Unhinged

24 | they/them | sideblog just so I can scream into a cave in peace

[kvroko]

[leonarchive]

☆ the family protection act..

☆ summary: a quiet life was never supposed to be possible for leon. but somehow it happened anyway — a beautiful wife, a house in a wooded suburb outside the city, a son who thinks he has the coolest dad ever, and another baby on the way. for the first time in years, things are calm. normal. until one morning, leon receives a photo taken from within his home. in it, his family is asleep. someone has been watching.

☆ caution: age gap relationship! don’t shoot! reader in mid twenties to early thirties. pregnancy, motherhood, stalking, canon typical resident evil tension/violence/danger (though, this instalment is pretty tame).

☆ word count: 3,000.

what is that noise..?

it’s subtle at first— drawers opening, something heavy set down on wood, the soft zip of a bag? your brain tries to ignore it for a few seconds, trying to cling to sleep because god knows you need it. but the sounds are continuous and you’re now registering them somewhere down the hall and it pulls you up the rest of the way.

the bedroom is still dark with the exception of the night light across the room and the digital clock at your side of the bed.

2:17 AM.

you sit up slowly, blinking blearily as the oversized t-shirt you slept in slides off one shoulder. there’s a heatless curl ribbon still tied in your hair from when you set before bed, stray ends that came undone in your sleep hang down in soft loops— you don’t even know where your bonnet went. but its almost always stuck somewhere between the mattress and the headboard or somewhere discarded on the floor.

your stomach rises in a precious round curve beneath the cotton when you shift. for a moment you just lie there, then something warm shifts beside you and a small heel presses into your side. you blink slowly and turn your head to see your three year old son sprawled across the bed sideways; half on your pillow, half on your arm, breathing softly with the deep and heavy sleep only toddlers seem capable of after a long day of terror (play). one of his hands is tangled in the hem of your shirt and you're certain he fell asleep holding onto you. his hair is messy, sticking up in soft tufts against the pillow— he looks just like his father. you almost want to take a picture.

your son stirs with a sleepy little noise. “..mama..”

“shh,” you murmur, brushing your fingers through his curls. “go back to sleep, baby.” he sighs softly and curls deeper into the blankets.

you’re six— almost seven months along in your pregnancy now and everything takes a second longer than it used to. your back is a little tight and your breasts feel sore and heavy, it takes you a few moments to gather yourself before your legs swing over the side of the bed and push yourself up with a small grunt, rubbing sleep out of your eyes as you waddle toward the hallway.

the light in the living room is on. that’s the first thing you notice.

the second is your husband, leon. how strange. was this a dream? he wasn’t supposed to be home for a couple days. and you know that for a fact because you were counting down the days with a little pochacco widget on the homescreen of your phone. you’re not upset by any means, you’re just very confused, disheveled and half asleep.

leon’s moving quickly through the living room, tossing things into a duffel bag on the couch with urgency that makes your chest tighten before you even understand why. jacket. flashlight. an ammo box. something metallic you don’t recognize and there’s a couple more bags by the door already packed too.

“leon?” your voice comes out soft with sleep and he freezes for just for a second before he turns toward you. oh. you know that look. that’s the look he gets before missions— really focused, distant, already five steps ahead of wherever he is.

“..is he awake?” he asks.

you shake your head. “no.”

leon nods once and relief flashes across his face for just a moment. “good.”

you shuffle further into the room, one hand instinctively resting over the curve of your stomach and the hardwood floor is cold under your bare feet.

“what are you doing..?” you ask. he doesn't answer right away, he zips the duffel bag closed instead then moves past you toward the front door where another bag is already sitting by the entry table.

you frown. “leon.”

he stops again and this time when he looks at you, his eyes soften just slightly. enough that it almost makes you more nervous. “we’re going for a drive, baby.” he says.

your eyebrows knit together. “..a drive?” you glance toward the windows. it’s still dark outside— early enough that the sky hasn’t even started turning gray yet. “leon, it’s like two in the morning.”

“yeah.” he reaches for his jacket off the chair and slips it on, you take another few slow steps toward him.

that’s when you see the axe and the gun holstered at his hip like it always is when he’s working, but seeing it here in the living room in the dead of night, makes your stomach dip unpleasantly. he already knows how you feel about live guns in the house, you don’t care about what he does for a living. he’s not to bring weapons in you guy’s home if its not an emergency.

“why do you have that on?”

leon doesn’t look at the gun when you ask; he looks at you. but really looks this time— taking in his shirt that swallows you almost, the sleepy confusion in your face, the ridiculous polka dot, satin ribbon wrapped in your hair, the way you’re standing there barefoot and pregnant. christ, you’re beautiful.

his jaw tightens. “go grab shoes,” he says instead.

you blink at him. “…what?”

“shoes, sweetheart. your shoes.” he repeats, already reaching for the car keys on the counter. “and maybe a sweater. it’s chilly outside.”

you don’t move. “leon, you’re being weird.”

he exhales slowly through his nose, like he’s trying very hard to keep his head on. “i know.”

“well that’s not really great to hear, weirdo..” you shift your weight, wincing a little when the movement pulls at your lower back. “did something happen?”

“nothing you need to worry about,” he says.

you give him a look. “i’m seven months pregnant, leon. everything is something i need to worry about— don’t piss me off.”

he runs a hand through his hair, clearly losing patience with the conversation. “just— go get your shoes and i’ll let you know what’s going on.”

“no.” the word comes out before you can stop it.

leon’s head snaps back toward you. “no?” he repeats, brow raised.

you cross your arms loosely under your chest, the fabric of the big shirt bunching over your stomach.

“no,” you say again, stubborn now. “not until you tell me why you’re packing like the house is on fire.”

you hardly have time to react before your husband is closing the gap between you both so quickly it nearly startles you. he reaches up and places both of his hands on both sides of your face. the contrast between his warm hands and the cooler wedding band feels so familiar— it's only then you realize you haven’t physically touched each other in almost two weeks since he left.

“listen to me.” his voice is low, tight with something that makes your heart drop. “i need you to cooperate right now.”

you blink at him and leon’s eyes search your face like he’s trying to make sure you actually understand what he’s saying.

he’s serious. you know it because he has a look in his eyes— something akin to desperation..

“okay..” you nod in his hands. “can i least know what’s going on.. please..?”

silence stretches between you then leon’s eyes flick briefly toward the kitchen counter and you follow the movement without thinking.

there’s a phone there, his personal phone actually. you close the gap and unlock the phone with the passcode— your birthday.

the photo is already pulled up on the screen, the brightness catches your eye before you even realize what you’re looking at, but your stomach drops so suddenly it feels like the floor shifted beneath you. your fingers loosen around the device and you immediately set it back down on the counter like it burned you, taking a small step backward before you can stop yourself.

when you look at leon again there’s fear in your expression before you can hide it.

it was a photo of you and your son. you recognize the room immediately. the angle of the shot, the dim amber glow of the nightlight, the familiar shape of the blankets pulled halfway up your body. your son is curled against your side in the image, one small arm thrown across your chest the way he does when he crawls into your bed during the night. his face is buried against your shirt, hair sticking up in every direction from sleep. you’re asleep too, one arm loosely wrapped around him. even in the low light, the shape of your pregnancy is obvious beneath the shirt.

the picture.. wasn’t taken from across the street. hell, it wasn’t even taken earlier in the evening while you were awake. whoever took it had been close enough that the details of the bedding, the edge of the nightstand, even the small toy car on the floor beside the bed were perfectly visible.

someone had been in your while you were sleeping.

close enough to see your son. close enough to take their time lining up the shot while both of you slept completely unaware.

“leon..” his name barely leaves your mouth and hen you look back at him, he’s already watching you. there’s no surprise in his expression, no confusion— “what—okay, um—what do you want me to do?”

“shoes, phone, documents,” he says quietly. “and grab my kid.” he pauses. “please.” he adds on, still wanting to have some manners about his orders.

the house suddenly feels different, like its no longer your little slice of life’s pie. you rest one hand against the underside of your stomach as you walk down the hallway again supporting the weight of it as the baby shifts, it draws a labored breath from you. its probably because you’re moving about a bunch at an hour you’re supposed to be replenishing your rest. the satin ribbon tied around your hair has slipped crooked from sleep, one end hanging loose against your shoulder as you walk.

the bedroom is still dim when you step inside and your son hasn’t moved much since you left. he’s still sprawled sideways across the mattress in a tangle of blankets, face buried halfway into the pillow. one leg sticks out from under the comforter, his small foot hanging off the edge of the bed. you move closer and sit carefully on the edge of the mattress, easing your weight down with a soft exhale and the bed dips slightly beneath you. your fingers slide gently through his messy hair.

“hey,” you murmur softly. “buddy.”

he reacts with a little whine, rolling his face deeper into the pillow and you rub slow circles on his back.

“i know, honey..” you whisper. “mommy’s sorry. but we have to get up for a little bit, okay?”

he squirms, one arm reaching out blindly until his fingers find your sleeve and he bunches the fabric in his fist and tugs weakly. “..mama.”

“i’m right here.” another sleepy noise escapes him as he drags himself halfway upright, eyes barely open. he leans heavily into you, resting his forehead against your chest and you smooth his hair down.

“we’re gonna go for a drive, okay?”

he blinks slowly. “..drive?”

“mhm, with papa.” you nod and ge considers this for a long moment in sleepy silence, then lifts his head just enough to mumble: “…papa?”

a small laugh escapes you despite the tight feeling in your chest. “yeah.. papa’s home, lovebug.” and that seems good enough for him. he lets you pull his sweater over his head with minimal protest, though he keeps leaning against you like he might fall asleep standing up.

by the time you make it back to the living room, your shoes are finally on, you have sweats on and a sweater pulled over the shirt. leon is already outside again, the front door standing half open and letting the cold gray light of early morning moon spill into the house. you can hear the dull thud of the trunk closing and reopening, the shuffle of bags being moved around as he rearranges things.

your son has gone almost completely limp against you in the few minutes it took to get dressed. the moment you lifted him from the bed he buried his face into your shoulder and never really woke back up. now his arms hang loosely around your neck, his cheek pressed warm against your collarbone as he breathes slowly into the fabric of your sweater.

you adjust him carefully, one hand supporting his weight under his legs as you walk toward the door. the cold air hits your face the second you step outside; leon’s car is parked in the driveway with the trunk wide open, the interior light casting a warm glow over the scattered bags already inside. leon stands at the back of it, moving quickly, lifting another duffel and shoving it farther in before slamming the trunk down with a solid thud.

he turns at the sound of the door behind you, then he’s already walking toward you.

“hey,” he murmurs quietly as he reaches you, his voice lowering automatically when he sees how deeply asleep his son is. you shift your weight slightly, adjusting the small body slumped against you. even half asleep, your son instinctively curls closer, his fingers tightening weakly in the fabric at the back of your sweater.

“didn’t wake up,” you whisper.

leon’s eyes soften when he looks at him. “figures.”

he reaches out without hesitation, one hand sliding carefully under the boy’s back while the other supports his legs. the transfer is gentle and your son barely stirs as leon lifts him away from you, just making a soft sleepy noise before his head drops against leon’s shoulder instead.

you exhale quietly when the weight leaves your arms, and leon notices immediately. “i got him, go sit.” he says softly as ge turns and walks to the back seat, opening the door and leaning in to settle the boy into the car seat already strapped in place. he works slowly, carefully buckling the harness without jostling him too much. your son squirms once, eyes fluttering halfway open before he sinks right back into sleep, his head tipping to the side.

leon adjusts the strap gently near his shoulder, making sure it sits right. only after he’s satisfied does he shut the door softly.

you’ve made your way around to the passenger side by then, lowering yourself carefully into the seat. the cushion dips under your weight and you lean back with a quiet breath, one hand resting on your stomach out of habit. leon walks around the car, stopping when he sees you watching him through the open passenger window.

“baby, can you do me one favor?” you ask.

leon pauses with his hand resting on the roof of the car. “what do you need?”

you glance back toward the house. “i left my bear on the bed.”

his eyebrows pull together slightly. “the one i won you?”

you nod a little, almost sheepish. “i know it’s stupid,” you say quietly. “but you know i can’t sleep anywhere without it.”

leon exhales softly through his nose, the tension in his shoulders easing just a fraction. “not stupid.”

he's leaning down so he’s level with you and up close you can see the exhaustion in his face,

“two minutes,” he says but before he straightens, you reach out slightly, your hand catching the sleeve of his jacket.

“hey.” you call out softly and he pauses.

you lean toward the open window just enough to press a quick kiss to his lips. it’s soft and brief, but warm— something sweet in the middle of everything that suddenly feels uncertain. you also didn’t get a chance to give him his welcome home kiss.

leon lingers for half a second when you pull back, his forehead almost brushing yours before he finally straightens again.

his hand briefly touches your cheek.

“love you too,” he murmurs. then he turns and jogs back toward the house. a minute later he steps out again with the plushie in his hand, walking straight over to the passenger side and passing it through the window to you. the fabric is worn soft from years of being held, but you recognize it instantly.

“almost left without your emotional support,” he mutters.

you take it from him and put it between your thighs.

“thank you, bub.” you smile a little, despite the anxiety.

leon taps the roof of the car lightly before finally moving around to the driver’s side, hopping in and starting the engine before backing out of the driveway. your thumb fidgets with your wedding ring; a pretty princess cut, four and a half carat diamond.

leon turns onto the empty road, heading toward the highway that cuts through the wooded suburbs outside of dc. at this hour the neighborhood is still dark, porch lights glowing faintly between the trees as the car slips past sleeping houses.

it was going to be one hell of a night.

© leonarchive

[navybrat817]

Knock You Down a Peg or Two

Pairing: Husband!Bucky Barnes x Female Reader

Summary: Someone learns the hard way that it's a bad idea to upset Bucky's wife.

Word Count: Over 1.5k

Warnings: Established relationship, violent threats (not against the reader), protective vibes, implied sexy times, Bucky Barnes (he's a warning, okay?).

A/N: I'm in a mood, lovelies. We can consider this in the same universe as Mr. and Mrs. Barnes and Handsome and Beautiful. ❤️ Not beta read and written on my phone, so any and all mistakes are my own. Please follow @navybrat817-sideblog for new fics and notifications. Comments, reblogs, feedback are loved and appreciated!

Bucky was no longer the Winter Soldier. He told himself every day he wasn't a cold killer anymore. He did his best to make amends and worked hard to clear his name. From time to time though, people pushed his buttons and got under his skin. You helped him brush it off. Their opinions didn't matter at the end of the day, only yours.

You mattered to him more than anything else. So, if someone bothers him, yeah, he could let it go. Someone upsetting you? He wouldn't stand for it.

Bucky's eyes narrowed as he spotted the little weasel sitting at the table in the break room alone. A few hours ago, you called him to vent about how this guy repeatedly tried to make you look bad in front of your superior during a meeting. It wasn’t the first time either. Your tears of frustration were obvious by your tone on the other end, though you tried to hide them. You worked hard, harder than anyone else he knew, and you took your job seriously.

He saw red when he heard you sniffle and it was the only color he had seen since then.

“Give me his name.”

“Bucky, no,” you had argued. “The guy’s a prick and I just needed to vent, so you don’t-”

“Please, baby,” he whispered, knowing full well you could handle yourself, but you were his wife and someone took joy out of your day. Not just that, they made you cry. He took this personally and he wanted to defend you. “Just give me his name so I can take care of it.”

You softly gave him the name, and he made it a priority to find the asshole. It didn’t take him long. No one even questioned why he was asking. It must’ve been his “murder strut” and glare. You once said it could break even the strongest of people.

