, challenging look.

You wondered if there was more. It was unusual, sure, not something you had encountered before, but certainly not the horror show you had been anticipating.

“Is that it?”

John stared, blinking rapidly. “What do you mean?”

“You…lactate? That’s why we’re breaking up?”

“Yes. Jesus.” He swung his hands down to his thighs, frowning. “I mean, that’s not…you’re not…”

“John, flames shoot out of my eyeballs when I’m activated, I accidentally set Alexei on fire last week because he startled me in the hallway. It would take a lot more than that to frighten me away.” You offered your hand to him with a soft, crooked smile. “Of all the weird ass shit you could do in bed, that doesn’t crack the top ten.”

John’s gaze flickered from your hand to your face and back again, like this might be a trap or you were about to spring a hidden microphone and a parade of his loved ones on him. But it was just rain, the wet, sweet-smelling grass, geese honking as they left the pond and took flight, another bike thundering overhead. And your expression didn’t change and the world didn’t end, and John carefully put his hand in yours.

“You’re just saying that to make me feel better.”

“I’m really not.” You moved in, sliding against him, running your nose along his collarbone through his shirt, your voice a comforting whisper, just above the rain. “What if it’s okay?” He shivered. “What if I like it?”

You knew it wouldn’t bother you, things came out of bodies, that’s just what bodies did, and you were never particularly squeamish, couldn’t be, not when you were brought up in a facility where you were forced to bunk eight to a room, but you didn’t expect it to be like this.

John was so nervous he was shivering like he had come down with a dangerous fever, his spine a rigid column as you came back from the bathroom with a folded towel and a sheepish smile. His eyes were darting, big and wounded, as you climbed onto his bed and knelt at his side.

“Just…wasn’t sure what we were in for,” you said lightly, with a shrug and a grin. “Is it, like, a lot or…?”

“No,” he shook his head, biting the inside of his cheek, the exterior of which was bright red. “I mean, I don’t know. I’m usually trying not to let it happen.”

“We don’t have to force it,” you said. It was your turn to blush and glance away. “I’m not really experienced with a lot of this. Not the authority, you know? We would fool around in the facility, but it had to be quick and most times we didn’t get very far.”

John reached for your hand, closing his palm over your fingers on the comforter. He let out a deep, shuddering breath. “Slow, then.”

“Yeah, we just…” You scooted closer, leaving the towel by the rightmost pillow before climbing into his lap. “See how it goes. See how far we get.”

John was lying back against the mounded pillows, legs stretched out down the length of the bed. He leaned forward slightly to pull off his tee, then balled it up and tossed it over your shoulder. You had gotten pretty soaked from the rain storm and stripped down to a camisole and panties once you were alone together in his room. As you folded yourself along his left side, one leg hooked over his, your face in the crook of his neck, you couldn’t help but feel a pang—his body was perfect, sculpted into a hard, rippling machine, and it hurt to think he was insecure about it. But you could see how something like this would confuse the man who had been Captain America, a symbol of red-blooded American masculinity.

His reality and his ideals weren’t in conflict for you, you just hoped he would see it for himself one day.

“Hey,” you whispered, kissing his chin. John turned into you, eyes fluttering shut in relief, gratitude, his lips finding yours, opening just the way they had the night before when he gave you that unforgettable kiss. “No judgment, okay?” you asked, pecking his lips once more, cradling his face in one hand as he gazed down at you nestled into his side.

“Okay. But if it freaks you out, you’ll tell me and we’ll stop.”

You gave a single, confident nod, biting your lip. “And if I light your bed on fire, we’ll stop.”

He snorted, nosing into you. “Jesus, I mean, yes, for obvious reasons we would stop if that happened.”

“I’m just saying…”

“Please,” he murmured, rolling his eyes playfully. “We’d put it out, start right up again.”

“Oh?” You drew his lips back to yours, groaning as he pulled you in closer, flush to his chest. “Still want to break up?”

John’s brow tugged down as he wrangled you onto his body more fully, helping you straddle his waist. He was a big boy, but you managed. “I didn’t want to break up, I didn’t think anyone could be so…so...”

“Uh-huh. Keep going.”

His mouth twitched to the side as he enjoyed the view of you kneeling over him, hands sliding up the tops your thighs, eyes darkening with desire. “Willing.”

“That’s a very tame word for what I am.”

