#gn!reader

You found yourself on a dark spot when you finished the circle—violet embers swirled in the air before dissolving into funereal smoke. Once again it didn't go as you had planned.

You desired to show something off to Olruggio, he always had the warmest and prettiest spells selected to showcase you, he even had specific ones for specific animosities you might have to vanquish.

Stretching backwards, you rolled your neck around before holding onto your lower back. Well, it was aching. It had been like this for a few days—not only were you locked within your chambers trying to come up with a whimsical witchcraft, you were also trying your best to help Olly around.

When you thought too deeply about it—hand massing the back of your neck—, you were becoming quite like him. Perhaps living together ended up rubbing off on you—you cracking your neck too frequently, sleeping less, and also that awful back pain…

Your thoughts dissipated when Olruggio called you to eat. You rose up, getting downstairs with a hunched posture on display.

“I made your favorite tonight… but don't get way too used to it, alright?” The cutlery was already there, placed neatly by the side of immaculated napkins, yet, despite that arrangement, you sat down without saying a thing, still trying to massage that feeling off of your back.

You were met with a harsh flick to your forehead, which led your hand to defensively cover the harmed area.

“What are you doing, Olly-”

“I said I made your favorite today. Honestly, you're acting so lost tonight…” yet, the momentum he turned around, you were lost again, hardly making sense of his words.

“What could've possibly happened to you…” he walked to sit across from you, but that was when his eyes caught your pitiful state. He startled you with a tight grip around the shoulders.

“You are becoming like me.”

“Am I what…”

“Tell me…!” he shook you, making your head spin. “Do you want to grow to become like this?” he raised an index towards himself, speaking dreadfully serious. Unaware of what the best outcome was and even more unsure of how to get there, you just accepted his fear and nodded.

Olruggio patted a large cushion in front of the fireplace, encouraging you to sit on it—he led you by your lower back and pulled you down by applying quite the pressure around your shoulders.

“You don't feel uncomfy if I do it, right, love…?” his hands were still, massaging your sides from the back as his hands went towards your collar—he felt your cheeks touching his knuckles when you nodded.

“You do tell me if you want me to stop, you're the boss here…” Olly said, kissing your neck loudly.

Gingerly, he removed the first few layers of your robes, unbuttoning the back buttons of the last linen article you wore. With your spine exposed, you hugged your legs—there was no reason to shy away, it was Olly, after all…

Warmth began to build up, starting from the harmed spot in your muscles and spreading like roots throughout the rest of your body, making a sigh of relief escape amidst your lips.

“It feels so good! What is it, Olly?” You looked back, yet he held your face, forcing you to look upfront again. You could feel two tiny warm spots on his fingers when he maneuvered you.

“Don’t go moving like this now, you silly gose. I'm trying to ease your pain here…”

You chuckled when Olruggio’s hands gently caressed your naked back. You waited patiently until he fixed your vests to their original settlement.

By hugging your shoulders, he spoke ticklish words against your ear:

“How is it now, sweetheart…?”

“Let’s do it everyday, please? It works so well…”

“Do not go giving me this look… fine, fine… just a little bit everyday…”

There was absolutely no possibility of going for a walk, if your body was kind enough to allow you. The first autumn frosts had made their way throughout the meadows, extinguishing any warmth left to embrace the greenery, leading to the shedding of its foliage, recently faded in brownish hues.

Lying on sheets piled close together in front of the fire was your remaining medication. Time seemed too erratic to risk a trip to get medicine in the law friendly ways of the witch world. Having it said, all that was left to you was harvesting your thoughts as a distraction.

Deprived of the painless articulation of anything below your lower belly, you reveled in self-martyrdom; perhaps you could achieve some beatification for dealing with this atrocious state without the support of medical perks.

The front door cracked, guessing who it was by the firm steps, you merely greeted.

“Welcome home, Olly!”

The steps got closer, until you opened your eyelids to discern the face of an Olruggio crouched beside you.

“Is the cold making you lazy today?” He ruffled your hair, making its state messier than any rolling upon the sheets could ever manage.

“Lazy? I mean, I'm sleepy, yes. But…” you dramatically put your hands upon your belly. ”It hurts a lot!”

“Then go to the bathroom…” he left, you were left speechless that Olly could be so harsh.