He headed toward the empty chair beside the agent, careful not to make a sound. His stealth assisted with that. Once he reached the chair though, he made it a point to scrap the chair across the floor to get the prick's attention. The annoyance in his eyes quickly shifted to fear when he realized who he was looking at.

Good. He hoped he pissed his pants.

He made a show of slipping off his leather jacket before taking a seat, making sure the agent got a good look at his metal arm. He also made a show of getting one of his knives out, one you gifted him. “I think we can skip the introductions since you know who I am and I really don't give a shit who you are,” he began, his voice low as he twirled the knife between his fingers. “But I understand you know my wife and, well, she’s the reason I’m here.”

The guy blinked when Bucky made eye contact, the blade still expertly weaving in his hand. “S-Sure. Everyone knows your wife.”

Bucky smiled softly, taking a second to glance at his wedding band. “I’m usually not one to brag, but I can’t help it when it comes to her. She works hard and deserves all the praise she gets, but she’s still humble. Appreciative. Loyal,” he boasted, still smiling before he glared again. “She’d never throw anyone under the bus, especially in front of a superior.”

The little weasel cleared his throat, sitting up a bit straighter in his chair. He seemed to notice for the first time that they were the only two people there. “Look, I don’t know what your wife said, but-”

Bucky pointed the blade at him. “I would think very carefully about what comes out of your mouth next,” he snarled, his eyes as cold as ice.

There was a beat of silence as the guy squirmed in his seat and averted his gaze. Bucky wished you were there to see it. And Steve and Sam. “I may have run my mouth a bit. I just wanted to knock her down a peg or two, you know? She keeps getting promoted and…” he swallowed when Bucky’s eyes narrowed to slits. If this fucker even thought about implying that you slept your way to get where you were today, he may actually cut his throat. “Please, don't kill me.”

The silence after that statement may have been uncomfortable for some, but Bucky didn’t break a sweat. No, he was just thinking of all the different ways he could put him in the hospital for even thinking he had a right to put you down. Putting the knife away, he slowly got to his feet. “Get up,” he said quietly, flexing his hands in intimidation.

“Fuck.” The man nearly knocked his chair over as he stood. “Listen, I’m sorry,” he blurted out, putting his hands out in front of him. “I’ll apologize to her first thing tomorrow, I swear.”

“You think that makes up for it? And are you sorry for trying to make her look bad or are you sorry that you’re under my radar now?” Bucky’s stare remained steady as he knocked his chair out of the way, the piece of furniture nearly splintering when it hit the wall. “Everyone knows what I'm capable of, but do you know what happens to people who upset. My. Wife?”

Bucky refused to say that you cried. The asshole might take that as a sign of victory and he wouldn’t give him any sort of win. He didn’t deserve it. He didn't deserve to be in the same space as you.

The guy’s mouth parted as he took a few steps back on shaky legs. “I-It won’t happen again! I swear!”

“No, it won't, but how about I cut your tongue out so you can’t run your mouth again? Maybe pull out your teeth, too?” Bucky knocked the table away next as he advanced. “Or how about your eyes so you won’t look at her either. Hell, I’ll settle for taking your arm. We’ll match.”

The man let out what sounded like a whimper, his teeth nearly chattering from his fear. Scaring people had given him nightmares, haunted him, but it fueled his fire when he terrified anyone in your honor. “I won’t bother her ever again! I’ll tell my boss she deserves another promotion! I'll transfer! You have my word! I’m sorry!”

Bucky laughed after a moment, a bitter, chilling sound before he held up a hand. “I’m just fucking with you.”

His eyes were still wide with fear. “W… What?”

“I was just trying to scare you a little. You should see the look on your face,” Bucky chuckled again, lightly smacking the guy’s cheek. “Listen, you don’t have to transfer and I’m not going to torture you. Just apologize to my girl and we’re good, okay?”

“Okay.” He let out a breath and chuckled, too. “You really won’t torture me?”

“No, I won’t,” he grinned, grabbing his shoulders. “But I will knock you down a peg or two.”

The prick didn’t see the headbutt coming, but he felt it before he hit the ground. Bucky knew he’d feel it in the morning, too. He got off lucky.

“You know, after you apologize to my wife, I hope you do stay so you can see her continue to thrive,” Bucky toed the guy’s body with his boot. “And speaking of, I need to go buy her some flowers, chocolate, and wine. She deserves it.”

Grabbing his jacket from the broken chair across the room and brushing it off, he whistled as he left the room. He waited until he was a good distance away to call. You picked up on the second ring.

“Hey.” You sounded much better than you did earlier. “So, what’s the damage?”

“Hey, baby,” he smiled. “I headbutted the prick. And before you ask, my head feels great.”

The former assassin may get suspended for that and damaging the table and chair, but he doubted the asshole would have the balls to speak up about what happened.

“Bucky…” you sighed. You were probably pinching the bridge of your nose. “What am I gonna do with you?”

“You’re gonna let me eat you for dessert when I get home,” he smirked. Not that he needed an excuse to dive between your legs, but he'd take any chance he had. “Figure I'll give you at least two orgasms before dinner.”

“Is that right, Mr. Barnes?”

“That is right, Mrs. Barnes.”

The sound of your giggle spread warmth through his chest. Your happiness was his happiness. “Better not keep me waiting,” you teased, pausing for a beat. “Thank you.”

“Nothing to thank me for,” he said. You always stuck up for him without question.

“Love you.”

His heart swelled more. “Love you, too.”

He’d have some more explaining to do once he got home and would probably have to pay for the damage he caused. He was also sure that you were plotting the demise of the man’s career and would tell him that he didn’t need to do anything, but he wanted to. He was no longer the Winter Soldier.

But he was your husband and he’d defend you with his life, no matter what.

Violence isn't the answer, but this is fanfiction and we all deserve a loving Bucky. ❤️ Love and thanks for reading! ❤️

Masterlist ⚓ Bucky Barnes Masterlist ⚓ Ko-Fi

[artficlly]

lessons in lovemaking

marvel au bucky x blackwidow!reader You and Bucky Barnes go undercover as a married couple, but when a fake kiss gets too real, he unexpectedly finishes in his pants—leaving you both stunned.

Warnings: 18+ content minors dni, smut, fem reader, dry humping, grinding, soft dom vibes reader, soft sub vibes bucky, bucky is touch starved, premature ejaculation, reader has dubious methods of emotional control, vague mentions of previous sa, ex black widow reader, mentions of red room, very consensual, safe words, kissing, panic attacks, bucky barnes needs a hug, if you squint, there's some plot, fluff, angst, mentions of past violence, death and war, no use of y/n, lmk if i've missed anything

Word Count: 8.4k

A/N: hey guys, i'm a woman possessed. i've had so much motivation to write recently, so here is a quick one-shot. i'm sure this concept has been done before but i just couldn't stop thinking about touch starved bucky :( ! sorry for any typos - not proof read.

main masterlist | series masterlist

You never would’ve agreed to this mission had you known Barnes was going to be this squeamish. You’d seen the man slit throats without a sound, drop bodies with cold efficiency, and unload an entire chamber of bullets without so much as flinching. He hadn’t even blinked when aliens from outer-fucking-space rained hell upon Earth. But holding your hand? Letting his fingers brush your waist? Anything a devoted ‘husband’ ought to do? The super soldier looked like he’d rather swallow glass. He couldn’t even meet your gaze, for god’s sake.

What the hell had Fury been thinking?

You had to yank him away before anyone noticed the strained—Help me, I’m being held hostage by this incredibly attractive, incredibly capable woman who, might I add, is supposedly my wife—look on his face.

This gala, a weeklong jerkfest for the wealthy and villainous, was meant to be a stroll in the park. Your bread and butter, even if the Red Room had been... regrettable and against your consent, it had taught you an array of useful skills. Yet Barnes was ruining it, turning what should have been a simple infiltration into a goddamn babysitting job. The plan was airtight: pose as a glamorous Russian couple, collect incriminating evidence, and dip at the end of the week. Except Barnes wasn’t holding up his end of the deal. Instead of charming your way through the crowd, you were covering for his stiff, awkward pauses and the fact that he looked less like a besotted husband and more like a man being forced at gunpoint to stand beside you.

By some miracle, you managed to drag him away to one of the empty floors, a tucked-away space littered with stacks of unused tables and chairs. He was wound tight—shoulders squared, jaw clenched, eyes flicking across the dimly lit room like he was expecting death itself to emerge from the shadows. You didn’t bother with subtlety. Tearing the small recording device from between your tits, you fumbled with the button until the tiny red light blinked off. Whoever ended up reviewing the footage later wouldn’t need to hear the verbal onslaught you were about to unleash. 

“What the fuck are you doing?” you hissed, keeping your voice low, though the sheer force of your frustration was enough to strip paint off the walls.

Barnes clenched his jaw, nostrils flaring as he refused to meet your eye. It reminded you of a scolded dog, all pouty and pathetic. You might’ve found it cute under different circumstances. “You’re making this incredibly fucking difficult.”

“I don’t understand why it’s such a big deal—”

“Because it’s our cover, Barnes.” you snapped, incredulous. “We’re supposed to be married, not some fucking timid virgin couple. PDA makes people uncomfortable; they look away, and we have less eye on us to, I don’t know—do our fucking job?”

Barnes looked down at his clenched fists, swallowing hard. You rolled your eyes, shaking your head in disbelief. The dangling diamond earrings you had hanging from each lobe tinkled slightly, and you ran a hand through your perfectly styled hair, resisting the urge to throttle him.

“You’re unbelievable. Fury should’ve just sent me alone—” you muttered, but the words barely left your lips before your eyes caught movement.

A group. Heading straight for you. Purposeful.

“Fuck.”

With haste, you tucked the small recording device back into your cleavage. Barnes noticed immediately, clocking your distress. His brows knit together, hand twitched toward the hidden knife tucked into his suit jacket.

“No.” You scolded. Catching his wrist, you guided it elsewhere—your hips. He stiffened instantly, making a noise of protest, but you kept him locked in place, pressing in until your chests brushed. Too close. Not close enough.

“Play along,” you murmured. “Kiss me. Now.”

“Wha—” His breath hitched, barely enough time to form a response before you rose onto your toes and sealed your mouth over his.

Barnes froze. Stiff beneath your touch, lips rigid like you’d just planted one on a slab of granite. He still tasted like toothpaste—spearmint—and the faint trace of his aftershave clung to his skin. If you’d been trying to salvage some believability, some small thread of natural chemistry, it was impossible now. It was like kissing a statue.

An aftershave-scented stone statue.

The passing group chuckled, one of them murmuring, amused, “Ah, young love.”

Maybe it was the murmured chuckles of the passing guests, or maybe Barnes had finally remembered how to act, because his grip on your hips suddenly tightened, fingers digging into the fabric of your dress with unexpected force. The silk pulled taut against your skin, trapping heat between you, and then—

A sound.

Low. Strangled. A rasping, utterly pathetic groan against your lips.

You barely had time to register it before something else stole your attention. In the tight press of your bodies, you felt it—hard, insistent, pressing against your pelvis.

Oh.

The realisation sent a flicker of shock through you, but you schooled your expression, keeping your face composed as you lingered just a second longer—just enough to ensure your audience was convinced. Then, finally, you pulled back.

Barnes didn’t move.

For a moment, he just stared, pupils wide and unfocused, a blissed-out haze dulling the sharp blue of his eyes. But then, like a lightning strike, awareness snapped back into him. Horror overtook his dazed expression, his breath hitching as he seemed to realise—

Did he just—?

You both looked down at the same time.

And there it was.

The medium grey of his suit pants betrayed him entirely, darkening at the crotch with an unmistakable wet patch.

You gaped, lips parting in stunned silence. No fucking way.

Barnes didn’t wait for a reaction. With the sheer force of a man fleeing for his life, he ripped himself from your grasp and marched away, stiff-backed and utterly silent, leaving you standing there, speechless.

—

It had been twenty minutes, and Barnes still hadn’t left the goddamn bathroom.

It had taken you all of thirty seconds to track him down, but the moment you found the door, it was locked. Of course it was. You twisted the handle, rattling it in frustration, then resorted to pounding your fist against the heavy wood—subtly, of course, but with enough force that he knew you weren’t going anywhere.

“Barnes.” You hissed his name through gritted teeth, pressing closer to the door. Nothing. Not a shuffle. Not a breath. Absolute fucking silence.

You exhaled sharply, trying to keep your expression neutral as a pair of guests passed by, casting you a curious glance. Yeah, you knew exactly how this looked—lipstick smudged, breath uneven, standing outside a locked men’s bathroom like a woman scorned. You must’ve looked thoroughly debauched.

Your pulse hammered in your throat. This was insane. A simple, fake kiss had made him short-circuit so hard that he fucking came in his pants? Twenty minutes ago, he looked repulsed by the mere idea of touching you, and now he was hiding away like some panicked virgin?

You let out a long, slow groan, dropping your forehead against the door.

“Barnes,” you muttered, knocking again—your patience wearing thinner by the second. “Open the damn door.”

Silence.

You straightened, glaring at the wood as if you could will it into splintering apart.

“Barnes, I have been patient.” You gritted your teeth, knocking harder. “If you don’t open this door in the next five seconds, I will break in.”

Silence.

Motherfucker.

"Alright, I’m coming in," you announced, your voice low but firm.

You cast a quick glance over your shoulder, ensuring no one was watching, before slipping a bobby pin from your hair. Years of practice made the process effortless; your fingers worked quickly, blindly, jamming the pin into the lock and feeling for the mechanism. A few precise twists, a satisfying click, and—

"Make sure you're decent, Barnes—"

The words were halfway out of your mouth when you pushed the door open, but whatever half-hearted joke you'd meant to make withered before it even reached your tongue.

Barnes was not decent.

Not in the way you’d expected.

He sat hunched on the closed toilet lid, head in his hands, his entire body drawn in tight like he was trying to fold in on himself. His knee bounced erratically, the rapid motion almost violent in its rhythm. He had ripped off his suit pants, leaving himself in nothing but his boxers, his bare thighs tense, twitching. His fingers dug into his hair, gripping at the strands like he wanted to rip them out, and when his bloodshot eyes flicked up to you—

You felt your stomach drop.

Panic. Raw, unfiltered, choking panic.

Tears welled along his lash line, his chest rising and falling in uneven, barely contained pants. He looked like a man caught in a cage, seconds from tearing himself apart just to escape it.

You swallowed, your throat suddenly dry, and stepped in, shutting the door softly behind you before flipping the lock.

"Hey, Barnes…” Your voice was hesitant, softer than before.

He shook his head, eyes fixed firmly on the floor, his hands trembling as he dragged them down his face.

“I don’t—” His voice cracked, breaking on the words. "I don’t want you in—"

You moved before he could finish, lowering yourself to the cool bathroom tiles in front of him, as if making yourself smaller would make you any less intimidating.

"Hey," you murmured, tone careful but steady. "Look at me."

“No.” It came out sharp, like a whip, a defence mechanism honed over decades. His entire body went rigid, his breathing ragged.

“Barnes, you need to breathe.”

Your voice was steady, firm without being harsh, each syllable carefully measured as you crept forward on the cold tile floor. The dress, the dirt—none of it mattered. It wasn’t your dress, anyway. Tony Stark could foot the bill for a replacement if this one got ruined, all this fancy wear was on his dime.

“In through the nose,” you instructed, voice softer now. “Out through the mouth.”

By some miracle, Barnes listened.

He sucked in a ragged breath, chest expanding beneath his half-unbuttoned dress shirt, and then exhaled through parted lips. It was shaky, uneven, but it was something. You watched in silence, waiting. His limbs still trembled, his fingers clenching and unclenching against his thighs, but the worst of the violent, full-body tremors had eased.