His hands kept traveling, up your legs to your hips, then to the edge of your tank top. When he tugged it up slowly, your stomach tightened with anticipation, thighs clenching. You wanted to keep flirting, honestly, you did, but the air around you both felt suddenly charged, tense. His nerves weren’t going away, you could see it in the way his chin quivered, the way his fingers fumbled with your shirt, almost losing grip as he yanked it over your head and let it fall to the wayside.

You leaned down, stealing away whatever self-deprecating bullshit he was about to say, kissing him until his hips bucked subtly up against you and his hard heat rubbed against you through your underwear. Both of you broke the kiss at the same time, too overcome. You reached for each other at the same time, his hands on your underwear and yours on his, both of you a little clumsy, excited, shaking like horny adolescents until you could be completely skin to skin, your hands cupped around his beard and his maneuvering you by your waist.

“Shit,” he whispered, eyelids heavy as your sex brushed his. “Right there. Slow.”

Slow was nice in theory, but you were hungry for him. You could feel the warmth pooling between your legs, the ache that wanted fast and more and now. But you caught yourself, forehead to his and core pulsing as John fit himself against you, started to push, entered you with a noisy gulp that told you it felt as good for him as it did for you.

“Keep going,” you told him, biting it out between moans. “D-Don’t stop. Please don’t stop.”

John’s face constricted, a full-body shudder slamming through him as you worked yourself down onto his thick length. “Fuck.” His voice broke. “It’s starting, I’m s-sorry—”

“Don’t apologize, don’t stop, just keep going.” You kissed him again, again and again, until he stopped trembling. You rode him gently for a while, letting your hips do the convincing, gaze skipping down his chin to his chest, where your breasts just grazed him on every careful thrust.

And you saw it, and it wasn’t what you expected, and you definitely didn’t think it would make you hotter all over, wetter. He must have felt it, too, the way your body welcomed him even more readily, his hands flexing on our hips, driving you harder against him on the downstroke.

John whetted his lips anxiously, following your eyeline. A single, hazy pearl of liquid beaded on his right nipple. His chest didn’t look any different than it did after a hard workout, swollen like the muscles there were slightly inflamed. He made a gruff, strangled sound as you dodged down to kiss his throat, then his collarbone, lower…

“You d-don’t have to—”

“I want to.”

He didn’t try to stop you after that. His head dropped back against the pillows as your lips captured that little wet spot on his chest, light and sweet on your tongue.

“Jesus,” he whispered, eyes clenched, body rocking against yours faster, faster. “Fuck—”

You whimpered as more came out of him, just a trickle, none of it escaping your mouth as you coaxed his nipple between your lips and sucked, experimental, eyes locked on his face for a reaction. His jaw went slack, the tendons in his neck springing apart as he arched off the bed, fingers digging into the flesh of your waist with bruising force.

One more slow pull of your lips against his chest and he almost bucked you off of him.

But you didn’t let go, moaning around his taste. It wasn’t that strange, not after you got used to it, and it was driving him crazy. The ridge of his pubic bone ground against your clit on every frantic drive of his hips now, and you chased the friction, the build, letting the fiery cord tightening around your stomach cinch until it pulled your spine and face taut. Fuck, he felt good, big, obliterating, even bigger as he felt you coming on his dick and it pushed him over the edge.

“I can’t—you’re so—holy fuck—I can’t hold on—please, I’m just—I’m just right there--” John held you tight to his chest, nails burning into your skin as he fucked up into you, wild, gone.

When he buckled against the mattress, there were tears sparkling at the corners of his eyes, in the deep wrinkles there from so many years of scowling and laughing. He was smiling now, almost in disbelief, huffing and puffing as he tried to catch his breath.

His hands were still holding onto you, but in the shivery comedown they started to move, gliding up your back to your hair, carding carefully through the strands while you stayed locked to his chest.

John shifted under you, maybe trying to dislodge you, get you to stop clinging to his pec like that. But you had already turned back into the warm expanse of his chest, springy and strong and dusted with hair. His fingers flexed on your head as you licked up a bead of fluid that had escaped during his orgasm. You could feel him watching you, rapt, cheeks red with nervous heat.

“It’s…not weird?”

“No,” you said with a snort, swatting his shoulder. “It’s sexy.”

“It is not sexy.”

“It is to me.”

