Hi! If you’re still accepting prompts, would you consir writing more of the GD Bucky and liefling Peter? I absolutely adored that fic. Your writing is some of the best in the fandom ❤️
Thank you!!! God, I’m sorry this took so long. I thought this would be an easy weekend project and then it became a process of over a month.
This ended up being more of a collection of scenes and I may add more later but for right now I’d like this monster of a piece to be done ^^;
Length: 5k
Warnings: Mentions of abuse, torture, and experimentation, one kinda nasty vomiting scene, suggestion and implications of cannibalism (but it’s never confirmed to be happening, being too sick to eat (don’t know how to tag it other than that).
. . .
The sound of the metal shoot opening made Peter’s entire body clench in fear. The floor began to slope downwards in time with the screech of metal. Peter only added to the noise as his recently clipped claws tried to find purchase on the smooth wall. It was cramped, he was barely able to move as the shoot was made to shunt dead bodies down, not beings with their sense of fear still intact.
His scramble was useless as gravity pulled him downward. He slipped down the slide and in a few terrifying seconds he was dropped onto the dirt. The second his legs were under him, he ran. Sticking close to the wall he tried to find a way out.
The facility held dozens of demons of different creeds and types. All experiments for scientists, their goal unclear to test subjects such as him. All he knew was that this was a pen for one of the most horrifying of all they held captive here. A Greater Demon. They resided just below the Royal bloodline in terms of power and reasons to be feared. Massive and built to be predators, they were imposing to say the least. They are to be feared just on their own. Magic is hardly something they need much of, to the point some wonder if it’s had been bred out of some lines altogether. It didn’t matter though when you’re stuck in a cage with one.
Being a half-demon, Peter shouldn’t even be alive. Most are culled at birth by their parents to spare them from a life as pets or sexual slavery. The market was massive but Peter wasn’t bred for that. One of the human scientists birthed him. His father, a Lesser Demon who had tried to protect him, and when that failed, attempted to kill him. He’d been too young to know him for the time they had shared. Peter was made to be a lab rat, something to examine under a lens.
Now at somewhere between sixteen and eighteen cycles, he had outgrown his usefulness.
Running on all fours, he was slowed by the shattered foot pulled tight to his pelvis. The limb withered by one cruel experiment that had gone too far. It could heal, he could be whole again, but there had been hushed whispers of people beginning to look a little closer at what was done in the labs. Peter was a living mark of their cruelty, the brutality and lengths they would go to in order to make life better for everyone but the demons they shared the earth with.
He would die. Unwelcome in another demon’s territory, he would be slain. If not for that, he would be because he was prey and a source of food. That was what they had thrown him in to be, at least.
The concrete walls that extended into the sky above him went in a gentle curve that hinted at the inclosure being massive and rounded. This was at the edge of the compound, outside in the fresh air and the territory of one of the only demons here with any sense of freedom.
He ran until weakness overtook him. His body burned from the strain and the cold air froze his skin and lungs. With the last bit of his energy he hobbled into the underbrush. The only open space he had seen so far was roughly 15 feet of packed dirt around the perimeter of the cage. The observation towers positioned high atop the walls looked down on him, adding to the vulnerability of being out in the open. His dive into the brush was in the hopes they wouldn’t grow bored and shoot him before the other demon found him. Everyone in the compound knew that dead bodies were what they fed him and Peter was most certainly not dead (yet). He didn’t want them to decide he was better off joining that tradition.
Packing his small body into the cover, he heaved in oxygen, trying desperately to fill his lungs through the panic and adrenaline running through veins. His first time being outside and he was practically shitting himself. He tried to settle down, put his head on straight and just think. He focused on the grass beneath him. The blades tickled, jammed themselves between his toes and the nooks between his paw pads. The sounds of birds made his ears twitch as he strained to pinpoint where they were under the rustling of the trees. He could smell water somewhere nearby and a trace of the earthy smell of another demon. Still on edge but winding down, Peter stayed put, cataloguing all the new sensations as a way to focus and think.
He really couldn’t think of what to do. Greater Demons were not known to share, especially not with other Greater Demons. Most only tolerated each other enough to pop out a few babies and never spoke again. Only Lesser Demons had much of a chance of forming a mating bond and even then waltzing into another’s territory was a sure way to get fucking murdered. He didn’t know much beyond that. Every other demon he had been around in his life was a Lesser Demon or an occasional halfling. He didn’t even know what this mystery being might look like. Just that he had to be massive.