“There you go,” you murmured, voice barely above a breath. “Keep breathing, just like that. You’re doing so well.”

Slowly, you inched forward, shifting across the tiles until you sat in front of his knees. His skin was warm, radiating heat even through the thin fabric of his boxers.

“Barnes,” you hesitated, watching his face carefully. “Can I touch you?”

His whole body tensed.

“What?” His eyes darted up, sharp and startled, as if the very question had knocked the breath from his lungs.

“Is it okay,” you rephrased, slower this time, gentler, “if I touch you?”

Barnes hesitated. His gaze flickered away, jaw clenching like he was at war with himself. But then, after a long, tense beat, he gave a small, stiff nod.

You inhaled, steadying yourself. Then, with slow, deliberate care, you reached out and cradled his face between your hands.

The moment your fingers touched his skin, he flinched.

Not violently. Not like he was afraid of you. But enough that you felt it—felt the way his muscles coiled beneath your fingertips, the way his throat bobbed in a hard swallow. The cool metal of your fake wedding ring grazed his cheek, and his breath hitched, like he had just been burned.

“Keep breathing,” you reminded him, voice low and steady. “Nice and slow.”

Barnes obeyed, dragging in another breath, and you felt some of the tension leave his shoulders. The hard lines of his face softened just slightly as he leaned into your touch, nuzzling—actually nuzzling—against your palms.

“There you go,” you murmured, your thumb stroking in slow circles over his cheek. “Look at me.”

His eyelids flickered, resisting for a moment, but then those storm-blue eyes finally met yours. He looked exhausted. Frayed at the edges. But grounded, at least. Present.

“Tell me one thing you can smell right now.”

Barnes blinked. A hint of confusion crossed his face. “Smell?”

“Yes, smell.” You nodded, keeping your voice soft, coaxing. “Just one thing. Keep breathing and tell me.”

He hesitated but then took a deliberate inhale through his nose, his bouncing knee slowing. “I guess… whatever shitty fucking chemicals they use to clean this place.”

A quiet laugh left you, your thumb tracing a swirling pattern along his cheekbone. “Good. You’re doing good, Barnes. Now, tell me two things you can feel.”

His breathing had steadied, his inhales and exhales falling into rhythm with yours. For the first time since you’d walked in, he wasn’t shaking as badly.

“This suit jacket,” he muttered after a pause. His metal fingers twitched against the fabric at his arm. “It’s too fuckin’ tight. They always are with my arm—”

His breath stuttered, his body tensing again. Immediately, you leaned in, close enough for him to feel your warmth. “Just breathe, remember? You’re doing so well. One more thing you can feel.”

Barnes swallowed thickly. His gaze flickered down, just briefly, before settling back on your face. 

“You,” he admitted, voice quieter now. “I can feel you. Touching my face.”

“Good.” You nodded, thumb gliding over his cheek again. “Are you okay with that?”

“Yes.” He exhaled, and for the first time, it wasn’t shaky. “It feels… it feels nice.”

Something in your chest clenched at the confession, but you pushed it aside. You smiled at him, soft and small, and kept going. “Now, three things you can see.”

Barnes’ eyes scanned over your face, searching.

“You,” he said, still quiet, still certain. His gaze lingered on your mouth. “Your lipstick is smudged.”

"Two more," you breathed, keeping your voice calm and steady, resisting the urge to comment on why your lipstick was smudged in the first place. No need to remind him of that right now.

Barnes' gaze flickered across the small, dimly lit restroom. His body had almost fully relaxed now, his mind preoccupied with the task you'd given him.

"Uh…" He scanned the space, brows furrowing in concentration. "The awful wallpaper… and the sink, I guess?"

You nodded approvingly, finally withdrawing your hands as you eased back onto your knees. The cold tiles bit through the fabric of your dress, but you barely noticed.

"Well done," you murmured. "Now, how about we keep breathing and get you sorted, huh?"

At that, Barnes stiffened slightly. The panic that had been receding just moments ago flickered in his eyes again, his hands twitching where they rested on his thighs.

You reached out, grounding him with a gentle touch to his knee. Your voice softened even further. "I’m going to turn around and face the door. I need you to clean yourself up—use the sink, use the soap."

His throat bobbed. "But my—my boxers, they’ll get all wet—"

"There’s a dryer on the wall, see it?" You tilted your head toward the small, dingy dryer meant for hands. "Use it to dry them. Then get dressed, and we’ll head back to the hotel early, okay? Order some shitty takeaway, watch bad TV. Just forget about all this for tonight. How does that sound?"

Barnes blinked as if thrown by the simplicity of the offer. His mouth parted, closed, then opened again, his voice small. "Yeah. Okay."

"Good." You flashed him a reassuring smile before pressing your palms against the sink, pushing yourself to your feet with a small wobble in your heels. "I’ll be right here. Just let me know if you need anything. Keep breathing, alright? Everything’s okay."

Turning, you crossed your arms over your chest and faced the door, giving him the privacy he needed. You tried not to listen too closely. Tried not to glance at the mirror reflecting the scene behind you.

The rustle of clothing filled the quiet, then the tap sputtered to life. You leant your forehead against the cool wood of the door, closing your eyes as you focused on the steady stream of water, the faint squeak of the soap pump, and then the soft sloshing and scrubbing of fabric.

The sound of fabric wringing out echoed softly against the tiled walls, followed by the steady hum of the hand dryer sputtering to life. You kept your forehead against the door, listening as Barnes manoeuvred through the motions, drying his boxers first, then his suit pants. The wet fabric slapped lightly against the metal dryer as he held it up, shifting awkwardly as he worked.

You didn’t rush him. Didn’t make a sound. Just stayed where you were, giving him time.

Eventually, the rustling stopped. A sharp inhale, then the familiar slide of fabric as he pulled his clothes back on. The quiet click of a belt buckle being fastened. The creak of leather shoes shifting against tile.

Then—

Barnes cleared his throat.

You turned.

He stood stiffly, suit now back in place, though the fabric still carried faint traces of dampness. His jacket was slightly askew, his tie loosened just enough to be noticeable. You took a slow step toward him, scanning him up and down with a careful eye. He didn’t flinch, didn’t move—just stood there, watching you warily, as if expecting a comment.

You didn’t give him one.

Instead, you reached up, grasping the edges of his tie. He stiffened but let you work, your fingers smoothing the silk fabric, tightening it properly against his collar. His pulse thrummed beneath your fingertips as you brushed against his throat, and though he remained still, you caught the way his breath hitched slightly at the contact.

“There,” you murmured, satisfied.

You turned towards the mirror, angling yourself slightly to the side. Your reflection was a mess—lipstick smudged, hair slightly dishevelled. You sighed, wetting your thumb with your tongue before dabbing at the edges of the stain, then reached into your clutch to pull out a small tube of lipstick.

Barnes hadn’t moved.

You could feel him behind you, his body heat pressing against your back in the cramped space. His gaze was heavy, following your movements as you leaned closer to the mirror, carefully reapplying the pigment to your lips. You didn’t look at him. You just smoothed the colour in place, pressed your lips together, then capped the tube and tucked it back into your bag.

Finally, you met his eyes in the mirror.

“Ready to go?” you asked.

There was a pause. A hesitation. His jaw clenched for half a second before he gave the smallest of nods. “…Yeah.”

You turned fully, flashing him a small, knowing smile before reaching for his arm. He didn’t resist when you looped yours through his, guiding him towards the door. With an easy tug, you led him forward, your heels clicking softly against the marble floors. His arm remained tense beneath your touch, but he didn’t pull away. Didn’t let go.

You glanced at him briefly, lips twitching into a small smirk. “C’mon, sergeant. Let’s get out of here.”

Barnes exhaled through his nose, shaking his head ever so slightly. But when you reached the bottom of the stairs, he followed without question, letting you steer him towards the exit, away from the crowded room—away from prying eyes.

—

A small, muffled whine stirred you from sleep. You blinked groggily, rolling onto your side as the cool sheets tangled around your legs. The plush hotel mattress dipped beneath you as you buried your face into the pillow, willing yourself back into slumber.

A low, panting groan cut through the silence, soft at first, then growing in volume. Your brows knit together, heart thrumming uneasily. Something about the sound was… strange. It wasn’t just a groan—it was strained, needy. Erotic.

Your eyes snapped open.

The room was cloaked in darkness, save for the dim red dot of the fire alarm and the faint reflection of the turned-off TV. You remained frozen for a few beats, your ears straining to catch the noise again. It came, louder this time—a choked whimper thick with desperation.

Was someone in the room? Adrenaline slammed into your veins as you rolled off the bed in one swift motion, bare feet hitting the floor without a sound. You had heard stories of creeps breaking into hotel rooms, preying on women while they slept. Had one made the mistake of picking yours?

Another sound. Low, breathy, utterly wrecked.

Your hand darted to the bedside table, fingers curling around the hilt of a knife, its leather grip smooth beneath your palm. Not even yours, Barnes’—

Barnes.

Your breath caught as your gaze snapped towards the couch, knife slipping from your grip and landing on the carpet with a soft thud.

There, bathed in shadows, was the writhing mass of the super soldier. His blankets lay discarded on the floor as though he’d tossed them off in his sleep. The two of you had agreed to take turns—one in the bed, the other on the couch—to keep up appearances. A stupid arrangement, courtesy of Fury and Stark’s meddling.

You flicked on the bedside lamp. The warm light spilt over the room, casting soft amber hues onto Barnes’ form. His face was twisted in torment, and his lips parted around quiet, breathless whimpers. Sweat clung to his skin, catching the glow of the lamp and highlighting the sharp lines of his body. His metal arm whirred faintly as he twitched, fingers flexing against the cushions.

Your stomach dropped when your eyes drifted lower. He was shirtless, his broad chest rising and falling erratically. The thin fabric of his boxers did little to hide the evidence of his dream—more than half-hard beneath the cotton. Was he really that big?

The realisation hit like a freight train.

He was having a sex dream.

Jesus.

You swallowed, throat suddenly dry. You should’ve looked away, should’ve given him privacy. But then his hand twitched, drifting downward—

“Barnes.” Your voice was sharp, cutting through the haze like a blade.

He jolted awake, body seizing as his eyes snapped open. For a moment, he was utterly lost, chest heaving, pupils blown wide with confusion. Then his gaze landed on you—standing there in your thin nightgown, face unreadable.

His eyes flickered downward.

Bucky sucked in a sharp breath, panic flickering across his face as he yanked a pillow over his lap, shifting awkwardly as if that would somehow erase what had just happened. A string of curses left his lips, voice still wrecked with sleep.

You tilted your head, studying him. His expression wavered, part shame, part something else, something raw and vulnerable. You exhaled slowly, pressing your fingers into your temples. There was a pattern here. A man whose body wasn’t his own, whose skin felt foreign, whose touch-starved existence had left him unravelling at the seams.

What in God's name was Fury thinking sending him on a mission like this—or did Fury not know? How could he not? That one-eyed bastard had a habit of knowing everything. Hell, he probably knew the colour of your underwear before you even picked it out for the day, the all-seeing prick.

“H.Y.D.R.A really did a number on you, didn’t they?” you muttered.

Bucky flinched. The words struck deep, sinking into something fragile beneath the surface. He didn’t say a word, just recoiled, fingers gripping the pillow so tightly his knuckles turned white. A moment later, he was scrambling off the couch, making a beeline for the bathroom.

“Barnes, we’re not doing this again. Let’s just talk—”

The door slammed.

Then, the soft click of the lock.

You exhaled through your nose, arms crossing over your chest as you stared at the wooden barrier now separating you. Asshole. You knew you should’ve been more sympathetic. Should’ve handled it differently. But after a long, exhausting day, dealing with Bucky Barnes’ second puberty was not on your list of priorities.

You stepped closer, pressing a palm against the door; your voice quieter now. “I know how you’re feeling.”

Silence.

You could picture him inside, hunched over on the edge of the bathtub, fists clenched, chest rising and falling in sharp, uneven breaths. “I understand what it’s like to be in a body that doesn’t feel like your own.”

A pause. No response.

“It must be hard,” you continued softly. “Not knowing who you are. Not recognising yourself anymore. And then... feeling things you don’t understand.”

Another pause. This one stretched longer.

“You shouldn’t be ashamed of trying to navigate that.” The silence that followed was heavier than before. You didn’t push, didn’t say anything else. Just rested your forehead against the doorframe, waiting. 

You had spent the better part of your life under the Red Room’s control, under Dreykov’s control. Every breath you took, every move you made, had been dictated by someone else. Orders given. Orders followed. It was all you had ever known. And then, one day, it was gone. Just like that.

You remembered the moment with eerie clarity: standing in the open air, staring out at the horizon, the sunset bleeding colour into a sky that suddenly felt too vast. The question had gnawed at you, quiet but insistent. What comes next? Who comes next? Because you didn’t know. You didn’t know who you were beyond a weapon, beyond a machine engineered for death and seduction. Two decades of programming, of conditioning, of being nothing more than an asset to be wielded and discarded at will. And then, without warning, you were handed something you were told was freedom.

But what did freedom mean when you didn’t exist?

There were no real records of your birth, no true identity to reclaim. The Red Room had scrubbed that away long ago, erasing every trace of the girl you had once been. No family. No home. No belongings that weren’t issued to you by those who had owned you. And yet, you were expected to smile—to accept this newfound autonomy without question, to embrace the illusion of a life you had no blueprint for.

But how could you, when you weren’t sure if the body you inhabited was even your own?

So even if Barnes thought you were bluffing and just trying to relate for the sake of kindness, he was wrong. Because you understood.

Terrifyingly well.

The difference was that you had refused to let it consume you. You had forced those feelings into the farthest corners of your mind, locking them away where they couldn’t touch you. Because if you let yourself linger on them for too long.

“Go back to sleep.” Bucky’s voice finally broke the silence, muffled through the bathroom door.

You sucked on your teeth, exhaling sharply through your nose. “Yeah, not happening.”

“I know the others give you crap about not dating, but you don’t have to let them pressure you,” you continued, keeping your tone light. “You don’t have to force yourself into a role that makes you uncomfortable. It takes time.”

“Back in the day..." His voice was quieter this time, tinged with something that almost sounded like regret. “I used to be a real flirt.”

A humourless smirk ghosted across your lips. You could picture it, all smooth charm and effortless confidence. The kind of man who could wink at a girl across a dance floor and have her swooning in seconds. But that wasn’t the man behind this door. That man had been stripped away, piece by piece. 

“I just don’t know anymore,” he admitted, voice raw. Your chest tightened. You could almost hear him weighing his words, picking them apart, and deciding how much of himself he was willing to give away.

“When I was the Winter Soldier... they made me do things.”

A slow, twisting knot formed in your stomach.

“It’s all… fractured in my mind,” he murmured, barely above a whisper. “Scattered. Broken.”

You closed your eyes and inhaled deeply.

“I’m sorry,” you said, and you meant it. “I understand that. More than anyone. The Red Room… they didn’t just use us for assassinations and espionage.”

There. You had said it. Pulled a piece of yourself from the grave and placed it between you.

For the first time, the door cracked open.

Bucky stood there, dishevelled and breathless, still only in his boxers. A faint sheen of sweat clung to his skin, catching the dim hotel light, while his metal arm twitched slightly at his side. His hair was a mess—damp and curling at the ends, sticking to his forehead. His chest rose and fell unevenly, as if he hadn’t quite caught his breath, muscles taut beneath the weight of exhaustion.

“Why are you being kind to me?” he asked suddenly. His voice was rough, tinged with suspicion, as if he couldn’t quite believe it.