“Olly, that's not because of this! Where are you going!”

He came back, taking a random, smaller sheet you had used on the construction of your fireplace attached bed.

“At least don't go ruining my nest…” you turned around, laying on your side until he grabbed your forearm, leading you to stay with your torso straight.

“I’m not ruining anything. You already made quite the unbalanced blanket castle here…” now, that early stolen sheet went back to you, however Olruggio didn't put it on its old place, instead, it found itself on your aching spot.

“How did you warm it up this fast? I didn't see you drawing anything!”

“Don’t you remember? It was the spell I displayed during Silver Eve…”

“Oh! That's why you stole my sheet! Because it's still harshly shaped!”

“You… oh, dear…” he covered his face, sighing loudly. “Don’t go saying my creations are ‘harshly shaped’, do you hear me…?” you blinked continuously, it was quite obvious you planned on repeating that.

“Anyhow, if anyone here is a thief, it's most likely you…”

“Me…?”

“Half of those blankets are mine, aren't they…?”

You looked away, twiddling your thumbs and tapping your index tips together. “Well, hmm… about that… but it was for my well-being, right…?”

He threw his head backwards, pondering it.

“Well, yes… everything I own is yours too, either way…” Olruggio leaned down, pecking your—although the actual gift was the unusual giggle he let out afterwards.

“Also, I need to reshape it, don't I?” he lied by your side, his hand resting on the top of the cotton sheltered snugstone. You decided you weren't that much fit for a martyr anymore.

Romania was the first time you two stayed somewhere with more than a single room, the first time you stayed in a real apartment. You had the second room, with a mattress stacked on top of some wooden pallets. Bucky set up his mattress in the front room, which was an all-purpose space with a kitchenette. Technically, there was a third room, a tiny bathroom consisting of a rusted faucet jutting out of the wall about waist-high, a bucket, and a toilet which sometimes flushed, and sometimes didn’t. It was leagues better than Hydra.

While Bucky took a survey of the building and surrounding area, you covered the windows. Old newspaper worked fine. You scratched out a few eye holes, to keep your lines of sight open. If someone got in, Bucky could fight his way out, and you could sneak quite well, but it would be much better to flee before anyone got close.

Bucky, after scouting out the rest of the building, went out for supplies. He came back with a brown paper bag of purple fruits. They were a little old and bruised, but sweeter than anything you could have imagined. That moment—sitting on the edge of a rooftop eating old fruit—was the first time you felt free. With the slowly setting sun on your face and Bucky nearby, it was the first time you smiled. 

The sun finally set and your eyes adjusted to the creeping darkness. It was soft, almost comforting. You were crouched in front of a window, looking out over the buildings. Bucky was cleaning his arm—the dirt from the road built up, those gloves he always wore trapped it inside, and eating juicy plums certainly didn’t help—which was a fairly regular occurrence, but still left him vulnerable. He trusted you enough to keep lookout while he worked. 

“Go sleep,” he said once he had finished, nodding towards the back room.

You nodded, and crept towards the door. Although the wooden floorboards were old, and creaked as the building settled, you managed not to make a sound. It was another of your talents, picked up from a childhood in Hydra.

The back room felt different. You knew where everything was without needing to turn on a light (that would be stupid, basically broadcasting your position to the whole world). The darkness was different here. It wasn’t a cloak you wrapped around your shoulders, keeping you snug and safe. Instead, it was a cold emptiness. It reminded you, though you tried not to linger on the thought, of your old room with its suffocating air and dampness.

There was no one else in there. Which you knew. You knew nobody had snuck inside in the hour you’d been keeping watch. There were no windows or vents for someone to creep through. Still. There was something unsettling about being alone. There was no movement, like the whole room was tensing to pounce. Like something just out of your vision was slithering along silently. 

Despite all that, you were able to fall asleep. Sheer physical exhaustion can drown out even the most terrifying of thoughts. Alas, in the depths of sleep, memories come crawling up and out. ———

You’re in a lab. Of course you are. You always have been. You were never not. That empty room? Just a momentary lapse in consciousness. You have always been here. They have never not been drawing vials and poking needles and attaching wires and measuring reactions and on and on and on. This is how it has always been. 