Continuing to move was likely his best bet. If he sat here and stank up the area with his fear he’d be found soon. With his leg tucked against his chest again, he hobbled through the woods. Ears up and alert, he listened while regularly scenting the air. There was always a hint of another, like the very ground was infused with a little bit of the demon. Maybe it was. He had no clue what abilities the other demon would have. He just hoped he didn’t have cloak-
Peter froze, rigid and glued in place. Cloaking abilities. Fuck, fuck!
He tried to make his glance around look casual, like he was debating where he was going next. The same underlying smell of demon hadn’t changed in intensity once and he had been too blind to realize the reason why.
The woods were not quite silent but the noise seemed muted. Though, Peter really had no clue what normal woods should sound like. He scanned for anything amiss, an odd looking tree, an off rift in his vision. He couldn’t pick out a single thing but he knew he was being watched. He had to be. There was no way the other demon didn’t know damn well when feeding time was. He must have hung around the shoot but Peter hadn’t seen anything, bolting before thinking to get his bearings.
What little fur he had began to raise. He stuck out like a sore thumb, muted red skin wasn’t exactly designed to blend in to a green birch forest. Forcing himself to move on like nothing was wrong, he went by gut feeling. Chose a direction away from the concrete walls and the new feeling of being watched.
After an hour, nothing had happened.
The only new development was the tired aching in his ankle and wrists. He’d never had to be active for this long. He didn’t really know what the experiments they did on him were for but endurance hadn’t been something they were looking for.
He needed to rest, badly. His broken leg meant it’s twin was taking on extra weight. The jostling of his movements also didn’t help, making the shards of bone grate uncomfortably by one another. The feeling of being watched was still ever present but he simply could not keep moving. Just dragging himself to the dip amongst the roots of an ancient birch made his sore body throb. Collapsing into the cool hollow was a relief. He curled up, pressing as far back as he could manage and curled up, tail holding his limbs in close.
Closing his eyes, just for a moment, he basked in the momentary stillness. He’s never experienced the form of quiet nature brings. The lack of machines whirring in other rooms was something he hadn’t thought much of until they were gone. The white noise no longer there but instead replaced with wind and the way the leaves and grass knocked together as it brushed past.
Maybe the peace of his surroundings was what prepared him for the shadow that was cast over him.
The slight shift in temperature gave it away, the shadow momentarily cooling his body further before the body heat masked the split second chill. He screwed his eyes shut tight, tucked his face behind the imaginary barrier of his thin tail. Just waited for the pain his life had been defined by to come crashing down, sharp and relentless.
A sudden rumbling that shook the air and ripped a cry from him, short and scared. The sound persisted. He thought it was a growl, had enough sense to let out a terrified sob as hot breath rolled across his back. When a tongue swiped a tongue down his back, he was sure this was the moment he’d died.
He was painfully slow to realize what the sound and touch were.
The purring carried into his bones as his hair and the short fur along his back was groomed. Even understanding the gesture now, he stayed curled, not trusting this to be anything but a way to play with him before brutally crunching his bones into dust.
The lung, large tongue ran down his spine in long, lazy strokes. The tufts of his fur caught just enough to be separated and cleaned. The coarse texture was surprisingly soothing when it met his skin. The demon behind him had to be large with how big just his tongue was, but he was scared to interrupt the moment that might be the only thing keeping him alive for a few seconds longer.
Out of sound to make, he simply trembled when the tongue moved away and a massive paw of a hand scooped him out of the hollow, caging him between claws and a sturdy palm but not crushing. He didn’t fight the litany of ‘please’s that fell from his lips, a poor attempt to have his life spared as the Greater Demon began to move. The makeshift prison was warm at least as the light layer of spit cooled along his back. His injured leg remained safely tucked away to avoid being bumped. He prayed that this wasn’t some off game of cat and mouse, though his chances were admittedly slim.
The shade of the trees turned to an inky black void as he was taken into some sort of den. It seemed to slope into the ground, as if some massive burrow. Eventually light came back, the dancing embers of flames from what he could tell of their flickering brightness.
With a whimper, he was placed carefully on something soft. The plush fur under him was easily identified as he pressed himself into it, making his already small form, tiny. Peter spared a glance at the other demon and all the air inside of him left.
By human standards, he was terrifying, but Peter was more demon than man and the blood that took too it boiled at the sight of the being before him. The demon was male, that was undoubtedly correct. The sheath that protected his penis was a dead give away if the size didn’t do it. He was massive, nine? Ten feet? He had a noble face, set and cut in the way only demons could pull off with all their angles and animalistic notes. The long, black hair waved on it’s way down, surprisingly well kept. His horns were large and silvery, looping once over themselves before turning forward into deadly points. The rest of his body was covered in fur, longer than Peter’s but not by much.