You tilted your head, studying him.

“Because you’re hurting,” you said simply. “And obviously, you haven’t fully processed any of this.”

His throat bobbed as he swallowed. Without another word, he turned and stalked past you, out of the cramped bathroom and into the main space of the hotel room. You followed at a slower pace, arms crossed as you watched him sink onto the couch, scrubbing a hand down his face. He was hunched forward, elbows resting on his knees, his metal fingers tapping restless patterns against his flesh palm. His body had settled now, no longer betraying him with signs of arousal. That part of the moment had passed, but the turmoil in his head remained.

With a quiet sigh, you slid down to the floor, settling against the base of the bed across from him. Your legs stretched out in front of you, arms loose at your sides as you let the silence settle between you. 

“Have you spoken to Steve about this?” you asked after a moment, voice soft but firm. “Sam?”

Bucky scoffed, shaking his head. “God, no.”

“Why?”

“I dunno,” he muttered, fingers threading through his damp hair. “It’s just... awkward. I feel like a fuckin’ schoolboy.”

You tilted your head, watching him carefully. “I could teach you.”

His eyes snapped to you, wary. “What?”

“I could teach you,” you repeated, voice steady. “How to make love. Fuck. How to gain control over your life again. You’re just sensitive; you need a bit of exposure therapy.”

Bucky’s expression darkened, jaw clenching. “Why the hell would you do that?”

You exhaled slowly, gaze drifting to the patterned carpet beneath you. “Do you know how many men I’ve fucked and not felt a thing?” you said quietly, barely above a whisper. 

“I wasn’t just an assassin or a spy. Not like Natasha or Yelena. I was a swallow, Barnes. A honeytrap.” His expression flickered, eyes scanning your face as if searching for something, some hint of insincerity.

You swallowed, pushing forward. “It’s why Fury sent me on this mission with you. This is all I’ve ever known.”

Bucky’s breath hitched slightly, his hands curling into fists against his thighs. “Fury knows what they did to you, and he still continues to—”

“I agreed to it,” you cut in, your tone clipped, controlled. “He just wanted our sham marriage to be believable. He wasn’t asking me to fuck you, just to perform. That’s what I do. Perform.”

Bucky huffed a bitter laugh, shaking his head. 

“Look, I don’t know you,” he muttered, voice low, rough. “I don’t want your baggage, or for you to fuck me out of pity or... I don’t know, self-sabotage.”

The words hit like a slap, sharper than you expected. You recoiled—actually flinched—before you could stop yourself. It wasn’t just what he said, it was the venom in it, the way he threw it at you like a blade meant to wound. And damn it, it did.

Bucky saw it, too. The way your shoulders stiffened, the flicker of something raw crossing your face before you forced it away. His breath hitched slightly, fingers twitching at his side, but he didn’t take it back. Didn’t soften the blow. Maybe he regretted it, maybe he didn’t, but either way, the damage was done.

Your expression hardened like cooling steel, every crack that had formed between you quickly sealing shut, any semblance of vulnerability buried beneath layers of carefully placed armour. It was instinct—second nature, really. You’d spent years perfecting the art of locking yourself away, of making sure no one could reach the parts of you that still bled. You’d built it, brick by fucking brick, until you were fully encased, isolated from anything that might harm you. 

Bucky wasn’t the first to speak to you like that. Wouldn’t be the last.

You swallowed down the sting, inhaled slow and deep through your nose, and then let it out in a steady breath. When you spoke again, your voice was quiet, devoid of emotion, a perfect imitation of indifference. “It was just an offer.”

Nothing more. Nothing less.

You held his gaze for a second longer, searching for something, anything, that might suggest he regretted it. But Bucky just stared back, face unreadable, jaw tight. Then, without another word, he turned away, stretching out on the couch with his back to you.

Fine. Message received.

—

The rest of the week had been nothing short of torturous. After the argument, the air between you and Bucky had turned to ice. The two of you barely spoke. Not outside of necessity, not outside of the roles you had to play. At the gala, he did what was required—he held you close, leant into your touch when needed, murmured sweet nothings in your ear to sell the lie. But you felt the restraint in him, the hesitance in the way he brushed a thumb over your knuckles, the barely-there tremors in his fingers when he smoothed a hand over your waist. It wasn’t as if he was walking on hot coals anymore, but there was still that same, underlying hesitation.

Back at the hotel, the silence stretched long and unbearable. Shower, eat, sleep—repeat. Conversations were reduced to one-word exchanges, curt and impersonal. At least by morning, this miserable charade would be over. You’d gathered the intel you needed at the gala, and in a few hours, you’d be free of this place. Free of this suffocating, awkward tension. Free from Bucky’s constant, looming presence. 

God, the man had a staring problem.

You had noticed it before, how he always seemed lost in thought, his gaze heavy with some unreachable burden. You had assumed it was just brooding, the kind of silent, empty-headed angst that men like him fell victim to. But now you realised—he wasn’t staring through you. He was staring at you.

You saw it when you dressed for the gala, slipping into silken dresses and heels, when you pinned your hair into elegant styles, when you traced the lines of your lips with lipstick, perfecting the illusion. You’d catch his reflection in the mirror, eyes fixed on you, dark and unreadable.

Once, he had been so caught up in his daze that he nearly left without putting on his suit jacket. You had to press it into his hands, dragging him out of whatever spell he was under. He had taken it stiffly, mumbling a quiet ‘thanks’ but the heat in his face was unmistakable.

And now, as you sat cross-legged on the bed in a loose nightgown, the fabric riding high on your thighs, the same damn stare was drilling into the side of your face.

The TV flickered before you, an incoherent blur of colours and sound. You weren’t even sure it was in English. It didn’t matter. You weren’t watching it anyway. You were too focused on not focusing on Bucky, who stared at the side of your face like he intended to burn a hole through the flesh.

You exhaled sharply through your nose, running your thumb over your knee. The sheets were soft, the mattress more forgiving than the couch you’d been forced to sleep on last night. At least tonight was your turn back on the bed, though ideally, you’d be back in your own apartment by now, wrapped in high-thread-count luxury courtesy of Tony Stark’s absurd wealth.

God, you missed Egyptian cotton.

Bucky was still staring at you. You couldn’t help it, annoyance, filthy and venomous came pouring out of your mouth before you could stop it. “What? Is there something on my face?”

Bucky startled, his whole body tensing as if you had physically struck him.

“Nothing—” he stammered.

You arched a brow, unimpressed.

“No. There’s obviously something you want to say.” You shifted on the bed, your frustration mounting. “Go on, spit it out.”

He hesitated, his jaw working like he was biting down on whatever words were lodged in his throat.

You didn’t let up. “You sure had a lot to say earlier in the week. What, do you want to dig the knife in further? You might as well just call me a whore while you’re at it—”

“I’m sorry.” Bucky cut over you, his head dipping. You paused, momentarily stunned. He was doing that thing again, where he looked like a scolded dog. Adorable, but not the fucking time.“I shouldn’t have said that, it was inconsiderate of me, especially after... after all you’ve done.”

You frowned. “You don’t owe me anything, Barnes.” The words left your lips quieter this time, but still firm. 

“I snapped at you. And I shouldn’t have.” he admitted. His voice was low, restrained.

You let out a slow breath, pressing your fingers to your temple.

“It’s okay. I understand,” you said, a little softer. “I haven’t exactly been… the kindest either.”

A bitter chuckle escaped him, his fingers twitching against his knee. Then, after a long pause, he asked, “How do you do that?”

“Do what?”

“Act like everything is okay. Like it’s normal.” His voice was strained, like he wasn’t even sure if he believed in what he was asking.

You let out a short, almost nervous laugh. “I’m probably not the best person to ask about this—”

“But you get it, right?” He looked at you now, something almost desperate in his gaze. “To not know… who or what you are? Sometimes I… I just want to be normal again.”

You frown deeply, weighing his words carefully. You understood his sentiment, but you knew it was futile. There had never been anything normal about your life—not anything you could remember, at least. The Red Room had seen to that. Your earliest memories were of drills, of ballet, of suffocating discipline, and of the erasure of self. Even now, you weren’t normal; you were an agent of S.H.I.E.L.D for fucks sake, a woman barely pardoned of her crimes, existing in a liminal space. The world's governments couldn’t quite confirm you existed. You were a ghost, a fucking shadow of a person. 

“I don’t think people like us get to be normal,” you said finally, choosing your words carefully.

His expression twisted slightly, like he had already known that answer but had hoped for something different.

“But I think,” you continued, “it would serve you a world of good if you let people in. Steve… Sam. You don’t have to face this all alone—Natasha, Yelena, and I look to each other all the time to process it all and patch together the missing pieces. There’s no shame in it.”

Bucky’s face creased, his body drawing in on itself slightly. You moved before he could shrink further, slipping off the bed and kneeling before him. 

“It’s okay,” you reassured, voice steady. “Just tell me... what is it you need right now?”

His lips parted slightly, then pressed into a thin line. He fidgeted, his fingers clenching and unclenching as if struggling to force out something that had been sitting at the edge of his tongue all week.

Finally, he exhaled, jaw tight.

“I want to take you up on your offer.”

You tilted your head. “My offer?”

Bucky swallowed, eyes flickering to the floor before darting back to you. His voice was hesitant, low—like he was worried some invisible presence might have overheard. “Lessons. Lessons in… love-making. I want to be able to look at a girl without... you know. This fucking week has been torture seeing you—”

He cut himself off, warmth flooding to his cheeks. A laugh bubbled out of you before you could stop it—light, amused, genuine.

Bucky stiffened, eyes widening slightly, horror flashing across his face as if he thought you were mocking him.

You shook your head quickly, reaching out to place a hand on his knee.

“Of course,” you murmured, smiling. “Thought you’d never ask.”

—

“Is this okay?” you asked softly as you swung your leg over, settling onto Bucky’s lap. The mattress dipped beneath you both, the quiet creak of the hotel bed the only sound between you for a moment. He sat beneath you, legs slightly spread, his hands hovering uncertainly at his sides. You dug your knees into the bed on either side of his thighs, anchoring yourself against him.

His breath hitched, sharp and uneven. “Yes,” he murmured, though there was a noticeable tremor in his voice, like he was still convincing himself.

“Just breathe,” you encouraged, smoothing your hands over his broad shoulders. His muscles were tense beneath your fingertips, wound tight like coiled steel. He swallowed hard.

“What’s worrying you?” You asked gently. “Is there something I can do to make this more comfortable for you?”

Bucky shook his head, a shuddering breath leaving him as his hands finally found purchase on your hips. His grip was hesitant, as if he wasn’t sure he was allowed to hold you. “No,” he said, his voice rough. 

“This is great, I—” He cut himself off, pressing his lips together in frustration.

You tilted your head, studying him, before offering a reassuring smile. Your fingers kneaded into his shoulders in slow, soothing motions, attempting to melt away some of the tension knotted there. “Talk to me,” you coaxed.

His gaze flickered downward, shame creeping into his expression. “I just… don’t want to embarrass myself. Again.”

Your heart clenched at his vulnerability, but you refused to let him linger in self-doubt. Instead, you leant in, your lips curling in a playful smile. 

“You’re cute when you say things like that,” you teased, running your tongue over your lower lip before continuing. “Don’t worry about any of that. Just stay here, in this moment, with me.”

A muscle in his jaw twitched, but he obeyed, focusing on the warmth of your body pressed against his. Slowly, his grip tightened on your hips, fingers kneading into the flesh more firmly this time. His thumbs traced cautious circles against the fabric of your clothing, testing. You let your hands drift from his shoulders down to his chest, feeling the steady rise and fall of his breathing.

“Now,” you murmured, keeping your tone soft but steady, “if you get overwhelmed, or if you need to stop, what do you say?”

“Stop,” Bucky answered without hesitation.

“Good,” you praised, smiling warmly. “And if you can’t speak? If the words won’t come?”

His fingers flexed on your hip before he squeezed in a deliberate rhythm—three distinct beats. You nodded in approval. “Perfect.”

His blue eyes flickered up to meet yours, searching. 

“What about you?” he asked, his voice quieter now, more earnest. “If you want to stop?”

You demonstrated by tapping three times against his chest, just over his heart.

“I’ll do the same thing,” you assured him. “Just like we discussed.”

For a moment, he just breathed. His lashes fluttered as he exhaled a slow, measured breath, his hands steadying against you. Then, with a small, almost imperceptible nod, he whispered, “I’m… I’m ready. I think.”

You smiled, fingers tracing a soft, reassuring path along his jaw. 

“Okay. I thought we’d start with kissing, since you seem worried about it. Nice and simple, no pressure,” you murmured, your voice low and reassuring as your fingertips ghosted along his jawline. Bucky swallowed thickly, his adam’s apple bobbing as he leaned into your palm without thinking, nuzzling it like a touch-starved thing. His blue eyes, dark as the ocean in a brewing storm, flickered with something hesitant, something fragile.

“I’m sure you kissed plenty of girls back in the day,” you teased, lips curling as you brushed your thumb over the sharp edge of his cheekbone.

“Oh yeah,” he exhaled, the words dipped in self-deprecation, “until Steve became… well, the Steve he is now. None of the girls spared me a second glance after that.”

You let out a soft laugh, breathy and genuine, and felt the way his body tensed beneath you at the sensation. It was funny how a man who could tear through steel and strike terror into the hearts of the world’s deadliest enemies could turn so shy at something as simple as your laughter.

“You know…” he hesitated, voice quieter now. “You were my first kiss since… well, everything.”

Your teasing grin faltered slightly. You tilted your head, gaze flicking between his eyes and his lips, close enough now that you could feel the steady heat radiating from his skin. 

“Well,” you murmured, the ghost of a smirk curling your lips as you shifted closer, “now I’ll be your second too.”

And then you kissed him.

It was slow at first, a testing press of your lips against his, feather-light and coaxing. Bucky inhaled sharply through his nose, his breath hitching as though he was bracing for impact. But when you didn’t pull away, when you lingered just a little longer, he melted into you—hesitant at first, but eager.

His hands, large and trembling slightly, hesitated at your waist before gripping your thighs as if he wasn’t sure whether to hold you or let you slip away. The warmth of his palms bled through the thin fabric of your nightgown, spreading across your skin like wildfire.

You deepened your kiss, tilting your head to slot your lips more firmly against his, and a quiet sound rumbled in his chest—halfway between a sigh and a groan. Encouraged, you shifted, rocking your hips, the new position pressing your bodies flush together.

Bucky tensed beneath you, fingers digging into your flesh instinctively as you settled against him. His own hips bucked in response, and you could already feel him growing hard against your inner thigh. He pulled back slightly, panting, his lips swollen.

“Am I doing… okay?” he asked, his voice rough.

You smiled, smoothing a hand through his dark hair, tugging him gently forward again. 

“More than okay,” you whispered against his lips before capturing them once more.

This time, he kissed you back without hesitation. His hands gripped your hips, anchoring himself to you as he parted his lips, following your lead. You swept your tongue into his mouth, slow and purposeful, teasing along his lower lip before deepening it. A groan rumbled in his chest, muffled against your mouth.

You rolled your hips, grinding against him with a slow, deliberate rhythm, savouring the way his breath hitched and stuttered beneath you. Even through the layers of clothing, you could feel him—hard, straining, likely aching for more. His fingers dug into your skin, a bruising grip that only added to the heat blooming in your core.

You pulled away from his lips, shifting your attention lower, trailing open-mouthed kisses along his jaw, down his neck. You could feel his pulse hammering beneath your lips, quick and erratic. He tipped his head back, surrendering himself to your touch, a quiet curse slipping from his mouth as you sucked at the sensitive skin below his ear.