You have never been able to scream. Why would you? This is how it has always been. You never got out. You have always been here. This is all there is. You never ate a plum on a rooftop in Romania. Romania may as well not even exist. You’re just a poor, poor lab rat.  ———

You awoke with a startled shriek, which you managed to strangle before it carried too far. Still, within a moment Bucky was at your side, eyes wide with concern, body braced for a fight—even when you don't want to fight, it always ends in a fight. He taught you that. You knew it to your core.

But maybe it doesn't? Maybe if it's in your head then you can't fight it. You just have to live with it, forever.

Shivering and shaking, you had thrown off your coarse blanket, you tried to catch your breath. It was a losing game. Every inhale was short, choppy, and cut off too early, leaving your lungs half-full at best. Your hands were up, shielding yourself. It took you a long time to crawl out of your memories on your own, but Bucky made it a little less difficult.

The moment you noticed him kneeling by your mattress, you rocketed yourself into his arms. Safe. Your face pressed against his shoulder. His arms held you close as he modeled long, even breaths. Eventually, you were able to match his breathing. The tears slowed, then stopped. You didn't let go, so he didn't, either.

After a long time—minutes, hours, years, it was impossible to say—you were able to talk.

"Can you stay?"

He hesitated for a moment.

"Yeah," he nodded in the dark. "Of course I can."

And so, just like all those long, dark days shared in a Hydra cell, you curled up against Bucky's chest, using his natural arm like a pillow while the metal one held you close, protecting you. There would be more nightmares, but you would never have to face them alone.

----

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Malchemical thrust into again, spilling ropes inside you, your used hole fluttering around his cock.

He collapsed on top of you, face buried in the crook of your neck, breath just starting to sting as it fanned across your neck.

"W-" You let out a breath "Watch it with that, would ya?"

He chuckled, turning away just a little, hands still against the mattress, not you.

Your arms stayed wrapped around his back, resting gently over the scratches you'd just left.

He pushed up, moving to pull out when your grip tightened.

"Stay"

He stilled, in all the time you'd been fucking, making each other scream and moan for hours on end, you'd never asked him to stay, and he never had before.

"W- uhm, what?"

"Stay. Just this once"

He didn't respond for a moment, thinking, just barely, before his eyes found yours, seriousness seeping into the blue.

"One time"

You nodded, trying to hide the way your breath hitched when he agreed, laying back down over you.

You stayed like that for a while, still silence, debating in your head whether you might dare to brush your fingers up and down his skin, afraid he might back away if you did.

Eventually, he shifted and you thought that was the end of it, that impossible, soft moment over far too soon, but he didn't leave. He just slid onto his side, even going the extra mile to pull you against his chest, strong arms holding you close.

You focused on keeping your heart rate somewhere near a reasonable level, resting your head against his shoulder, content to remain like that for as long as he'd have you.

You finally dared to move, hand ghosting up to rest over his hip, thumb brushing along the little dip of his waist. He kept your head tucked against his chest, a firm hand steadying you there, so he didn't have to look you in the eyes. Or moreso, that you couldn't look him in the eyes.

You always loved his eyes, he could tell even when you were bouncing on his cock, you kept looking into his eyes. In less intimate settings too, not that he saw sex as that intimate of a thing. You'd catch his gaze from across a room, he used to think it was just foreplay, both of you eager to get each other alone, or not so alone but pretty much alone. But you genuinely seemed to be entranced by them, different shades of blue washing around in there.

And that's what he hated about you.

He never let anyone in that close, and he didn't want to let you in either, but there you were, always ready if he were ever to give you the chance. And he couldn't let that happen, he couldn't risk someone seeing him beneath the drugs and doesn't-give-a-fuck vibe he'd worked so hard to build up. Part of it was true, he enjoyed just drifting away and not caring, but part of it was to mask the rest of himself.

You were getting too close, but he let you. Fuck.

He pressed a kiss to the hige of your jaw, moving lower, trailing more down your neck.

"M-Mal, baby"

"Yeah?" He hummend against you, you could already feel him hardeing inside you again.

"What're you doing?"

"Round two"

"Sweetheart, we just had our fifth round two, I-I don't know if I've got another in me"

"Yeah you do" He shifted, causing you to wince as he pressed deeper "You just gotta lay there"

"Please, just- slow down"

"Just shut up and take it, c'mon"

He started to rock his hips again, pain tingling deep inside you, not in any way you liked.