Now having a face, the demon was not as scary. He lacked the ferocity his imagination had assigned the other. Still, he whimpered when a nose was pressed into his belly, wet and slightly chilled.
Peter was rolled onto his back. Tried and failed to flip down onto his belly as his mangled leg was sniffed. Those eyes, full of fire yet piercing blue in color locked with his.
“Who harmed you?”
It was not the question he had been expecting.
“The scientists.” He kept his answer short, tried to pull away from the jaws too close to his limb. One of the oldest demons in the compound had once told him about demons eating broken limbs, choosing to spare the energy it would take to heal it and increase reserves. It was only done in desperation and usually self inflicted but having someone so close to it brought back the memory of the frightening practice.
The demon bared his teeth. Peter flinched. The teeth went away and to Peter’s surprise, the other demon nuzzled against his side, still watching him.
“Name?”
“Peter.” Hopefully the addition of a name meant he wasn’t on the menu.
“Bucky.”
It took Peter a second to realize that was meant to be a name, a returning of introductions. He repeated it out loud, wrapping his tongue around the word. “Bucky.”
The purr was sudden and deafening. Peter’s whimper in response cooled the noise to a loud but manageable rumble. As it continued the tension in his body eased, soaking up the sound until his own tiny chest vibrated in return. There was still fear, but it eased as he let his nerves settle under the calming atmosphere.
Peter was just starting to go lax when his broken leg was extended. He howled and jerked but it was slowly straightened as he was hushed softly. It burned and the muscles felt displaced and wrong, like they were filled with burrs and the sticky grasses one of the scientists always complained about getting stuck to his clothes.
He laid there panting through the pain as his leg was manipulated. It didn’t click as to what was going on until two straight, solid objects sandwiched his mangled leg. He looked down to immediately look away as his swollen, bruised leg was hard enough to look at without it being set into a splint made of large femur bones, their lofty heads cut off so they fit snugly against his skin.
Keeping quiet is hard, but he managed it. Biting back any sound that tried to pry it’s way out. Bucky was careful at least, doing his best not to bump anything that might cause any additional pain or soreness. It was a small relief. He counted the seconds until it stopped. He was too exhausted to fight anything, hell, if Bucky suddenly did decide to eat him there wasn’t even enough left in him to escape that.
To his relief, the manipulation of the joints and limb stopped. He rested, panting, on the furs and staining them with the thin sheen of sweat along his spine. Bucky rumbled once again, a sound that was comforting in a bone deep way that left him too soft to be jittery with anxiety.
“Sleep, you’re safe.”
And, despite everything that says he should not, that he should leave before he loses whatever entertainment value he seems to have, he falls gently into the void.
_______
The days… weeks-- that follow are spent nearly in a daze. His leg began to heal as Bucky carved out a place in his heart.
_______
Waking up each morning to a grooming session was not the way he expected things to go. The first time he shrieked and scared the shit out of them both. The second time he tensed. The third he let out a heaving sigh and only grumbled a complaint when he got a few swipes across his cheek, Bucky simply laughed.
They developed their morning and daily ritual from there. Bucky groomed him, rumbling as he pushed all Peter’s light, fluffy fur forward before smoothing it back out. He lovingly called it “baby fur”. Allegedly because Peter’s was about as soft and as sparse as a newborn. It was only a slightly stinging endearment for a while, gradually growing in affection as he was fawned over by the massive demon. He was kept clean, cleaner than he had ever been. Bucky’s doting keeping dreaded lice and fleas away and but a distant memory sat alongside dirty cages and moldy food.
Bucky appeared to enjoy every second of Peter he could manage to ream out. He was there from the second Peter was awake and hardly strayed until Peter was safely tucked away in sleep. He only disappeared to find food, something Peter tried not to think about much if he could.
His leg healed faster than he expected. Stitched itself back into one piece in a matter of a week or so, ushered forward by rest and a belly full of meat he never asked the origin of. He grew restless once he could bear weight on it, skittered up the walls and lashing his tail. He tried not to do it when Bucky was watching, afraid of being seen as a pest and Bucky growing annoyed enough to do something like re-break the new bone.
Still, the Greater Demon picked up on his little guest’s agitation. He removed the stint and to Peter’s surprise, started nosing him up the ramp that led outside. With a cold nose pressed to his naked back, he was quick to move. Bursting out into the sunshine only to be blinded for a few moments by the white light of the sun. It made him sneeze a few times as his eyes adjusted. The now familiar rumble of Bucky’s laugh had him turning towards the sound, even as his body shook with the force of each sneeze.
Bucky licked a playful strip through Peter’s hair before starting to walk into the woods, stopping and looking to see if Peter was following.