“You’re doing so well,” you hummed against his skin, your voice warm and indulgent, laced with soft praise. His body trembled beneath you as he bucked his hips up to meet yours, desperate for more friction, more of you. You rewarded him with a soft, breathy moan, letting him know just how much you enjoyed this too.

“I—” He tried to form words, but they crumbled before they left his lips.

The tension in his body coiled tighter and tighter, like a bowstring pulled taut, ready to snap. His hands clutched at you, grounding himself in the sensation, like the overwhelming pleasure was building too fast for him to control. His breath came in short, needy gasps, his hips stuttering as he lost the rhythm.

“I’m gonna—” His voice broke, his head tilting forward as his entire body tensed beneath you. A strangled moan escaped him, deep and wrecked, as he came undone. His grip on your hips tightened, his thighs trembling slightly beneath yours as his climax overtook him. His body fell back against the sheets, a soft exhale leaving his lips as the last waves of pleasure wracked through him.

You perched above him, still straddling his hips. For a moment, he just lay there, his chest rising and falling rapidly as he struggled to catch his breath. His eyes were half-lidded, dazed, and his lips parted as if he had more to say but couldn’t quite form the words.

“I didn’t mean to finish so early—” he started, his voice hoarse, cheeks flushed with a mix of embarrassment and lingering pleasure. Leaning over, you flipped your hair to one side as your face hovered over his. You silenced him with a lingering kiss, slow and reassuring. He groaned softly into your mouth, still sensitive but already melting into the warmth of your lips. When you pulled away, his shoulders had loosened, the rigid tension gone from his body.

“You did so well,” you murmured, brushing your fingers through his hair. “How do you feel?”

“Good.” 

You grinned, sliding off him and stretching languidly before settling back onto the bed. You exhaled, content. Bucky turned his head to look at you, still slightly frozen in place, as if unsure what to do next. His brows furrowed slightly. “What… what about you? Don’t you want to…?”

You snorted. “That doesn’t matter. This was about you, not me.”

He hesitated, clearly still unused to receiving something without feeling obligated to return it. “But I feel bad leaving you—”

“I’m fine, trust me.” You hummed, closing your eyes as you nestled into the warmth of his arm. “We have a long way to go before you need to be thinking about that.”

Bucky went quiet. You could feel his gaze lingering on you, unreadable.

For a moment, you weren’t sure if he would say anything at all. But then, after a beat of silence, you felt him shift beside you. A hesitant hand—warm and slightly calloused—ghosted over your arm before settling on your waist, drawing you in closer.

“…Thank you,” he murmured at last.

PART TWO

[aquaticmercy]

Elevator, Baby!

Summary : The team thinks Bucky has a crush on the tower’s interior designer. They don’t know that they’re already married.

Pairing : New Avenger!Bucky Barnes x Interior designer!reader (she/her) 

Warnings/tags : Thunderbolts* spoilers!!!!!!! Secret wife trope. Tower fic! Secret-ish baby. Cursing, not-too-detailed descriptions of sex, pregnancy, (Please let me know if I miss anything!!!)

Word count : 6.7k 

Requested by : two anons! Based on this and this.

Note : I combined two requests, I hope that’s alright, anons! Enjoy!

Bucky only stayed at The Watchtower three days a week.

Officially, those days were for debriefings, strategy syncs, mission prep, and what Alexei affectionately called team bonding.

The rest of the week, he goes off-grid and minimal contact, calling it rest and recuperation. 

He spent those days outside the city, tucked away in a modest, two-story house in the suburbs. 

The walls were painted in earthy tones. The porch creaked when it rained. The neighbours didn’t ask questions. But most importantly, it was where you, the love of his life, resided full time. 

It was home.

Bucky had closed on the house exactly nine months and fourteen days ago. A week later, he’d married you under a willow tree in the backyard with no fanfare, only Sam, Joaquin, and Isaiah Bradley as guests, and a ring you both picked out from a vintage shop in Brooklyn. Sam had joked that it must have been the best day of his overextended, complicated life.

He was right. 

Still, not a single member of his newly assembled team had a clue.

They knew Bucky Barnes, the leader of the New Avengers, war-hardened and famously chronically single. They knew the efficient, don’t-ask-me-about-my-weekends version of him. They did not know that the same man kissed his wife’s temple every morning before she left for work, took out the trash without being asked, and spent his evenings slow dancing with you in the kitchen to whatever jazz record was spinning on the old turntable.

That part of him was private.

He didn’t keep you a secret out of shame — Bucky showed how much he loved you in the ways that mattered. But with many of his old enemies still out there, keeping you out of the spotlight was non-negotiable. 

It was especially necessary now that the New Avengers were under public scrutiny, the media hounding them with every move, and Val running ops like a government-sponsored reality show.

But, of course, what he least expected happened.

When Val asked Mel to source a top-tier interior designer for the Watchtower’s massive renovation, Bucky didn’t say anything.

He didn’t pull any strings. He didn’t say a word.

But of course, Mel found your firm. It was one of the best in town, after all.

Of course, all he could do was stare blankly when Mel casually dropped your name in a team meeting two weeks later. You, who’d been growing your design firm from the ground up, known for clean lines and warm spaces and zero tolerance for pretentious decor.

And when you told Bucky that you’d accepted the Watchtower job, he’d smiled weakly and said, “We’ll figure it out.”

Which led to this moment.

—

Your first day on the job was a Monday morning. 

You stepped into the lobby of the newly renamed Watchtower, hard hat hooked on your hip, leather-bound notebook under one arm, and your chewed up pencil behind your ear.

You, as planned, acted completely unfamiliar with the man you’d kissed goodbye at 7 a.m. over toast.

You approached the cluster of Avengers who’d been haphazardly gathered for your arrival — Ava, John, Yelena, Bob, Alexei, and Bucky. Your husband leaned against a column, arms folded, feigning indifference while silently praying his face didn’t give away his precious little secret.

But then your eyes met.

For one fleeting moment, your smile brightened. But you covered it up and offered him a hand like you hadn’t fallen asleep his bare chest fourteen  hours ago, and said, “Nice to meet you. I’m your interior designer.”

Bucky took your hand.

The handshake lasted two seconds too long.

“James Barnes,” he said. “Pleasure.”

Ava raised an eyebrow.

You let go of his hand, nodded politely, and turned to the others to introduce yourself. 

Your voice was steady, your posture perfect, but Bucky noticed the way you tapped your thumb against the spine of your notebook — the tiniest nervous habit. He kissed that hand every night.

When you walked off to start your tour, Ava elbowed Bucky in the ribs.

“She is too pretty. If you don’t ask her out, I will.”

“M’ not into her,” Bucky said. It was the worst lie he’d told in years.

“C’mon man,” John chuckled. “That looked like love at first right.”

Bucky just shrugged and turned away, pretending to be interested in a support beam.

—

Six Weeks Later

You were everywhere.

Literally everywhere inside the Watchtower. 

You were in hallways, stairwells, and repurposed labs. You were under floorboards to check for old wiring. You were balancing precariously on scaffolding with paint samples in one hand and a clipboard in the other. You had a team, sure, but you were the kind of interior designer who believed that breathing the same dust as your contractors was the only way to truly understand your art.

Within a month, you turned a gutted superhero facility into your battlefield.

And you made it look good.

You had turned bare concrete into well thought out sketches, made a temporary lounge out of broken furniture and vintage rugs, and wrestled the tower’s unmaintained lighting grid into semi-functional compliance. You worked long hours. You cursed openly at bad insulation. You drank your coffee black and your water in gallons, and somewhere along the way, the tower became a passion project, your baby. 

And the New Avengers grew fond of you. 

They tried to be subtle about it, watching you from doorways or pausing in their sparring sessions whenever you passed through to say hi. 

You’d wave a friendly hi back, before going back to being all-business.

At this point, you and Bucky had practiced your we-just-met act to an Oscar-worthy level. You faked polite smiles, formal greetings, and total lack of familiarity, even when you showered together the night before. 

But sometimes, it slipped through the cracks. 

You can help but steal glances at each other — each one lasting just a little too long. His hand would find your lower back when he leaned over your desk to study a blueprint, fingertips brushing that sensitive spot just beneath your shirt hem. Your voice dropped half an octave whenever you addressed him in front of others, slipping in sergeant under your breath like it wasn’t a private reference from your bedroom.

Sometimes, you’d pass him in the hallway and murmur things quiet enough only he could hear. A reminder of what you’d do to him the moment he got home. Or what he’d done to you the last time he snuck back to the house for the night. You’d say it just loud enough to leave him frozen in place for a second — then he’d look like he needed to punch a wall or take a very cold shower to stay professional.

You made it impossible to concentrate.

So Bucky, for all his practiced stoicism and control, was coming undone.

Which was probably why the team started to notice.

Or, more accurately, why John Walker lost his goddamn mind one Tuesday afternoon.

The makeshift common room — still mid-renovation — was still half-furnished, but they made it work. Yelena was scrolling through her phone while Bob napped on a deflated air mattress. Ava cleaned her knives at the dining table that had mismatched chairs. Alexei was rearranging the fridge after someone messed up his system.

Bucky stood near the large window, arms folded, pretending to be interested in the HVAC schematics you were showing to one of your contractors across the room.

You laughed at something the guy said, and Bucky’s eyes twitched in jealousy. 

That was all it took.

John groaned loud enough to echo off the half-installed acoustic panels. Then, on his last straw, he flopped onto the couch dramatically.

“If you like her, Barnes, just ask her out already. Jesus,” John said, dragging a hand down his face. “You’ve been eye-fucking her across the hall for a month.”

Bucky just raised an eyebrow, unimpressed.

“She’s out of my league,” he said coolly. It was a textbook deflection. “Besides, she’s not even my type.”

Yelena immediately snorted. “Liar.”

Ava didn’t look up from her knives. “Liar.”

Even Bob, barely conscious, mumbled. “Liarrrr.”

Alexei only chuckled.

“What is wrong with you?!” John sat up, “You’re literally, like—what? A hundred and ten years old? You can’t still be doing the whole ‘girls don’t like me’ routine.”

Bucky gave a half-shrug, still not looking away from where you were, now climbing a ladder with a pencil behind your ear.

“She’s here to work,” he said. “I respect that.”

“Ah,” Alexei scoffed. “Is that why you follow her around like Roomba?”

Bucky had no answer to that.

—

One Afternoon

Today had been a long day

It was dusty. It was loud. Contractors bickered, blueprints got smudged, and Bucky had looked unreasonably good doing absolutely nothing — just standing around in that damn new uniform with the red star on his right arm.

You hadn’t had more than a couple hours alone where you weren’t sleeping or eating— not at home, and especially not in the Tower, when at least one other team member would be hovering like a nosy, overgrown child.

So when you saw Bucky slipping into the elevator alone, you called out for him.

“Mr. Barnes,” you half-shouted to get his attention, jogging across the hall. “Hold the door.”

He pressed the button with his metal hand, glancing up with a fond smile. “Didn’t know we were doing last names now,” he said, just above a whisper.

“Would you rather I call you Sergeant?” you replied quietly as you slipped inside, brushing past him just enough to make it intentional.

The doors slid shut.

And then, just as the elevator began its slow descent, you heard a mechanical in the belly of the Watchtower. The lights above flickered once—then again—before cutting out entirely.

A single red emergency light buzzed to life.

You stumbled slightly, grabbing onto Bucky’s arm instinctively. 

“What was that?” you asked.

“Power’s off,” he confirmed, chuckling when you jumped, kissing your temple to let you know that it was going to be okay, that the elevator was ventilated well enough for you to survive a long time in there. 

You slapped the emergency call button, and…. Nothing. Not even a buzz.

You blinked up at the ceiling like divine intervention might come through the grates. 

“Bucky,” you pouted, clutching his arm a little tighter, “do something.”

“I am doing something,” he said as he crouched down and nudged at the panel, making no real effort. “It's just not working.”

“Well, pry the door open or—use your metal arm or something!”

He shot you a dry look over his shoulder. “Can’t. This thing was built to withstand the hulk.”

You watched him stand and lean back against the wall like he was settling in. Like… he didn’t mind this.

“You have got to be kidding me,” you sighed, “I’ve got to meet the people installing wallpaper in ten minutes.”

Bucky folded his arms across his broad chest, his eyes maddeningly calm. “Could be worse,” he offered with a shrug.

“Bucky,” you warned, eyes narrowing.

“What?” he replied, too innocently, too calmly.

“We’re technically both on the clock,” you reminded him.

He shrugged. “We’re also stuck. Sounds like PTO to me.”

You rolled your eyes, but can’t help the smile on the corners of your mouth. “You’re impossible.”

That crooked grin formed on his face. “You’re tellin’ me you haven’t missed me, doll?”

“Don’t,” you said, pointing a finger to his chest.

“Don’t what?”

“That voice. That look. You're gonna  get us in trouble.”

He pushed off the wall and stepped closer. He was not touching you, but he was near enough that your heart began its traitorous dance, even after all this time. “We’ve barely touched each other. Last time was what— four days ago?”

“Four days is not that long,” you said.

He leaned in, lips brushing the shell of your ear. “It used to be four hours.”

You swallowed hard, but he was not done yet. 

“Used to be I couldn’t walk past you in our house without stopping to touch you.”

You looked away, heat creeping up your neck.

“Used to be I’d wake up with your thighs already wrapped around my face,” his voice dropped an octave lower, “And now I’m lucky if I get a quick kiss before you run off to yell at plumbers.”

“I did give you a kiss this morning,” you looked up at him.

“Not the kind I meant,” he said, eyes glued to your mouth, then back to your eyes.

You choked on a laugh, shoving at his chest weakly. “That’s very inappropriate, Mr. Barnes.”

“I’m your husband.” He bit your earlobe gently. “And I’m tired of pretending we don’t wake up in the same bed.”

“We’ve got… responsibilities.” Your fingers were already in his hair. “People are counting on us.”

“Let them wait,” he muttered, kissing you slow and deep now, mouth moving with that sinful confidence that made your knees buckle. “You’ve been killing me all week, walking around this place like you don’t belong to me.”

“I am yours,” you whispered against his lips, heat coiling in your belly. “But the cameras—”

“Power’s off.” He reminded, hand sliding up your thigh, curling behind your knee and hiking your leg around his hip. “You need this. I know you do.”

“You’re cocky.”

“I’m right,” he said, kissing you again. This time you kissed him back harder.

Your body gave in before your words did. It always did with him.

And as his fingers slipped past the lace of your underwear and his mouth returned to your neck, you forgot entirely about the elevator, the job, the rules.

You weren’t the Watchtower’s interior designer anymore.

You were just his wife.

And he was very, very good at reminding you why.

Neither of you noticed the faint red light in the ceiling blink back to life. Didn’t notice the tiny lens in the far corner of the elevator was still functional. 

You had no idea Yelena had rigged a backup battery into the surveillance system.

And you definitely didn’t know the power outage wasn’t an accident.

It was a setup.

—

Later that afternoon 

The new Avengers gathered in the security room like kids about to witness an R-rated movie.

And in a way… they were.

Yelena had the footage queued up. She sat with arms folded, boots propped up on the console, a smug grin across her face.

This was her idea, after all— playing matchmaker as a favour to Bucky. 

“It’s visual-only,” she said, almost too casually. “No audio. You know—normal CCTV stuff. But we don’t need sound to read body language.”

She hit play.

The plan was simple: trap Bucky Barnes and that absurdly hot interior designer in the Watchtower elevator to see if he finally made a move.

“Ten bucks says he doesn’t even talk to her,” Ava declared, leaning against the wall.