Your fingers tangled in his hair, gripping tight as you pulled him off you. You saw his eyes, wetter than any time you'd seen them before, shining like they were made of brightness.

"I-" He stopped, chest rising and falling more than it should in the moment "I gotta go, I-"

He cut himself off, pulling out harshly, ripping a cry from your throat. Before you could try and stop him, he grabbed his clothes, rushing out the door.

You pulled the sheet around yourself, falling back against the headboard. You had to fuck it up somehow, didn't you? You had to drive him away in whatever way you did, ruining whatever it was you two had going. And here you were, tears falling down your cheeks as his cum leaked out of you, fucking pathetic.

Speaking of being pathetic, damn you were good at it. You spent weeks waiting, hoping he might turn up at your door with a bottle of shitty wine and that same old look that told you he needed you. Or at least, he wanted you, in some way. You stayed in every night, jumping at the slightest noise, willing it to be a knock.

You just kept waiting, not willing to accept that he wasn't going to come back.

He never took longer than three days to show up on your doorstep again. He was horny as fuck and so were you so it worked out great, until now. When you should have realized that this was it, that he wouldn't be back.

Hell, he probably found someone new by now, after all, you were just something to keep his dick warm, you weren't special, there were hundreds of people out there ready and willing to take your place. If you're being completely honest with yourself, you were probably just the closest fuck to his apartment. You were nothing more than a convenient orgasm, you had to accept that.

You just fucking couldn't.

You remembered every time he looked at you after sex, that little glimpse of something real hidden in there somewhere. It was gone as quickly as it was there, but you remembered it. You could see it in the way he'd look at you across busy streets or crowded rooms. The way his eyes would soften when they found you, instantly turning hungry the second he noticed you looking back, covering up that little bit of him with more and more lust.

You refused to believe he was just gone. He wasn't a feelings kind of guy, but you knew there was more to it that needed to be said.

And yet, you froze when he knocked.

Three slightly spaced out, weak, knocks.

You stood instantly, finding walking to be more difficult than usual, even after your nights with Malchemical. Your own legs betraying you for entirely un-fun reasons.

Once you got to the door, your hand shook trying to open it. It had to be him, it had to, right?

You gripped the handle, pulling it back slowly as Malchemical surged forward, his lips capturing yours before you could speak.

He kept moving in, kicking the door shut behind him as he pushed further, shoving you into the wall, never breaking the kiss.

His hands slid from your cheeks down, digging into your waist, bruising.

"Need you" He growled against your lips 'I fucking need you"

He pressed his hips flush to yours, cock harder than you remembering it ever being, straining, aching for you. You ground against him, giving him the much needed friction he craved, a low groan vibrating from his chest.

"You have me"

He grabbed your thighs, hoisting you up with that superhuman ease, your legs wrapping around his waist, locked.

There wasn't time to go to the bedroom, not in his haste, instead keeping you against the wall. He reached down and unzipped his pants, his cocking bobbing free, pouring out precum. You took hold of him, thumb pressing over his slit, forcing out more stickiness, coating your palm with it.

You pumped him a few times, relishing in the way he squeezed his eyes shut, leaning into your touch. You hadn't even realized he'd already taken off your pants until you were linging him up, the head of his cock notched at your entrance, ready for one, brutal thrust.

This time, for the first time, he looked you in the eyes as he pushed into you, mouth dropping open in a silent moan. Your hands slid into his hair, pulling him in for a deep, consuming kiss as he started moving inside you, setting a rhythm quickly, fucking relieved to be home again.

When he pulled back, he withdrew completely, driving back into you fast, watching your face contort with pain-riddled pleasure.

He slammed into you again and again, hard and fast and claiming along with his bites. Some to your neck, your shoulder, dipping down to your chest. You were his, and God were you glad to be.

Your moans and cries filled his ears like the perfect symphony of ecstasy, drowning out the world around him, everything being replaced by nothing but you.

He stilled, one last push filling you with his cum like so many times before. You clenched around his pulsating dick, crying out a broken version of his name as he roared yours, breaking and shattering and falling apart around him.

He kept his head down as you both fought to regain your breath, chests heaving against each other. His voice was quieter than you thought possible, nowhere near casual.