Scrambling after, Peter stuck close at first but as they sank deeper into the woods, he couldn’t help but wander nearby. Bucky stopped to watch him, it took Peter longer than it should have to realize that Bucky seemed… tense.
He was too busy flipping things over and sniffing through the undergrowth. A vole darted by and Peter was transfixed, taking off after it. Dormant hunting skills pushed to the forefront as he managed to snag the soft, fleshy body in his teeth. His teeth dug through the spine, snapped it in two with a crack that startled Peter enough that he dropped it. Embarrassed, he quickly picked it back up in his jaws, turned to show Bucky only to freeze.
There was something dark in his strange companion’s gaze. He couldn’t for the life of him tell what it was but it didn’t feel like something positive. Peter was about to ask what was going on when a growl, a harsh and feral thing, ripped out of Bucky.
Peter dropped to his belly, ears back, eyes wide as he trembled. He didn’t know what was going on and he whimpered as Bucky came at him faster than he thought possible. Slamming his eyes shut, he waited for the punishment that was clearly coming.
When all he heard was the nearly deafening growling without the tear of his own flesh, he dared to peak. The furry expanse of one of Bucky’s hind legs was all he could see. Glancing up he saw the other demon’s belly. Craning his head over his shoulder, he finally processed what was going on.
Turning to face forward, now bristling for a new reason, Peter saw a few scientists in armored suits. Bucky wasn’t going for them but they had clearly stopped coming towards the pair. Peter strained to hear, just barely picking up the English gargle he had grown up around.
“... He’s not normally so aggressive.”
“... --thought he ate the halfling. Why is it still alive?”
“I wonder if he adopted it?”
“No, this looks like mating behavior.”
“Seriously?”
They continued to chitter amongst themselves. Bucky softening his growl to a dangerous rumble but never faltering in his stance. They couldn’t hurt Peter without hurting Bucky in this position, Bucky had lowered himself just enough that his fur was brushing over Peter’s skin. It was a protective move, one that Peter mimicked by staying low in the tall grass around them. He made a quiet noise when Bucky settled entirely on top of him. He was still propped on his own legs but had the smaller demon tucked beneath him like a mother hen, keeping him warm against the cold ground.
Peter jumped (eliciting a startled, sharp growl from Bucky) when a voice broke out amongst the rest, one he recognized. Crawling forward just enough to see, he relaxed as Dr. Rogers came into view, the white star on his armor giving him away if his voice hadn’t already managed to do so.
“What are you all doing? Stop harassing him and work on cleaning up and taking readings.” Dr. Rogers sounded angry, never one to be happy about the demons he oversaw being treated like toys, he was the only scientist Peter would ever be happy to see.
“But Dr. Rogers, look, the demon has something.”
Dr. Rogers looked over, taking the smallest of steps back when he caught the glimpse of Peter’s little horns peaking out above the grass.
“Who is that?”
The scientists shuffled nervously and the air shifted the way it only did when the tank of a man got truly pissed.
“What did you do.” The rage so biting that it couldn’t be read as anything but a statement.
One unlucky man broke the silence, knowing it was better to take the beating now than a worse one later. “It’s the halfling Dr. Potts birthed.”
“Peter? I was told he died, in fact, I was told he passed away under peaceful circumstances.” Oh they’d done it now. There would be some serious hell to pay once they were all safely away from the enclosure and they all knew it. For now though, the doctor decided to turn his attention back on the pair 50 feet away from them. He crouched, helmet obscuring his features as he dug around in his hip pouch. The smell of something sweet hit Peter’s nose, enough for him to perk up and put his head hovering above the grass. Dr. Rogers crept forward slowly and stayed low to the ground, non-threatening as he held out a square of chocolate. Peter couldn’t resist, Dr. Rogers hadn’t ever hurt him, surely he wouldn’t start now with the offering of a sweet treat.
The other scientists made noises of alarm as Peter moved forward. Peter assumed it was about him until he felt Bucky grabbing him by the scruff. He whined, tried to wiggle his way out of the grip, so focused on his treat that the fact he was being held in Bucky’s jaws failed to register in his mind.
He managed to pout as Bucky turned and forced him to stay behind by wrapping Peter up in his tail. The scientists mutter amongst themselves, awe evident in their voice. Peter ignored it until a little line slipped through.
“Dr. Rogers, have you ever seen a Greater take a halfling mate? The sheer size difference alone would surely be enough to prevent such a thing! A breeding would kill something so small!”
Tense, Peter tried not to think about what they were saying. They keep saying the word “mate” like Bucky is interested in such a thing with him. There is no way… Right? Bucky is kind and caring but… No… No, it makes sense. Why else would Bucky let him live?