He blinked at you. “Let’s say I believe you, what… Jesus.” He closed his eyes for a second, then stared helplessly up at the ceiling. “I can’t believe I’m asking this, but what’s it like?”

“Mm, let me think.” You batted your lashes up at him, coy, drawing his nipple back between your lips and prodding with your tongue until a steadier trickle flowed. His skin was warm, taut, fragrant. The salt of his sweat had dried on his chest, reactivating against your tongue.

Underneath you, his entire body spasmed, then locked. But gradually, the more you pulled out of him, the longer you went without showing a hint of disgust, the more you whimpered and wiggled against him with pleasure, the more he relaxed, fingers loosening in your hair until he was just holding you sweetly against him, your hand curled next to your face. It was…comforting. Surprisingly so. Especially when he stopped blushing and relaxed into the arrangement, grimace easing into something neutral, sleepy.

And there was something special about knowing you were the first person to give him that kind of acceptance and relief.

“God, that’s nice,” he rumbled, head tipping to the side, eyes sliding shut.

In the quiet, in his warmth, you suckled until he had nothing left to give you, more intimate maybe than even the sex. He had softened and slid out of you a moment before, and it was a new feeling, to be full of him in so many different ways.

You lifted your head, propping your chin on the swell of his ribcage. “It’s sweet. One of the lab directors at the facility was really into hummingbirds. She had a ton of feeders out for them in the garden. She made us mix up this nectar stuff for them to eat, sugar water. It’s sort of like that.”

John gazed down at you, thoughtful, a notch between his brows. You crawled up and wedged yourself against his right side, sliding down onto the mattress and into the crook of his arm, resting your cheek against the muscular cap of his shoulder. His fingers tented on your hip, making sure you stayed nice and snug to his body. Leaning across, he brushed a kiss across your forehead.

“Yeah. So. Thank you.”

“You don’t need to thank me, it was good. All of it.”

He was quiet again for a moment. “Would you…ever want to do that again?”

“Mmhm.” You pinched his side. What you didn’t say was: Yes, maybe later, maybe in five minutes. Please, please, please, can we?

John squirmed, then kissed your head again, this time the top of it, his hand at your middle moving inward until his fingers were splayed across your stomach, protective.

“I can’t believe you tried to break up with me.”

He groaned. “I can tell I’ll be paying for that one for a while.”

while the mutos were barely tall enough to reach your knees, they still were insanely annoying to deal with, to get rid of. both you and lee sustained some scratches from kicking and punching your way through, fending them off, until lee managed to push you into this hut and pressed himself against the door so it stayed shut until you barricaded yourselves in.

you have a few smaller scratches below your neck, by your collarbone, from when one of the mini-titans tried to latch onto your face and you luckily managed to divert its route before lee shot it off of you. he got left him with some scratches on his forearm, because even if small, they sure packed a punch.

so as soon as the crowd outside had dispersed, bored of fruitlessly scraping against the walls, and lee found a half empty bottle of liquor, he urges you to sit down so he can clean off the blood and use the alcohol to disinfect your wounds.

"why do they always get the fun part while we get stuck with cleaning up their bullshit," he mutters, and you laugh softly in reply.

"is it really that bad to get away from their constant cuddling and stay with me for a night?" lee glares at you, rolls his eyes, mumbles his answer when you just fix him with a playful grin.

"you know i like spending time with you."

you fall into relaxed, comfortable silence while lee concentrates on your chest, cleaning off the blood with gentle wipes of the rag he found and cautiously revealing the scratches the muto's claws had left in your skin. you're already glad enough that he let you clean his wounds first, considering he's usually way too stubborn to even show that he's injured, and the broken but dried bruise on his arms pulls slightly when he adjusts your top to reach the cuts better.

because you're looking up at the ceiling, head leaning back against the wall so lee has enough room to work and knees pushed together since his thighs bracket yours in order to be close, you don't see how much he struggles to stay composed. how much he fights to keep his eyes off your bared throat, the skin so pretty and smooth and just begging to be marked. bitten.

his breath comes out in a small shudder, and you hum, fix him even at the angle of your gaze, all droopy and tired eyes.

"need a break?" you tease even as you wince at a harsher dab of the fabric, and lee sighs. he can't give in, can't follow the desires that had built in his body and heart over the time of you working together and are all but ready to burst out.