"Can I stay? Just- for tonight"

You smiled softly, tilting his chin up to see him properly.

"For tonight"

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If you showed up with a mild headache, Olruggio was quick to suspend your activities for the day, insisting on you taking a stroll, napping, or leading you to Qifrey’s atelier to play with his apprentices (you swore you were too old for it, but you’d find making little clothes for brush buddy nicer than expected);

When you realized that falling sick meant you wouldn't be allowed to study like you wanted to then each “recovery holiday” felt like a huge delay towards your future;

The only nice part of it was being looked after by Olruggio. He’d bring you more treats from the great hall and constantly check your forehead with a caressing touch. Olruggio would also share a room with you in case your situation suddenly worsened by the night! You could even excuse liking to be spoiled by saying it was only until you got better!

Be whatever it is: the hallucinations of a feverish state, the visual fluctuations from a migraine, or the habitual relapses brought on by anemia—Olruggio forced himself to work despite the adversities.

You were, perhaps even unwittingly, adopting these habits of downplaying any ailment. It was just a worrisome natural internalization of the actions the main adult around you would take.

Even if Olruggio displayed worry, telling you and Qifrey’s apprentices to look after yourselves or else you all would “age like him”, you still assimilated that overworking with your Master’s level of grandness.

But, to put it wholeheartedly, you were already quite the stubbing teen yourself. Even if you could throw most of the fault on Olruggio’s back, you couldn't deny that his role was more of reinforcing your preexistent ways.

“Age like me” wasn't even that much of a nightmare when you mostly looked at his spells and thought of his eyebags and wrinkles as a destiny set too far in the future for you to care. Perhaps you could even overexert yourself much more safely than he ever could—he was old, after all, yet you still sparkled in youth.

“No… I should place it there… or perhaps there instead…” you muttered to yourself, pressing your lips together in an annoyed sound before crumpling and discarding that damned piece of paper. It fell to a pile which was only multiplying since the morning sun made its first appearance.

By moving your curtain just enough, you saw him coming back—He had paid a visit to Master Qifrey’s atelier, you only wished for him to stay there longer since you hadn't come up with a good excuse.

The papers were dealt with easily—you were under a Olruggio of the Torch after all—, you just needed to fix your appearance, although the mirror revealed quite the disgraceful look when it dared to highlight the purple underneath your eyes. You hummed, it could simply be the effect of the room's lighting, which effervesced at the top of your head, hence creating shadows in the less desirable areas. Before leaving, you looked back at your wooden plate, set atop of your bed with the dinner you had promised to eat, yet you got way too distracted…

As you heard him steeping inside, you went to greet him. “I thought you would spend the night there, Master Olly!”

“As if…! I have an apprentice now, I must look after you…” Olruggio ruffled your hair, perhaps you shouldn't have bothered to comb it. “Anyway, what's the atrocious smell of smoke?”

“I was practicing fire magic on a few papers…”

“Didn’t I tell you not to do it when I'm not around?” you couldn't take this complaint seriously when he didn't bother to look at you while pronouncing it, instead he seemed to be handling a few spells Qifrey’s girls would often ask him to analyse.

You sat onto the nearest chair, with your face and chest turned towards the backrest. When Olruggio pieced together the indoors smell and your disobedience, he became more serious. “You see, if you're ‘gonna’ practice those anyway, at least do it outdoors, we can't risk a fire inside!”

“Wasn’t I grounded…? Like not allowed to go out?”

“Your fault for thinking ‘no desserts’ wasn't enough of a punishment…”

“Anyway…” You tilted backwards, analyzing each expressive wrinkle on your Master's face, the angle at which his lower eyelids slanted, and finally decided that Olruggio didn't look that annoyed. “I’ll go back to my practice…”

“Hey, you… aren't you supposed to have finished it two hours ago?”

“You see…” Now, you looked through all the excuses you had in store for this moment…

“You see, Master Olly… please, forgive me, you weren't here to wake me up so I slept more than I should… I started to study later than I should.” you bowed, your wrists gripped together.

Olruggio was, if anything, pretty pleased with your made up story, which he firmly believed was real—why would you lie, anyway? You could be a silly goose in the most self derogatory ways, but you were still trustworthy.