“I say he kisses her,” Bob offered gently, still half-asleep in sweatpants, rubbing his eyes. “Just a little one. He’s always so tense, it would be nice to see him… be sweet.”

John had brought popcorn like it was a movie premiere. “I want to believe he asked her out,” he said. 

“Today is the day,” Alexei nodded in agreement, “ I can feel it.”

The screen flickered to life.

Bucky stepped into the elevator first, holding the door for you. 

The doors closed.

Nothing out of the ordinary at first. It looked like normal conversation.

Then the elevator stopped.

You pressed the emergency call button. Nothing. 

Bucky tried the panel, giving up too quickly.

Yelena’s grin widened. “Showtime.”

And then, Bucky stepped closer, whispering something into your ears.

“Classic,” John said, leaning in. “Here we go. Here comes the kiss on the cheek.”

The kiss landed on your lips instead.

It was not a peck. To everyone’s surprise, it was hungry.

The room went deathly silent.

Ava’s arms slowly uncrossed. “Okay….”

Bob’s mouth parted. “Oh…”

Then— then came the second kiss.

It was longer. 

Your hands in his hair. His metal arm was up… your skirt? 

Your back hit the elevator wall.

John sat forward slowly. “Wait… wait.”

Then, you climbed him.

It got very explicit very quickly.

John’s popcorn slid from his lap, forgotten.

Alexei was blinking like he’d witnessed a cult ritual.

Ava whispered, “Jesus Christ.”

Bob clutched the arms of his chair. “That’s— that’s not him asking her out on a date.”

“Is the—” Alexei squinted, his voice dry, “—is the camera shaking?”

“No,” Ava said hoarsely. “That’s the elevator shaking.”

“Fuck,” John gasped. “We should— we should stop.”

Yelena stared at the screen, frozen. “I didn’t mean for this to happen.”

Alexei held up a trembling finger. “He has not taken her to dinner. There was no courtship. There was no honour.”

Ava turned away from the monitor. “Turn it off. Turn it off!”

Yelena did.

The room plunged into an eerie silence.

Bob was still cross-legged on the floor. “I… I think there was a round two. Like… halfway through. I think I counted it. Different positions. Less vertical.”

They were all pale now.

Yelena stood up like she’d survived a car crash. “We are never speaking of this.”

“Delete the footage,” Ava added. “Burn it. Hack the cloud. Scrub the backups.”

“Gone,” Yelena said grimly. “It’s already gone.”

Alexei placed his mug down. “He has not even taken her out on date yet,” he repeated, horrified.

John slumped back into his chair, stunned “I’ll never look at elevators the same way.”

No one—not one of them—suspected marriage. No one suspected long-time commitment.

Not even a little.

They thought they’d witnessed a slip. A one-time break in Barnes’ solitude, a rare show of his desire.

They had no idea he fucked you like that at home every other day.

They just thought Bucky Barnes had the most soul-shattering game any man had ever possessed.

And not a single one of them ever got in that elevator without wincing ever again.

—

Six Weeks Later

It started out like any other off-day in the suburbs.

The early morning was quiet, with pale light spilling across the hardwood floors, the distant hum of a lawn mower down the street, and the smell of Bucky’s burnt-but-endearing attempt at breakfast wafting in from the kitchen. 

It was supposed to be peaceful.

But you were in the bathroom, staring at the positive pregnancy test with your hands trembling and your heart threatening to beat out of your chest.

Pregnant.

Three times, all different brands.

It wasn’t planned, not really. You have been talking about it, and even said you’d give it a go by the end of the year. 

Hell, you were on even the pill. But the last couple months had been a blur— long hours at the tower and stress-induced forgetfulness. 

Somewhere in the chaos of overtime and rushing out the door with a protein bar instead of breakfast, you must’ve slipped up. Maybe once. Maybe twice. Maybe that was enough.

You barely heard your own footsteps as you tiptoed down the hallway in a fog, still holding one of the tests like it might disappear if you blinked. Bucky was at the kitchen counter, humming under his breath, shirtless in his gray sweatpants, a bowl of strawberries in front of him with his dog tags reflecting in the morning sun.

He turned when he heard you come in, and his smile immediately faltered.

He could tell by the look on your face that something was… off.

“Sweetheart?” His brow furrowed as he stepped toward you, eyes looking over as if scanning for wounds. “Are you okay?”

You tried to say something, but nothing came out. You just looked at him with wide eyes, parted lips, and the test clenched tightly in your hand. 

His hands gently closed around your arms.

“Hey, hey, hey,” he said, his voice a little rough. “Breathe, doll. Tell me what’s going on. Did something happen?”

You shook your head, lip trembling. “No. Nothing like that. I just… I…”

He ducked his head, trying to catch your eyes. “Look at me,” he said, less demanding but more gentle. “It’s okay. Whatever it is, we can fix it. Just tell me.”

Your breath hitched. You looked down, uncurled your fingers, and held out the test.

Bucky looked at it.

Then up at you.

“…What is this?” he asked, almost cautiously. Like he needed confirmation.

You opened your mouth, but your voice cracked before it even came out. “I think I’m pregnant.”

He blinked twice. “You’re—”

You nodded, tears welling in your eyes. “I—I know. I was on the pill. I swear I was. But with everything going on at the tower and those back-to-back all-nighters and fuck, James, I must’ve messed up, I must’ve missed one or two—”

“Wait. Wait—wait,” he said suddenly. He stepped back just enough to look at you fully, like he needed the whole picture to understand. “You’re serious?”

You nodded again. “I wouldn’t—I wouldn’t joke about this.”

He was completely still, like the words were sinking into him bit by bit.

And then, to your surprise, he let out a shaky breath, laughed a little, and ran a hand through his hair.

“Jesus Christ,” he whispered. “You’re pregnant.”

You looked at him nervously, heart pounding. “I—I mean, it’s early. Like really early. Just a few weeks, I think. We don’t have to freak out. We can talk about it. Think about it. We can—”

But he cut you off, stepping forward again and cupping your face in both hands, his thumbs brushing away the tears on your cheeks. His eyes were glistening.

“Hey,” he said gently. “I’m not freaking out. I’m not freaking out. I’m just—holy shit, baby. I— you’re growing a little version of us in there. We’re doing this... if you… if you want this, too.”

You let out a breath you hadn’t realised you were holding, your arms wrapping around him instinctively.

“We’re doing this,” you whispered back, like saying it out loud made it more real. “I… I do want this.”

He kissed the top of your head, your temple, your cheek. “We were headed here anyway. Maybe I didn’t know it’d happen now, but…” He leaned back to look at you, eyes full of wonder. “I love you so much.”

You sniffled, laughing through it. “I was so scared.”

“You don’t have to be,” he said, “Never with me.”

There was a long moment where the two of you just held each other, breathing in the warmth of the moment. When…

“So, uh. What do we tell the team?”

You chuckled. “About what? The baby or the fact that we’re married?”

He winced. “Shit.”

“Yeah.”

Bucky wanted to share his joy, he really did. 

But he still had enemies. The kind who would use anything, anyone, to get to him.

And he would rather die than see your name — and his baby’s— end up on one of their lists.

“You still want to keep it quiet?” you asked quietly.

He didn’t answer right away. He looked at your stomach, his teeth clenching. 

“I don’t want anyone knowing if it puts you in danger,” he said finally. “I don’t care what they think of me. I just want you safe. Our family safe.”

You nodded. “Okay. So... in two or three months— the tower renovations’ll be done by then. I can just wear baggy clothes.”

He gave you a wary look. “You already wear baggy clothes.”

You shrugged. “I’ll wear bigger ones.”

Surely, this was a foolproof plan, right? 

—

It was successful for all of two weeks. You played your part, showed up to the tower, exchanged the usual small talk with the team, and pretended everything was normal, all while avoiding harmful construction materials and focusing on furnishing.

Then one morning, you looked pale coming out of the toilet, wiping acid from the corner of your mouth with tissue. Bob looked over, eyebrows raised in concern. You waved him off with a smile. 

“Fuck morning sickness,” you muttered, more to yourself than to him.

And that was it. You didn’t even think twice. You were too focused on the nausea, the spinning room, the unpleasant taste in your mouth. You didn’t realise you’d said it.

Bob didn’t clock it right away either. You’d already left the room by the time the words caught up with him. He was halfway through his coffee, reading a book, when—

He froze. His eyes widened.

“Wait…”

Morning sickness?

—

Bob didn’t say anything right away.

He sat there for a moment, staring at the spot where you’d stood. 

Morning sickness, his brain repeated again, louder now.

He stood up so fast his chair rolled back and hit the wall.

Fifteen minutes later, there was a closed-door meeting in Conference Room 7.

Ava, Yelena, Alexei, and John filed in, curious and worried—it wasn’t often that Bob called a we-need-to-talk-right-now meeting that didn’t involve a breach or a fire drill.

Bob stood at the head of the table, arms crossed, unreadable.

“She’s pregnant,” he said flatly.

Everyone blinked.

“…Who?” Ava asked, tilting her head.

Bob stared at her. “Bucky’s little elevator secret.”

Yelena raised an eyebrow. “How… How do you know?”

“She….” Bob started. “She said something about morning sickness.”

There was a beat of silence.

“Oh,” said Alexei, thoughtfully.

“...Oh,” Ava echoed.

Yelena’s eyes widened. “OH?”

John straightened up in his chair. “Hold on. Do you think—” He looked around the room, dropping his voice to a whisper, “—do you think Bucky could be the dad?”

They all looked at each other. The memory hit them at once like a suppressed group hallucination.

No one’s talked about it since. 

Not out of respect, but out of sheer trauma suppression and the fact that, frankly, they weren’t paid enough to bring it up.

“I mean,” Ava said slowly, “Did anyone see him with a condom?”

“Not that I can remember,” Yelena shuddered, brow furrowed. “But I wasn’t exactly memorising it.”

“Elevator baby,” Alexei whispered, stunned.

Bob just nodded grimly.

Then John, who’d been thinking too hard, looked up. “Do you think Bucky knows?”

The room went completely silent.

Ava blinked. “Shit.”

Yelena exhaled through her nose. “He’s either going to marry her in a panic or pass out.”

John rubbed his temples. “Do we… do we tell him?”

Bob looked down nervously. “Better question—who’s going to tell him?”

Everyone looked at each other.

No one volunteered.

So they did it together.

—

They confronted Bucky two hours later. In the gym, of all places.

He was mid-rep when they approached—shirt damp with sweat, and music blaring in his ears. His brows furrowed in concentration as he finished his set and racked the barbell with a clang.

That’s when he noticed them.

Five fully-grown adults in a semicircle, watching him. Staring, like it was going to be a goddamn intervention.

He tilted his head. “...who did you kill and where did you bury the body?”

Bob cleared his throat, stepping forward like a nervous HR rep. “Umm, that’s not why we’re here.”

Bucky pulled out one earbud. “Then what’s going on?”

“We need to talk.”

That phrase never meant anything good, and they all knew it. Ava shifted her weight from foot to foot like she had somewhere more pleasant to be (a landmine field, perhaps). John had his arms crossed and was chewing the inside of his cheek. Alexei was trying to look fatherly and failing spectacularly. And Yelena—oh, Yelena—was vibrating with the kind of energy that suggested she either had bad news or gossip so juicy it came with a side of fries.

Bucky glanced at them, suspicious. “Okay… what is this? Am I getting voted off the team?”

Yelena stepped forward, and just… spat it out. “She’s pregnant.”

That landed like a punch to the solar plexus. His brain buffered.

Oh shit. Oh shit. 

They knew. They’d figured it out.

How?

He licked his lips, then attempted to play dumb. “….Who?”

Ava folded her arms. “We have a feeling,” she started, unimpressed, “you might be able to figure it out. Considering you had some… fun… in the elevator a couple months ago.”

Bucky’s eyes twitched.” I—what? You’re saying—how do you even know about that?” 

Yelena raised a hand, almost sheepishly. “We, uh… we might’ve set up the elevator failure.”

John immediately smacked the back of her shoulder. “You. Not we. That was your idea.”

“I said might’ve!” she hissed.

“What we’re saying,” Alexei interjected, rubbing a hand down his face like a weary dad at a PTA meeting, “is that there is chance you are going to be dad.”

Bucky tried to laugh. It came out like a goose being strangled. “I’m not ready to move on from the elevator camera. That’s a massive violation of privacy. I—what kind of sick—”

“You did it in public,” Ava interrupted coldly.

“And you’re not denying it,” Bob added.

“I’m just saying,” Bucky snapped, pointing wildly, “you kept it? You still have the tape? Can I see it?”

Everyone groaned in unison.

John pinched the bridge of his nose. “You might have gotten a hook up pregnant, and the first thing you care about is your sex tape? Seriously?”

Bucky didn’t respond, which said a lot.

Bob said plainly, “But we’re pretty sure you didn’t use protection.”

“She was on the pill!” Bucky snapped.

“You still don’t do hookups bare, Bucky!” Ava exclaimed, voice rising.

“She hadn’t had sex with anyone else in years!”

“Anyone… else?” John asked, skeptical.

Bucky opened his mouth.

Closed it.

Opened it again.

And shut up.

Bucky groaned, dragging his hands down his face like he was trying to scrape the stress off his skin.

Then, finally, with a voice so quiet it barely made it through the hum of fluorescent lights, he finally said, “She’s…my wife.”

A beat passed with silence.

Then Ava shrieked, “I’m sorry—WHAT?!”

“When?!” John thundered.

“About a year ago,” Bucky admitted. “We kept it a secret. It wasn’t safe for her. I didn’t want anyone coming after her because of me.”

Alexei frowned, tone softer now. “And now…”

“Now she’s having my baby,” Bucky said. His throat bobbed as he swallowed. “And I don’t know how to protect her from this. From all of this.”

“Fuck,” John let out a low whistle. “Is it… is it the elevator baby?”

“We did the math,” Bucky turned beet red, “there is a… pretty good chance that’s the case.” 

“Elevator baby,” Yelena echoed, eyes wide. 

She sounded almost proud.

Bucky looked at each of them— serious now. “You can’t tell anyone,” he warned, “She’s… she’s everything to me. If this gets out—if she’s hurt, if someone uses her to get to me—I wouldn’t— couldn’t— live with myself.”

And just like that, gone was the teasing.

They stood there, in a loose circle around him, the lights humming overhead, the scent of sweat in the air. A line crossed, and secrets spilled open. This was a line where their friendship was tested—and affirmed.

John, finally, clapped Bucky on the shoulder. “Congrats, man. You’re gonna be a dad.”

“Elevator dad,” Yelena added.

“Don’t,” Bucky warned, but he was smiling, just a little.

—

The shift was subtle at first.

Alexei started carrying things for you.

You’d walk into a room with a stack of sample boards or fabric swatches for a renovation pitch, and before you could even blink, he’d be at your side, snatching half of them away and saying, “You should not be lifting this.”

You tilted your head the first time. “I… I’m okay, Alexei.”

He just stared back, deadpan. “Does not mean you should.” And then walked away before you could argue.

Then there was Ava, who started checking the air quality constantly.

“Gotta keep the air pure,” she’d say, making sure your workstation was well-ventilated from paint fumes. 

You started to get suspicious after the third can of air purifier she smuggled into the conference room.

And then came John, who strolled past your desk one morning with a coffee in one hand and a brochure in the other. He stopped like he just happened to remember something.

“Oh hey,” he said, waving the paper around. “That new baby store down the street? Massive sale. Car seats, little shoes, those bib things shaped like bandanas? You know, the cool ones. Just… figured I’d pass it along. Y’know. In case… anyone.”

You squinted. “Anyone?”

He coughed. “Just in case anyone… likes sales.”