"almost done," he huffs instead, busying himself with the small droplets of blood he missed so he doesn't pay attention to how he's basically straddling you. to how warm your body feels right in front of him. to how low cut your tank top is, even if he's wearing basically the same one.

"aww, wanna get away from me this quickly?"

lee's eyes snap up to yours, mischievous and matching the grin on your lips, and he breaks, comes close, almost nose to nose.

"don't fucking tease me like this, or-"

"or what?" you chuckle as if the sight of his stormy, dark eyes doesn't send jolts through your entire body, right to your core until it throbs. you're quiet, he's quiet, his chest heaving as he musters you for any sense of reluctance. but you simply grin, take a step closer until your breath mixes with his.

"or what."

lee's restraint finally breaks, when he pulls you into a kiss that's desperate right from the start, needy and deep and all teeth. his tongue bullies its way into your mouth when you gasp, and your hands land on his soft stomach as you gladly reciprocate his kiss.

your top is gone quickly, pulled over your head with clumsy movements, and his follows suit once he pushes his suspenders down his shoulders. lee nudges you down onto the bed, still kissing you, only adjusting so he's properly straddling you on the creaky mattress, your legs around his middle after being pushed apart by his thick waist.

the second you bare your throat for him again, he moves to your jaw, your neck, teeth grazing over your pulse and making your back arch into his chest. he has you caged in beneath him, the tip of his nose nudging your head to the side so he can pull the skin of your throat between his lips and mark you as his, as he has wanted to for far too long. and even if you wanted this to be only one night, he's going to make damn sure that it'll be just as unforgettable for you as it is for him.

with one hand in your hair, he keeps your head still so he can nibble at your neck, move lower to where the scratches are so he can place a peck to the injuries and mark the skin right next to them with his teeth as well.

your hands are insatiable, running from his side, over his chest, landing up on his shoulder before tangling in his hair, tugging until he groans raspily at the delicious sting. his dogtags clink softly against your chest when lee leans in even more, nudges a broad thigh against your already fluttering core when he subconsciously grinds his hips down into yours.

you curse lowly, push him back so you can get air back into your system, and for a split second he's worried if he went too far, made the wrong call-

but your pupils are blown out, eyes dark and hungry, and you arch up so you can snap open your bra and pull it off your body. lee sits back on his haunches and helps you tug your pants off, dragging your panties right alongside them when you lift your hips to aid him. his pants are next, belt unbuckled hurriedly and briefs bunched down just enough for him to line up with your cunt. lee halts, huffs out a sigh.

"need to prep you, baby-"

"don't care," you interrupt him urgently, hook a leg behind his back, push him closer until the tip of his already flushed dick presses right against your entrance. it sinks in ever so slightly with a shared moan from both of you. with a few shallow thrusts, lee bottoms out, and the tightness of your pulsing walls around him punches the air out of his lungs.

you don't give either of you much time to adjust when you whine, buck your hips up, and lee shudders above you, trying desperately to keep enough restraint to not involuntarily hurt you. but you grab for him, beg him to fuck you, that you'll take whatever he wants to give you, and he groans. at a shaky first thrust, you moan, uncaring about the stretch still sure to make you feel sore come morning. your throat is bared once more, like an invitation to mark you up properly and not just with the faint hickeys he already left, and at realising that you're alright, he surges forward.

the pace he starts up is frantic from the start, too desperate to take things slow, especially when you meet his every grind and don't care when the zipper of his pants catches on your inner thigh, makes you yelp quietly into his mouth when he kisses you again.

he's all but rutting into you like an animal in heat, desperate and messy and frenzied when your heat engulfs him oh so perfectly.

"fuck, been wanting this for so long," he pants out into your mouth, lips parted and brushing against yours when neither of you can properly hold a kiss anymore.

"could've had me much sooner," you moan back, voice breaking when he changes the angle of his hips and the tip of his cock drags over your g-spot, and lee lets out a breathless, almost delirious laugh.

"right there?"

you nod quickly, fingers digging into his bare shoulders, and he already plans to wear only his tank top when you reunite with billy and keiko again - simply so he can show off the red crescents your nails are sure to leave. a hiss leaves him at the pain, and he drops his head to mouth at your neck once more, accidentally biting down a little too harshly when you clench around his dick and lock your ankles behind his lower back. it keeps him deep inside of you, no matter the fact that if he could have his way, he'd never pull out again, even if it restricts his movements.

neither of you care, too lost in the pleasure, and he adjusts his angle just enough to make your back arch almost painfully into his front until your chest meets his, the chain of his dogtags pulling taut between you at the pressure.