“Well, we can’t exactly remove him… I guess we’ll just have to let them mate.” He’d never heard Dr. Rogers sound unsure and it made his skin prickle in alarm. Peter looked at the back of Bucky’s head and hoped the other wasn’t going to seriously try to get any body part inside of him. Even a finger seemed too big.
“Alright, enough staring. I have a feeling he’s going to take a swipe at us if we don’t get to work. Just keep a wide berth and do your task.”
“I really can’t believe you expect us to tend to the enclosure. You spoil it, Dr. Rogers.”
“I think some basic hygiene and proper care is a pretty low bar to put as spoiling. He is my subject to oversee and unlike some, I’m not here to go on a power trip and brutalize him for existing. Now get to work. You’re on feces collection and clean up.”
Peter tuned out the groans and complaints as he watched Bucky. Vigilant in his duty of guarding Peter, not so much as twitching or fidgeting in place. Carefully, Peter placed a tiny pawed hand at the base of Bucky’s spine. It was enough to get his attention as that massive head turned to look down at him, somehow managing to make Peter feel focused on without feeling smaller than he already was.
“Are you okay?” Bucky slipped into the tongue of demons, one they had spoken since the start but was startling on Peter’s ears after hearing English after days without it’s constant chatter.
“Yes… Is what they say true?”
“... I don’t understand them. I have no idea what was said.” Bucky looked momentarily bothered but mostly intrigued, cocking his head as they stared at one another.
“Ah… Nevermind then, they just said a few odd things about the trees.” It was a clear lie and Peter looked away as it came out of him but Bucky was kind enough to not push it.
“Let’s get back then. I don’t want any of them near you.” Bucky picks up Peter’s earlier catch, the creature so small it must have seemed less than a mortal to Bucky. Still, Peter’s chest bubbled pleasantly at the sight, something unfamiliar that he put away to study at a later date as Bucky guided him with his tail through the forest and back to their home.
_____
Eating slowly becomes a hard task as they creep into winter. It hadn’t taken terribly long after trying different meats to find out that most of what Bucky had brought him was thankfully game that was periodically released into the enclosure. Still, Peter’s stomach was used to a wider range, potato scraps, pellets, stale breads, over-ripe fruit, and the occasional unwanted vegetable were all parts of his diet. Meat was a rarity and after weeks of nothing but it, his stomach began to revolt. Bucky offered him berries, some rooted vegetables, and the occasional green, and while it helped, meat was still the easiest to come by. Neither of them truly worried about it until Peter couldn’t keep it down.
. .
They had just finished eating, some sort of small mammal that Bucky had torn apart so fast Peter had no clue what it had once been. Carefully sliced into easy pieces, Bucky placed the meat across a clean, flat stone to protect it from dirt. Bucky often ate before getting back, something Peter didn’t ask him about out of fear that it might be worse to know. So, the meal was all his. The first bite went down fine, the hunger that always nibbled at him in the late afternoon taking precedence over anything the rest of his body might have to say. It wasn’t until a fourth of the way through that the meal began to stick and slide down his throat in a way that made his skin prickle. Half way through and he was choking down the meat and gave up two thirds through. Urged to lay down, he curled up on the edge of their nest of furs. Bucky let him rest, gave the food time to mellow and ate the leftovers so they wouldn’t rot out in the open air.
Peter dozes until nausea hits him hard and fast. He wiggled far enough to be off the pelts just as a solid, slimy mass of flesh spills from his mouth with a wet spalt. It had been squashed into a pellet somehow and gleamed with acid. Peter was swept up and back into bed, tucked in and filled with sips of water before Bucky made the disgusting show of failed digestion disappear.
They had assumed that it was just a one-time situation, a fluke. It wasn’t until nothing but the barest of stubby greens that his stomach held fast to any food. He dropped weight, curled up and sickly as the Greater Demon fussed over every detail trying to keep every speck of fat he could manage on his tiny mate’s bones. It was miserable, an utterly grueling experience that left them both worn down. The cold months already tended to lead to more sleepy hours but it became a norm for them to hide out. Honestly, that might have been what saved them.
The scientists, concerned by the disappearing act, somehow managed to figure out the situation. How was beyond Peter’s ability at the time. All he knows is that one day a scientist managed to pull Peter from the cave and the pricks of little needles and some sludge being forced into him. It was a terrible, awful experience that they managed to repeat a few times. Even looking back, he had no clue how Bucky was kept at bay. He sat at Peter’s bedside religiously during those days. He always told himself he would ask one day, but eventually, it became a forgotten memory, one that faded into the background.