Right.

It wasn’t until Yelena hugged you, that the alarm bells started getting harder to ignore.

She pulled away, uncharacteristically gentle, and said, “You’re good at taking care of things.”

“…Okay,” you said cautiously, “Are you dying?”

She just blinked. “No. I just think you are doing great.” She paused. “And you should not wear heels. They’re bad for your ankles.”

That was it.

You came home that night, dumped your bag by the door, and found Bucky on the couch eating mac and cheese he probably stole from the tower. 

He looked up, beaming. “Hey, doll. You okay?”

You squinted at him. “Do you know something I don’t?”

He tilted his head. “About what?”

You flopped next to him, sighing. “Yelena hugged me today.”

His eyes widened. “…Oh.”

“And told me I’m good at taking care of things.”

He was dead silent.

“John is talking about baby boutiques to me. Ava keeps purifying the air. And I’m pretty sure Bob gave me vitamin water.”

Bucky looked down.

You gave him a pointed look. “So, I’m just gonna ask: Did you tell them?”

He winced. His whole face did the oh-no-don’t-be-mad-at-me scrunch.

“Umm…” he said.

“Oh my god.”

“I—I didn’t tell them, technically,” he started, clearly floundering. “They figured it out! Bob overheard something, and then there was a meeting, and I got cornered at the gym and they were all standing in a circle like some kind of intervention and they were like ‘we know,’ and I panicked and I didn’t want to lie and—”

“Bucky.”

He stopped, biting his lip.

“I’m not mad,” you said, cutting him off before the ramble could spiral into an apology monologue. “I’m… relieved.”

His brow furrowed. “You are?”

You nodded. “Do you know how exhausting it is trying to hide a whole human and pretend I’m not in love with you?”

“I just wanted you to be safe.” He looked down, a little guilty. “I thought if they didn’t know, there’d be less risk.”

“I know,” you murmured, reaching over to take his hand. “But honey…  they’re not strangers. They’re your people. Our people, now.”

He smiled, fingers threading through yours. “Yelena did threaten to murder anyone who so much as looked at you wrong.”

“See?” You leaned in, kissing his cheek. “That’s the kind of prenatal care I’m talking about.”

He chuckled, pulling you close, one hand resting gently against your stomach. “We’ll still keep it quiet outside the tower. For safety.”

“Of course,” you said. “But at least I don’t have to hide there.”

Then Bucky said, “Also… Bob wants to throw you a secret baby shower. In the hangar. With… themed cupcakes.”

—

Eight Months Later

Jamie was six weeks old the first time you brought him to the Watchtower.

He was bundled up in a little blue onesie with a cartoon white wolf on the chest, swaddled like a burrito in a cotton blanket, and blissfully asleep in your arms.

The 87th floor had been converted for the three of you— a secure residential wing with baby gates and blackout curtains and a surprisingly tasteful wallpaper Bucky picked himself. You were here to check it out, and also introduce your baby to the team.

Most days, you would stay at the house in the suburbs, where birds chirped and neighbors waved and no one could hear Bucky singing lullabies off-key at 2 a.m. But it was nice to know you had a home in the Watchtower.

You barely stepped in the common room when the team got up.

“Is that him?” Ava whispered like she was approaching royalty.

“Don’t crowd the baby,” Bucky said, holding out an arm protectively.

John peered over Ava’s shoulder. “He looks like a tiny Bucky. But like, angrier. Is that even possible?”

Jamie yawned.

Yelena, unusually soft-voiced, leaned in “Look at him. So small. So squishy. Like a baby potato with many opinions.”

“He does look judgmental,” Bob offered.

“He is judgmental,” you smiled.

—

There were a couple more visits after that before your first official night at the tower. 

They’d been asking for weeks to hold him now. 

Every visit, every mission debrief, every team meeting that you attended with Jamie snoozing in a carrier strapped to your chest, someone would inevitably ask:

“Can I hold him?”

The answer had always been not yet.

Not until he had more of an immune system than a fruit fly.

Especially not until Bob stopped referring to his hands as “clean-ish.”

But today, Jamie was twelve weeks old. 

Today was the day.

You warned them ahead of time, sending them a group text. Bucky enforced it like a drill sergeant, passing non-alcohol hand sanitiser around like communion.

The baby was clean. The adults were clean. The air smelled faintly of lemon.

Yelena was first, practically vibrating as she took Jamie into her arms like a sacred artifact.

“Bozhe moi,” she whispered, eyes wide. 

“He’s real,” Bob said, as Jamie curled his arm around his finger, “we can touch him.”

Then John took a turn, cradling Jamie like he was made of glass. Bucky, perhaps knowing he had some experience and was trying to make amends with his own son, trusted him most. “He’s so… light.“

Eventually, one by one, everyone got their turn.

And then… Alexei.

He stepped forward quietly, hands extended, palms open and ready. There was a certain fondness in his eyes.

You gently handed Jamie over, and Alexei took him with a grace that didn’t match his usual bull-in-a-china-shop aesthetic. He rocked him slightly and began saying something soft in Russian. It sounded like a lullaby.

Jamie adorably blinked up at him.

And then, with the seriousness of a priest delivering a sermon, Alexei slowly walked across the room… and stopped in front of the elevator.

“Little Jamie,” he said in a soothing voice, still swaying, “this, my sweet little cherub, is where you were conceived.”

“Dad!” Yelena whisper-shouted, her hands in the air. “Stop!”

“I’m just telling him the truth!” Alexei protested.

“He’s a baby!” Ava barked. 

“He needs context!”

“HE NEEDS A NAP!” John insisted.

Alexei looked down at Jamie, who stared back, completely unbothered.

“I think he gets it,” Alexei said, beaming.

Jamie sneezed.

Bucky buried his face in your shoulder. “I can’t believe we let him hold the baby.”

You, already laughing, said, “At least he didn’t point out the exact panel of the wall.”

Alexei turned around, lifting Jamie like Simba. “And over here, by button 13, that’s where your father’s ass was—”

“OH MY GOD,” Yelena wailed, launching a pillow at him.

Bob hastily caught it. “We shouldn’t throw things when the baby is airborne.”

John held out his arms. “Give him back before you scare him with a detailed retelling.” 

Alexei sighed, but passed Jamie over. “You are going to be great warrior like your father, Jamie.”

You settled onto the couch beside Bucky, your body relaxing as you leaned into him. He pressed a kiss to your temple, then let his lips linger in your hair. He never failed to remind you that you were safe. That Jamie was safe.

Your eyes drifted across the room— your strange, chaotic, beautiful little makeshift family in a room that was a labour of your love. Bob was wiping down a clean countertop for the third time. Ava and Yelena were mid-argument about the correct way to swaddle a baby, neither remotely qualified but equally committed. 

Jamie, unfazed by the commotion, cooed contentedly in John’s arms, his tiny fingers reaching for the man’s bead as Alexei kept talking to him in russian.

Your heart felt like it might burst.

He had your nose, Bucky’s eyes, and all the love in the world.

In the background, Alexei’s voice rose again, brimming with mischief. “Next time, I’ll show him the armoury.”

“NO!” came the instant chorus from everyone in the room.

You couldn’t help it, so you laughed.

Jamie was loved. Fiercely, ridiculously loved.

And there wasn’t a person in this room who wouldn’t burn the world down for him.

-end.

General Bucky taglist:

@hotlinepanda @snflwr-vol6 @ruexj283 @2honeybees @read-just-cant

 @shanksstrawhat @mystictf @globetrotter28 @thebuckybarnesvault @average-vibe

@winchestert101 @mystictf @globetrotter28 @boy--wonder--187 @scariusaquarius

@reckless007 @hextech-bros @daydreamgoddess14 @96jnie @pono-pura-vida

@buckyslove1917 @notsostrangerthing @flow33didontsmoke @qvynrand @blackbirdwitch22

@torntaltos @seventeen-x @ren-ni @iilsenewman @slayerofthevampire

@hiphip-horray @jbbucketlist @melotyy @ethereal-witch24 @samfunko

@lilteef @hi172826 @pklol @average-vibe @shanksstrawhat

@shower-me-with-roses @athenabarnes @scarwidow @thriving-n-jiving @dilfsaresohot

@helloxgoodbi @undf-stuff @sapphirebarnes @hzdhrtss @softhornymess

@samfunko @wh1sp @anonymousreader4d7 @mathcat345 @escapefromrealitylol

@imjusthere1161 @sleepysongbirdsings @fuckybarnes @yn-stories-are-my-life @rIphunter

@cjand10 @nerdreader @am-3-thyst @wingstoyourdreams @lori19

@goldengubs @maryevm @helen-2003 @maryssong23 @fan4astic

@yesshewrites1 @thewiselionessss @sangsterizada @jaderabbitt @softpia 

@hopeofwinter @nevereclipse @tellybearryyyy @buckybarneswife125 @buckybarneswife125

@imaginecrushes @phoenixes-and-wizards

[arquiiva]

PEG HIM REAL GOOD ! ఌ

pegging re2 leon this, pegging re2 leon that…

— what about pegging re4!leon? the one that’s so stoic, so big and strong, seemingly so dominant?

↻ contains. smut ➪ minors dni ! pegging of course , slight m!sub f!dom , ooc leon?? , cursing, porn w no plot (?) , heavy pet names, afab!reader , praise , handjob kinda

↻ aria speaks!!. im sorry i just needed to write this because i mean… like… look at him… who wouldn’t want to peg him… like who wouldn’t want to hold that juicy booty of his — i mean he got a dumptruck we all know it. this was kinda rushed ngl.. but ENJOY (¯ ³¯)♡

“fuhhhck, baby, that’s— shit— holdonasec—”

how delectable. thats part of the reason you ended up here in the first place, he was so cute. so selfless in everything he did, so loving towards you — you just wanted to make him feel good. distract him from all his worries and stresses; make the only emotion he’s capable of experiencing pleasure, even if only fleeting. and you knew just the thing.

it took a lot of convincing to get to this point. a lot, a lot. so much it actually surprised you a little, considering you knew deep down he loved being taken care of, even if he didn’t show it often.

you knew he wouldn’t regret it though. and now you can guarantee that you were right, and he won’t, i mean.. just look at him.

“that feel good, baby? hm?”

“h..—holy fuck, i’m… yeah, yeahyeah feels… ‘s feels like..”

your hips pushed forward a tad bit harder; a deviation from the shallow and slow thrusts you’d been accustoming him to. he choked on his own moan, spine twitching and pillow swallowing the delicious gasp he let out.

“oh, i know, i knoww. already going dumb on me, aren’t you?” your fingertips gently ran down the curve of his twitching lower back, trying to settle him. “that’s okay, baby, don’t worry.. ‘s why we’re doing this, isn’t it? for you to jus feel good..”

you emphasised that last word with another hard thrust, feeling your cunt pulse at the strained sounds escaping him.

“gonna make you feel good baby… you want that? want me to fill you up whole with my cock, fuck you as hard ‘nd fast as you need, make you all dumb?” a shaky sigh wrenched itself from his lungs at your crude words, his hand adjusting to hold the sheets tighter. leon shuffled a little, shoving his face more into the pillows. “nuh uh, use your words, lee. if you want more, then tell me, alright?”

it seemed shame was eating him up; humiliation at the position he was in evident when he still didn’t reply, instead only continuing to pant into the safety of the bed below him. it was clear he’d become so used to security and routine, that this vulnerability was new to him. but not unwelcome, if his leaky twitchy cock was anything to go off of.

“leon.” you sighed, voice firmer now. your hips ground back in a slow motion, pulling out of him. his hips twitched, as if he was resisting the urge to chase the blissful stretch of the silicone cock. you saved him the trouble, hips maintaining a painstakingly slow speed as you filled him back up. he let out a garbled moan, shuddering at the unfamiliar full feeling. “i asked if you wanted to be fucked hard. do you w—”

“yes!” he gasped with a whine, tone needy and desperate.

you smiled, sitting up a little straighter as you gazed down at him adoringly. one of your hands moved to settle in his tousled blond hair, gently holding his head still in the pillows. the other rested on his hip, thumb tracing comforting lines on his skin as you pulled your hips back.

you wasted no time in indulging him, hips smacking back and forth at an instant brutal pace; making sure to do it hard — hard enough to see the flesh on his ass ripple slightly with every slap of your hips against it.

he was already getting lost in it. a constant stream of whiney moans and muffled words you couldn’t make out leaving his lips, one of his hands shooting to yours that rested on his hip — grabbing it, fingers intertwining. comforting.

“thaaat’s it, taking it so good.. you’re being so good for me baby, aren’t you?” the lewd sound of the excessive lube you’d used earlier to prepare him bouncing off the walls. the nod he gave was all too eager, his head turning to rest on its side against the pillow.

his moans were louder now that they weren’t constricted, and with every thrust you delivered, one would fall from his lips.

the hand that was in his hair caressed his temple as you grunted from the effort. “can hardly move… so tight, aren’t you honey? such a cutie…”

leon whimpered at that, his moans becoming whinier the more you stretched him out.

“oh fuuuuck, baby— baby.. babybabybaby i can’t, shittt.. i can’t, you gotta— i can’t take it! oh my fucking..”

“yes you can.” you strained out, holding back your own moan from how much this was turning you on. you squeezed his hand tighter, your free hand moving from his head to wriggle between his shifting body and the bed. you wasted no time in taking a hold of his cock, even feeling a little surprised with how wet and hard it was.

“shit! i’m..— i’m close, haah..”

your thumb swiped at his tip as you thrusted harder, hard enough for the bed to creak beneath your shared weight. mostly leon’s.

“ohhh, my baby is so horny, loves being filled to the brim with my cock, hm? cum fr me, honey..”

that was the last straw for leon’s last remnant of sanity, it seems. he moaned, deep and powerful as his hips subtly moved to meet your thrusts.

it became increasingly hard for you to move with his clenching, and your hand kept losing its grip on his slippery cock with how much it was twitching.

“going to— i’m— ohh fuhhck, it’s…” he was just plain whimpering now, movements becoming erratic as his back arched more for you. “cumming!”

hot spurts of cum immediately landed on your hand, and it was sooo sticky. both his stomach, the bed, your hand, and a little of your arm becoming coated in his spend.

“shit, i can’t… i can’t stop, fuck..” he groaned.

you panted, sweat coating your forehead as you slowed down your thrusts, letting him ride out his high. you moved your hand out from underneath him, relishing in the hiss that left him when your fingertips brushed his sensitive and still-twitching cock.

you licked his spend off your fingers, making sure the smack of your lips was loud so he could hear you. he slowly turned his head to watch you, an incoherent curse leaving his agape lips.

you licked up your arm, trying to get all of his cum.

“you wanna do it on your back this time?”

[tojicide]

SNIPER, SNIPER! ☆ LEON KENNEDY

summary. in leon’s line of work as a contract killer, weaknesses weren’t an option. luckily, he’d eliminated his… all except for one.

warnings. fem!reader. au. nsfw, smut, fluff. hitman!leon, ex!leon, jealous!leon, re4!leon intended. discussion of murder, guns, bullets, etc. a loooot of blissful ignorance. porn with some plot. pet names. argument. oral sex (f!receiving), face sitting, missionary, unprotected p in v, creampie. wc. 5.3k

note. i tend to fuck up a nice “ex who is a raging munch” fic or two saurrrr this is basically my staple now :3

⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⠀ ✧ masterlist | request

Leon isn’t sure why he’s here.

He hasn’t ever bid on a target as sought after as the one that he has now acquired. The target was only described as someone who simply ‘knows too much’ about something they shouldn’t. Vague, he thinks, especially because they remained nameless, genderless, and description-less otherwise. It was odd, for sure, but it was the highest contract that he had ever come by.