"close-" he warns you, and you whine softly when his hands rake through your hair, cage you in, pull your head back until he can pant into the bend of your throat.

"cum in me, lee, please!" you beg so pretty, so needy, that he can't help but falter in his pace. your words alone are enough to make the coil in him snap, almost violently and entirely too overwhelming.

lee comes undone with a rough groan of your name, and the feeling of his spend filling you up through frenzied thrusts, enough to push some of it back out and make your inner thighs glisten and stick to his, makes you follow suit. a weak "lee-" gets lost against the ceiling when his fingers tighten their grasp in your hair.

"fuck, fuck-" his forehead meets your collarbone, damp with sweat as even now he pushes through, rides out your high to make sure you feel as incredible as your body made him feel - no matter if it pushes him into a harsh overstimulation, has his thighs tremble in effort. your hands, once on his chest, run up into his short locks to pull him up and into a kiss that conveys every single emotion you're feeling - lust, hunger, devotion. adoration. love. it's as much of a confession of feelings as you can muster right now, breath- and boneless underneath the man you'd been pining over for the past few months.

a low chuckle hits your ears when you properly come down from your climax, get the feeling back into your body, and you meet lee's warm, still dark eyes.

"go on a date? with me?" he asks softly, voice still raspy from his high as he comes down alongside you, can feel his dick soften inside your still fluttering heat. the feeling of your cum mixing with his, starting to seep out of your core, makes his heart skip a beat. you smile, blissed out, and tilt your head as best as you can with him still holding it in place.

"gladly. stay like this?"

lee grins.

"gladly."

author's note: this is totally not my way of coping about ep 3

stay safe and healthy <3

You slip off the couch and lower yourself between his legs, knees pressing into the carpet, its roughness keeping you anchored. When you reach out, your fingers tremble as they wrap around the base of his cock. He’s hot and solid in your palm, pulsing faintly.

Zook’s gaze flicks between your face and your hand, dark and unfocused. He grabs the hem of his t-shirt and bunches it up against his chest to keep it out of the way, exposing the happy trail down his stomach. His muscles tighten when you give him an experimental stroke.

“Fuck,” he groans, low and helpless.

You stroke him again, tentative, worried about doing something wrong.

“You can squeeze me harder,” he breathes. “You won’t break me. I promise.”

You tighten your grip just slightly and drag your hand up his length. His hips jerk off the couch, a guttural sound tearing from his throat before he swallows it back. You heard it. You felt it. The reaction sends a rush of confidence through you—heady and intoxicating.

You lean in and drag your tongue slowly up the underside of his shaft, tasting salt and skin. When you wrap your lips around the tip and suck gently, his reaction is immediate. His face scrunches, eyes squeezing shut as his hips buck, thrusting deeper into your mouth.

You pull back with a wet pop, giggling as you glance up at him. “I saw that in a video once.”

Zook lets out a breathless laugh, face flushing pink. He looks embarrassed by how his body betrayed him, but his eyes are warm, soft. “That was… really good,” he admits. “You’re a natural.”

Encouraged, you lean back in. This time you take him properly, movements unsteady but eager. You bob your head, awkward at first, then finding a rhythm. You hollow your cheeks and suck harder—and Zook’s smile vanishes instantly.

His head drops back against the couch, eyes rolling until they disappear. His breathing turns ragged, lips parting on shallow gasps. His hands twitch at his sides, lifting like he wants to grab you, guide you, take control—but he stops himself. His fists clench into the cushions instead.

He’s letting you lead. Letting you explore without rushing you, even as tension coils visibly through his body. That restraint—the care—keeps you going.

It starts to overwhelm him. You feel it in the way his thighs tense beneath your hands, muscles jumping. The heat of your mouth, the novelty of you kneeling here for him—it’s too much. His hand finally leaves the couch and settles at the back of your head, fingers threading into your hair. Not forcing. Just guiding.

“Relax your jaw,” he murmurs, voice strained. “Easy… just take it.”

He’s unraveling. The cool composure he usually wears is slipping, piece by piece. Every time you glance up at him—wide-eyed, intent—he loses another shred of control.

“Use your hand,” he grits out, hips twitching despite himself. “The part you can’t take. Stroke it.”