“Well, alright, you're growing, you need to sleep more. Fine, go ahead and finish your studies, dear. Did you eat dinner when I was out? I left it cooked for you, didn't I?”

“Yes, Master Olly! It was delicious!” well, you truly bet it was, though.

You went upstairs, although you weren't able to go as fast as usual—why was it so dark tonight? The moonlight was shiny after all.

“Did you take a bath? Do it before it's too late!” Olruggio insisted, holding a hand up to amplify the sound.

You obeyed even though the water was too cold, had it always been like this? At least you could use it as an excuse to draw a fire spell and warm it more. Strange, usually you didn't feel the need to warm it up even once, tonight you did it twice…

Now, settled in your room, you could finally return to your tests. Holding up your sketchbook, you closed your eyes—a witch must be able to cast without looking, therefore you breathed heavily… actually you tried to.

What was it? Was your nose stuffy all of sudden? How could you concentrate like that? Perhaps massaging the outside or warming it up would do it, yet still…no. A witch mustn't allow such a thing to distract them. You’d need to use spells in front of crowds and manage not to be seen, why would you allow an annoying nostril to stop you!

It wasn't just the nose. Your palm covered your forehead, perhaps you were warmer for sitting close to the fireplace… you began to touch your forearms, back, thighs—they were all warmer than usual.

“Maybe I'll get better on my own-", you tried to reassure yourself, but your throat tightened with coughs after each word.

But witches got sick and needed to draw either way. You went to your desk.

Intense red flashes lick the large room, and the large shelf chest of books seems to rejoice in receiving the light of this honest fire. There are golden flames, blue brushstrokes, crimson embers, a complete palette of a watercolor world blurred by fatigue. You touched your forehead…

Water droplets tinkled as they fell on the full basin as Olruggio wrung out a towel. “Listen to me now…”, began the older witch when you felt the coldness of the fabric hitting your forehead. “Not only you hide from me that you're sick, you also keep it to the point you’re so frail you fall down and hit this empty head of yours onto your desk? What are you now? A toddler who needs surfaces with round edges to live properly?”

“I didn't know I was getting sick…”

“Oh, yes, what do you say about it?” he showed off your dinner plate.

“‘Lemme’ guess: ‘oh, I should've hidden it better from Master Olly!’” He disposed of the plate just to dramatically pose like a damsel in distress. “If that's what's on your mind then you must be thoroughly educated all over again. Tell me how one skips meals and believes they'll be on their full wellness? You have no care for your welfare?”

“I just wanted to…”

“To…?”

You did finish your sentence, instead you held his hand, squeezing it.

“Sorry… I'm really sorry, master Olly…”

“Listen, don't lie to me, do you feel too bad?” you shock your head.

“Just sleepy, my nose isn't that anymore either…”

He removed the towel from your brow, kissing it skin to skin. “Now I want you to sleep nicely, alright? Throughout the whole night. No waking up before six in the morning, no studying without any breaks, and… more importantly… no skipping the meals I prepare. You know… well, it hurts my heart, dear…”

You couldn't tell if your eyes were watery from the cold or not—you spent too much time drawing spells and not enough exploring your own feelings—, but Olruggio could get it pretty well.

“Hey, shh… look at me, sweetie…” he held your face, caressing your cheeks with his thumbs. “I don't want you feeling bad for an old man like me, alright, sweetie? You're meant to feel bad for yourself now.” You nodded, the movement moving your tears to fall. As usual, he playfully brushed his beard against your temple, which made you giggle and tell them how unserious it was, he couldn't hold back though.

“Now you say ‘ahh!’”

You shook your hands until they blurred like a hummingbird’s wings, he'd bet your face wasn't tinting from the fever right now.

“Alright, alright, just open your mouth…”

Finally you ate the dinner he made, but the taste was lost due to your ailment. It still warmed your insides, and it wasn't like the anxious warmth of your dying fever…

Olruggio led the last spoonful of food inside your mouth, cleaning you with a flower pattern handkerchief. Your master held onto your shoulders, leading you by your back so you could brush your teeth.

After kissing your eyelids shut, Olruggio placed a heavy blanket upon you, patting your form above the sheets

“Goodnight, master Olly…”

“Goodnight, sweetheart. I love you…”