You follow his lead without hesitation. Your hand tightens around his base, slick and warm with your spit, syncing with the slow pull of your mouth. The motion clicks into place—almost instinctive—and his breath breaks into an unrestrained gasp.

Something in you shifts. The innocence melts into focus, hunger sharpening your gaze. You feed off every shiver, every sound he makes.

Zook watches your face closely—the flush in your cheeks, the way you’re clearly getting off on this. On him. That’s what breaks him.

“F—fuck!” he gasps.

His legs tense, shaking. His chest heaves, stomach tightening as he fights for air. He’s in awe, staring down at you like he can’t believe this is real.

“I’m close,” he warns, voice cracking. “I’m gonna cum—”

You don’t stop. Your grip tightens, strokes slowing and deepening. He shakes his head frantically, trying to say something—maybe that he can’t hold it back, or that he’s about to ruin you in the most sinful way—but when you shake your head no stubbornly , his eyes widen.

“Shit.”

The tension snaps. His whole body goes rigid as he cums, groaning brokenly. You slow but don’t pull away, mouth still wrapped around him as he spills. You feel every pulse, every twitch, thick ropes of his seed filling your mouth.

His hips jerk, pushing deeper, and you whimper softly. The vibration sends him spiraling, groaning louder until he finally nods, desperate, begging you to stop.

You slide off him slowly, swallowing. Zook just stares at you, chest heaving—completely wrecked, and suddenly more nervous than you’ve ever seen him. His fingers twitch at his sides, like he doesn’t know where to put them, eyes flicking everywhere but your face.

He lifts a shaky thumbs up. “You did… alright,” he says, smirking through a wrecked voice.

You gasp and smack his arm, offended. He laughs—real and breathless—and the tension finally breaks.

As you stand, knees aching, he clears his throat and gestures a little awkwardly.

“Hey, uh,” he says hoarsely, still catching his breath. “Could you grab some napkins?”

You nod and head for the kitchen.

Zook stays frozen on the couch, staring at the doorway, heart pounding hard enough it almost hurts. He needs napkins because you—his best friend, the person he’s trusted with everything for years—just crossed a line with him. And he let it happen. He wanted it to happen.

The reality of it sits heavy in his chest now, impossible to ignore. He runs a hand over his face, cheeks burning, stomach tight with a mix of nerves and something hotter that won’t settle. You didn’t just fool around—something between you shifted, and he knows there’s no pretending it didn’t.

Nothing is ever going to be the same.

you've been his closest friend since childhood, your early teenage years, even through the awkward outfits and hormones and growth spurts. even through the years he's realised he had fallen for you without noticing it, but never confessed. he didn't want to admit his feelings when he got the draft letter before his deployment, because he knew fully well it would only hurt you that much more if he didn't survive.

so the moment the hook sunk into his chest, he dragged himself off, plunged the syringe into his arm and felt the tar run through his body, all he could think about was his mother telling you the news, could practically see you break down the second you saw her with sad, teary eyes, standing in front of your apartment. that, mixed with knowing boyce was about to die if he didn't do something, is what helps him fight, continue even through the searing pain.

his death would devastate you, break you. completely.

and it's you, the thought of you, that keeps him kicking, keeps him alive through it all.

for the rest of the war, lewis hides his injuries, his body's changes, so nobody would realise how quickly he's healing if he does get hurt; only allowing himself a breath in front of his squad since they know the lengths he went to to keep them safe, and they protect his secret so he doesn't get found out and killed. even worse, experimented on.

throughout all of it, you're always on the forefront of his mind - you got him out, he's gonna make it home.

and he's gonna make you his.

every casualty report has you shake with anxiety, every call from his mother has your eyes tearing up in hopes it's not about what you think it is. you had almost given up hope over the years of not hearing a single thing from lewis, even if he did write to his mother from time to time whenever there was a chance. he just didn't want to risk giving you hope before ultimately dying, but his mother does write back - and the letters that reach him tell him all he needs to know about your fears of him not making it back, of you losing weight, always looking tired but still putting up a smile whenever you visit her or help her with groceries.

when lewis finally makes it back stateside, he has to force himself to visit his mother first, as the serum in his body screams for him to be with you after pretty much imprinting on the thought of you. after a long hug, careful of his new strength since he didn't want anyone to know or realise what was so fundamentally wrong with his body, and a bit of talking, she realises that he's antsy and smiles.

"go find her, lewis, that girl has run herself ragged over you. i know you're home and safe now, that's all i needed."

he thanks her, tries to be cautious while hugging her once more, tells her that he'll come over for dinner within the week. but she simply smiles knowingly, because she had realised your and his feelings before either of you ever did.

your apartment door is the only thing separating you now. he has the key, somewhere in his belongings that he left with his mother when he terminated his lease before the war, but he didn't want to just barge in. he knew his appearance would already have you stagger.

once he had rung the doorbell, your muffled "one second!" makes his heart all but slam against his ribcage. and when you open the door, see your best friend as he sees his, both of you freeze. he's alive. you're right in front of him. he's alive.

before his mind can tell him to stop, his body reacts, and he pulls you into a searing kiss, one that has you gasp only for him to use the chance and push his tongue into your mouth so it can tangle with yours. it only takes you a breath before you're pulling him inside, kicking the door shut with a slam that surely alerts your neighbours - but you can do the talking later. right now, you just need to feel each other, desperation coursing through both of your veins.

a moan of his name leaves you when he picks you up effortlessly, has his dick ache while he carries you to where he knows your bedroom is. once you're set down gently on the bed, like you're made of glass, lewis takes a breathless moment to admire you beneath him. chest heaving, the comfortable shirt he subconsciously recognises to be one of his that he left at your place ridden up to expose your soft stomach.

"lewis-" he doesn't give you time to continue when he moves down and over you, kissing you once more with fervour and barely restrained hunger. his name falling from your mouth this pretty makes him let out a low growl.

you hesitate for a second when you tug his shirt over his head with urgent fingers and see the ugly, raised scar that remained from the hook, and mutter a quiet, careful "you okay?". but he just pulls you back into him, mumbles against your lips that he is, now at least. you accept it, know that he'll explain at some later point, and every thought flies from your mind when he rolls his hips into yours. even through the layers of clothes still separating your bodies it's entirely overwhelming, because feeling him, like this, alive and finally yours, feels like a dream neither of you ever want to wake up from.

it's as if lewis' body lets out a breath of relief when he finally tastes your skin, his lips and teeth and tongue at your pulse, feels your bare body under his calloused hands. you feel like heaven after all that hell he endured in italy, then france, and while he promises you that he'll take his time with you properly later on he needs to feel you right this moment.

"take what you need to feel like you're home," you whisper into his kiss, and he swears that he could melt, keep you in his embrace for all eternity or however long the serum will want to give him.

he had already noticed that the tar made him fill his muscles out a little more, but he never thought about his dick gaining some girth as well until he wraps his fist around the base, lines up with your already glistening core, groans when he struggles to press even the tip fully into you. you whine underneath him, trying to spread your legs a little further to ease the stretch as he has to work himself into you with shallow grinds of his hips. he watches on in awe when you slowly take him, gasp and whimper and moan at the feeling.

when at last he manages to sink into you completely, bottom out with a final thrust, his hips stutter and he rasps out a low "fuck, sweetheart, you're heaven" because he finally doesn't feel the ache of his body anymore, only you wrapped around his cock so beautifully tight.

you can barely breathe, you're so full, but you manage to grab for him and pull him down into a kiss, inadvertedly have him reach even deeper into you. fuck, he has to adjust as well, you're almost too tight for him to properly move, but when you give a choked up "please move, lew-" he starts up a frantic pace, rough and deep, just the thing the both of you need. you're mewling and whining and pawing at his shoulders because your head is absolutely empty besides the thoughts of how full you are. how he's home. alive.

lewis' dark eyes stay on your face, observing every little detail flicker across. the pleasure he sees, the way you keep trying to hold his gaze but struggle, the little tremors your body gives under his large frame. with a glance, he angles his head to look down to where you're so intimately connected, groans raspily when he sees how wide your legs have to spread to accomodate him. how perfectly you take his every wild thrust. how perfectly you take him.

everything is too much and not enough at the same time - he knows he's different now, he knows he could hurt you, but you feel so good and he's waited so long for you, knows you waited so long for him as well. every little scrunch of your nose and tremble of your body has him realise just how thick he is, but before he can even check in if you're alright you're already shaking your head, choking out that he better not stop.

you still know him too well.

it's not long before you come undone, overwhelmed by the fact that he survived, reciprocates your feelings, feels so good covering your body with his own so fully as his hips snap into yours hard enough to leave the skin sore. neither of you can manage proper words by this point, instead letting out sighs of pleasure, weak sounds muffled through bitten lips and rough groans buried wherever his lips land.

lewis follows suit not long after you, hips faltering in their ruthless pace when he fills you with his spend, fucks it deeper when he doesn't stop even then. one round isn't going to be enough for the serum, he realises, he needs more, and you're more than happy and willing to give him everything he needs. he excuses it by being pent up, having thought only about you for the past few years, that he needs to get this out of his system and take you apart properly and thoroughly, over and over again in all the ways he imagined having you.

you're weak, exhausted, sore, dripping with his cum by the time lewis is finally done, by the time he finally fucked himself out fully. with trembling legs, he just barely pulls out to collapse next to you, tucks you against his chest and refuses to let you go far. you can clean up tomorrow - he almost didn't make it out, only did because of you, so he's going to make sure you're his. filled with him, surrounded by him. he needs you close.

softly, still a little shaky from exertion and the orgasms he pulled from you, you let your fingers graze the scar on his chest.

"later, i promise sweetheart."

he seals his words with a soft kiss, and you believe him.

once he does explain it to you - he trusts you with his life and more, he knows you'll believe him - you're shocked. terrified. not of him, never of him, but of the horrors he had seen and lived through in his deployment. when you promise that you'll love him no matter what runs through his veins, that you'll always be by his side and do whatever you can to keep this secret, lewis can't help but groan.

next thing you know, he has you pressed against the wall, your legs around his waist because he needs you again right that moment - he was so scared that you'd be disgusted, scared of him, but you're so willing to love his entire being with your own that he can't help the hunger, this deep rooted desire.

he hid the changes, hid the injuries, so nobody would realise how fast he was healing, stuck close to his squad so they could cover when he did get hurt. and all the while, you were his only thought, and now he has you, all of you, and you want all of him even if you know what that means. even if you know that your life will never be completely normal again.

so you always make sure to stay as low profile as possible, always care for any side effects that might be there, even if they're only that hunger.

especially then.

another nightmare of not making it out, not making it back to you. lewis knew he'd have them, hell, he had them even before ciel blanc, but that didn't mean they didn't shake him. he needs you, needs to feel you to push those thoughts and memories out of his mind, needs to know that you're there. that he's home.

you wake up to lewis already pressing into you carefully but oh so desperately, splitting you open even as he's gentle and slow. rather, at least as slow as he can manage.

"lew?" you mutter blearily, and when he knows you're awake, he grunts a quiet "needed you" into your skin as he sinks in further and you whine drowsily, hand landing on his wrist as he cautiously bullies his length into you. he still struggles a little, that girth will always be a bit much, but your body is so pliant when still half asleep that it's easier than usual.

both of you let out sharp gasps once he's finally fully inside of you, buried to the hilt, hip meeting hip. your head is thrown back, and he presses soothing kisses to your bared throat as you adjust, whispers praise into the skin. it doesn't matter how badly he needs you, he'll always give you that pause, that out if it's too much. he'd never forgive himself if he hurt you, if he didn't stop - he loves you too much, you're much more important than any physical need. just as much desire is in his body, it's evenly matched by restraint, so he can hold himself back. you're not getting hurt in any way if he can prevent it, and that includes by him.

lewis adores how you always let him in no matter what, cling to him half conscious, mumble how big he is and how good he feels when he starts to move with languid strokes that have his waist slap softly against the back of your thighs. he won't last long, neither will you, the haze of sleep multiplying every sensation tenfold and making your walls flutter around his dick in the matter of minutes, your subsequent release making his thrusts just that much wetter and smoother. you're all but whimpering for him, breathing his name like a prayer, and when he follows suit and tips over the edge it's deep, hot, long ropes of his cum as he fills you up with a groan of your name.

his mind is quiet again, body tired and spent, and he lets himself stay buried inside of you, wraps his arms around your middle to lay on top of you. kind hands almost immediately travel to his shoulders, into his hair, as you catch your breaths and work to get your heartbeats even again.

"better?" you murmur, low and almost gone again, and his nod brings you the rest of the way back to sleep.

"much better."

author's note: lewis please come home... the kids miss you....

stay safe and healthy <3