As a matter of fact, he’s positive that it’s the highest contract that anyone in his position has ever seen, let alone signed. He’s sure that he’s ruffled a bit of feathers by taking on the job, especially considering that he was still considered fresh meat among the other hitmen that he was distantly familiar with.

Leon preferred to stay out of the unusual politics that came with the underground world, and that meant taking on the jobs that no one deemed urgent enough to complete.

(Plenty of drug dealers, a few sketchy nightclub owners, and an awful bunch of politicians who he is 99% sure put the bounty on their own heads to avoid the scandal that was unearthed about each of them no less than two weeks after they were found with bullets in their heads. He preferred those hits. All men, all guilty of something.)

Nevertheless, he finds himself here, perched on the rooftop of an upscale bar with his sniper rifle angled over the ledge. His scope was perfectly aligned with the entrance of the night club across the street, his right eye narrowed while the other was completely shut.

He sighs, tapping onto his earpiece to communicate with his teammate that was a few buildings over. Alexander.

(Alexander was a tech-nut. He was responsible for ensuring that the coast was clear, that there weren’t an abundance of cops in the area, and that security cameras of the establishment were looped continually in order to ensure that no one could suspect anything more than someone being at the wrong place at the wrong time.)

“Reread the target description that was left for me,” Leon quietly commands.

“Aaand what’s the magic word?”

He heavily sighs. For a job like this, he figured that working alone would be the best option, but with the more he learned, the more experience he gained, the people he met—he was proven wrong. A team works more efficiently than a single person, even if the other half of his current team was a bit… annoying.

“Don’t piss me off,” he huffs, shaking his head as he closes one eye to look through the scope again.

Leon can practically hear Alexander’s grin on the other end of the line as he speaks. “Alright, man, jeez. Your g-string must be a bit too tight tonight, but that’s alright, I’m in no place to judge you.”

Before the blonde can even react to that unsettling quip, Alexander continues speaking, only this time, he does what Leon asks of him. “Bounty, bounty, bounty… where is the darn thing? Oh yes, here it is. Okay, it says that the target will be wearing a blue button-up shirt, a black coat, and black slacks tonight…. and that’s it.”

Leon hums, mulling over the very few words that were left for him by the person who had posted the contract in the first place. He’d never killed someone based on the description of an outfit alone,  but then again, he’s never gotten paid this much for sending a bullet through a random guy’s brain. He’ll take it.

“Thanks,” he mutters, turning off his ear piece to drown out the voice of the male on the other end.

It feels like hours pass by in which all he does is stare at the entrance, watching as each attendee leaves the establishment periodically. Each time he saw the color red, he’d perk up, only to find that they were wearing jeans, or they were wearing a white blazer, which only left him feeling more annoyed as time went on.

And then, the door opens. He can practically feel the air flee his lungs as he taps onto his earpiece out of instinct. A blue button-up shirt, a black coat, and black slacks.

“Ooh. Pretty. We guessed wrong, didn’t we?” Alexander speaks through the earpiece, which causes Leon to raise a brow.

“What’re you…” his voice trails. His blood runs cold, his palms begin to sweat, and his eyes blow wide. “Holy… fuck.”

“I know right? Not only is she a woman, but she’s miiiighty fine,” his teammate speaks, his voice oddly humorous for the given situation. A moment of silence passes, and Alexander continues to talk, but he can’t hear a damn word.

Leon freezes like a deer in headlights as he watches you emerge from the dim nightclub with a man’s arm slung around your shoulder, though that hardly taints how angelic you look tonight.

Your hair frames your face so beautifully, so soft and feminine. The tip of your nose was flushed given the crisp night air that you’ve just stepped into, your smile was side and toothy as you walked beside a man that he didn’t recognize.

You’re gorgeous, is all he can think right now. It’s the first time he’s seen you since the moment the two of you broke up six months ago, and you look even prettier than when he pictured you each night to fall asleep. He dreamt of you often, but his lovesick mind was no match for imagining the beauty that you possess.

Suddenly, Alexander’s voice pierced through his haze, bringing him back to the current scene. “Earth to Leon? I get it man, she’s pretty, very much so. I’d hit that too if she wasn’t gonna die in like… two secs.”

“What the hell are you talking about?” he hisses, his voice sounding just as venomous as he’d intended it to. “You aren’t going to lay a damn finger on her.”

“Woah, buddy. Big talk from the guy with a sniper aimed at her head.”

That is the moment in which everything clicks in the worst way imaginable.

It’s you. His target, the person who knows too much, the one who is supposed to die tonight—it’s you.

And then, he becomes acutely aware of the lines that are obstructing his view of you. His scope. The red dot in the center placed strategically on your temple, the bullet meant just for you waiting for a simple pull of a trigger.

Leon shudders, picking his head up. No. Absolutely not. Completing his task was not even a thought in his mind anymore, not if the target was you. His beautiful, sweet girl.

But he couldn’t leave the scene unscathed. It would raise suspicion, possibly even tie him to you in a way that you didn’t need. If he didn’t fulfill the obligation in some way, someone else would. He’d broken up with you to save you from all of this, and now, he’d unknowingly come here to make you familiar with his lifestyle in the worst way possible.

You were walking away, and it’s then that his trained eyes fall onto the man who has his arm draped over your shoulder in the way he used to all those months ago. His heart aches at the mere sight of you looking so happy in the company of another, but it gives him an idea.

Leon looks through the scope again, and within seconds, a loud gunshot rings through the air in the form of a thundering pop.

His jaw tenses as he hears screaming. They aren’t your screams though, because you’re not hit. They’re coming from the man you were with, because Leon has just lightly grazed his arm with a bullet.

He wasn’t insane. He wasn’t going to be killing anyone tonight, even if he desperately wanted to kick the living shit out of the man who is so close to you.

Well… was close to you. He isn’t anymore. Your date is writing on the ground all because of a flesh wound, and you’re standing above him with the most confused and concerned look on your face.

Leon can’t help but think that the man has no regard for you and your safety. For all this mystery man knows, more shots could be coming, and instead of trying to protect you, he’s rolling around on the concrete like a toddler throwing a tantrum. Such a man baby.

“What’re you waiting for? Holy fuck, uh… you still have the shot. Take the shot—”

Leon pulls the earpiece away, turning it off before she shoves it into his back pocket. He didn’t need to be scolded by anyone, let alone someone as useless as his teammate. He’d beat him bloody for how he had spoken about you if he weren’t already packing up his equipment to head over to your place.

He needs to check on you, first and foremost. He also needs to explain himself which was… going to be no easy feat, he supposes.

You don’t find your way home until about an hour later, keys jumbling about as you push it into the slot, twisting it with a tired hand.

To be shot at was not on your agenda for tonight, but being berated by your date for not reacting quick enough to help him evade a bullet you had no knowledge of was certainly not how you wanted to end your night either.

Annoyed, exhausted, and frustrated, you step into your apartment. When you begin to shrug off your coat, your body tenses. No. Fucking. Way.

“What the fuck?” you hiss, your voice rising in octave.

Leon stands from your couch, approaching you with his hands in the air, attempting to show you that he hadn’t come with malice. You knew he hadn't, but that didn’t mean you wanted to see him.

“Baby, it’s just me,” he says without thinking, the pet name slipping out before he could have a say in the matter.

“Yeah, I know it’s just you, that’s the problem!” you continue, hanging your coat up on the rack along with your purse. “Are you out of your damn mind? I—”

“Yes,” he answers without hesitation. “I am out of my mind, and you must be out of yours for still keeping your spare key under your doormat. I told you to move it years ago.”

Your brows knit together. “You little— you know what? I’m not even going to entertain that. How about this? You leave, and we forget this happened, yeah?”

“Can’t do that,” he tells you with a shrug, crossing his arms over his wide chest. “I need to talk to you.”

“Don’t do this, Leon, not tonight,” you huff, pinching your nose bridge. “I’m not in the mood, alright? I was—”

“Shot at?” he finishes your sentence. He immediately regrets it, pressing his lips into a line to keep himself from saying anything else.

Your demeanor falters at that. You tilt your head to the side, your eyes narrowing as you look at him from where he stands across the room. “How do you know that?”

He takes a moment to answer, his mouth opening without any words coming out. It spikes your frustration, so you speak again. “Damn it, Leon, how do you know that?”

Leon holds his hands up again, pleading his defense before he criminalizes himself entirely. “I was the one behind the gun, but it’s not what you think—”

Your jaw drops. “Not what I think? Not what I think? You tried to kill me!”

He shakes his head, his expression falling. “I didn’t, baby. I swear. Just let me explain, and—”

“You tried to shoot me in the damn neck!” you continue, your hand dramatically clasping into the side of your throat.

Leon closes his eyes for a moment, internally bracing himself for your outburst that he absolutely deserves. He opens them again, simply watching as you spew insults his way. He takes them without any hint of irritation.

“What the hell, Leon? Is that what you do now? You stalk your ex-girlfriend and try to kill her? Not only that, you missed. You missed! That’s almost fucking humorous, because how can you try to do something like that and then miss!”

Leon sighs, waiting for a moment to see if you try to continue, and when you don’t, he speaks instead. “I aimed for his arm, not your neck, or anywhere else that would endanger you—”

“Yeah, and you almost blew his arm off!” You’re more than aware that the statement was dramatic, but you don’t need to have any sense right now.

“It was a flesh wound, he’ll be just fine,” he tells you before he continues with what he was saying before. “And I wasn’t stalking you. Not knowingly, anyway. I would never hurt you. Not ever. Your date was just… collateral. I had no choice.”

He hopes that you don’t ask any more questions about that, because he won’t have any answers for you. It was for the better. All you knew was that his job wasn’t legal. It couldn’t have been, not with the copious amounts of money that rolled in while he hardly worked for half of the month.

The less you knew about what his line of work entailed, the safer you were. The further away you were from him, the safer you were. However, those last words now ring hollow.

“Look…” he whispers, taking a step towards you despite his brain screaming at him to leave. He couldn’t. Not when he was the only one who knew of your compromised position. “I know that much has changed between us. It’s my fault, I know it, but I can’t tell you anything more about my job, I just need you to—”

You need answers that you won’t be getting, and that sentiment alone makes you furious. When he gets too close, your hand moves to the leather harness that he has strapped around his broad chest, pulling a sharp-bladed knife from its sleeve. His eyes widen as you hold the blade up to him, his hands shooting up into the air yet again.

“You remember where I put my spare key, I remember where you keep your spare knife,” you taunt, the two of you standing so close now that he can feel the warmth of your breath on his face. “Guess we haven’t changed as much as you think.”

He huffs as the cool blade grazes his clothed chest, the metal so close that it nearly pierces his skin. Even then, you ensure that it doesn’t. It’s almost touching how you press such a sharp object to his heart of all places, he thinks.

Your situation is far more complicated than the both of you can handle right now. You have unresolved issues with each other, and that alone must be addressed before you can even begin to scratch the surface of the threats that now face the two of you.

“I still think you’re sexy when you’re mean to me,” he whispers, tilting his head to the side. “That hasn’t changed either.”

Was it the time for his flirtatious performance? Certainly not, but you were putting on a little performance of your own just the same.

You scoff, narrowing your eyes. “You’re disgusting.”

Leon shakes his head, his eyes narrowing just as yours did. “Disgusting? Oh, don’t romance me.”

“I’m not romancing you,” you huff with an eye roll. Your grip on the knife only tightens, but you have no real intention of using it. “I’m threatening you.”

He hardly finds you to be threatening. He’d liken you to an angry cat, but he wouldn’t dare voice that out loud. He’s letting you have your moment, truth be told. “Mm, even better.”

His calloused hand moves to shadow yours, slowly lowering the knife that begged to pierce his pale skin. You let him, which only gives him more incentive to pull it away from your grasp entirely.

He tucks the knife back into his sheath, moving to unbuckle the harness entirely. “Now. Tell me, who was that guy?”

A random guy you met on Tinder. “My future husband.”

You’re just trying to get under his skin now, and judging by the look on his face, it’s working. He scoffs, crossing his arms over his chest as he looks down at you, taking note of that smug grin that stretches over your lips.

He really just wants to fuck it right off you, but he doesn’t make that known. Not yet, anyway.

“Yeah?” he asks, tilting his head. “You gonna let him put a ring on that pretty finger of yours?”

No, you absolutely were not, but you’re enjoying this game. It’s what he deserves after scaring the shit out of you tonight. “Yeah, I am. Thinking about some baby names too, just for safekeeping.”

Leon doesn’t like the thought that you’ve just put in his head, not one bit. His hand finds your left one, bringing it up to his lips as he presses a kiss on your ring finger. “Huh. That’s what you want?”

You tilt your head, noticing how his lips linger on your hand for a moment too long. “You know what I don’t want? To be shot at.”

He hums, giving you a mocking frown. Of course he feels bad about that, but… you both know he hadn’t truly shot at you. Around you, yes, but not at you. His large hands find your waist, his fingers grasping onto the fabric of your shirt and slowly but surely, you find yourself being backed towards your couch.

“Answer my question,” he whispers, his voice now possessing a rasp that it didn’t have before.

You huff, willingly sitting on your couch, even though you’re doing your best to front as though you’re totally disinterested. “Why should I?”

He shrugs, his lips tugging down as he tilts his head. You watch with blown eyes as he kneels in front of you, his palms gliding over your thighs.

“‘Cause if that’s what you want, I’ll give it to you.”

You tilt your head, eyeing him quite intently as his fingers move to the button of your slacks. You shouldn’t be turned on, but you absolutely are, and the damp fabric of your panties that he’s about to see conveys that pretty well.

“Give me what?” you ask, grinning slightly.

“A ring, a baby… both, neither,” he replies, his fingers hooking beneath your waistband. “Lift your hips for me.”

When you do just that, his eyes raise to find yours. He has a crazed look in his eye, one that you’re all too familiar with. “Whatever you want, baby, I’ll give it to you,” he whispers, leaning in until his soft lips just barely brush against yours.

Your eyes close, and you could have sworn that he was going to kiss you. But he doesn’t. When you open your eyes, you find him grinning. The same shit-eating grin that you love and hate to no avail.

“You just have to say the words,” he whispers against your lips.

You roll your eyes, your hand reaching out to rest on the back of his neck. He was already impossibly close, so all you truly did was hold him there. “I want to kiss you.”

Leon smiles, nodding his head in agreement. “Mm, like I said. Whatever my lady wants, she gets.”

His lips find yours in a searing kiss, his calloused hands smoothing over the soft, exposed skin of your thighs. Your lips move together in a gentle manner at first, as though you were allowing yourselves to get familiar all over again, but you were both quick to realize that gentleness was the last thing you needed.

Your breathing grows ragged as one of his hands cups the back of your head, tilting you just enough so that his tongue could easily slip into your mouth. The kiss was sloppier, messier, much more desperate. It was perfect, in your humble opinion.

His trails kisses down your cheek, jaw, neck… just about anywhere he could as he begins his gradual descent. His hands palm at your breasts through your shirt, and without hesitation, his hands grasp onto the fabric and yank it open. Buttons go flying about your living room, but Leon doesn’t seem to care with the way his face pressed into your cleavage.

One of his hands snaked behind you to undo the clasp of your bra, and the moment he saw a nipple, his mouth was already distracted once again.

“Leon, that was my favorite shirt!” you scold, glancing down at him.

He looks up at you with hazed eyes, sucking the peak of your breast into his mouth before he releases it to reply to you. “Was it?” he asks, his reply lacking any care in the slightest.

You nod, narrowing your eyes at him, but your front doesn’t last long when his tongue swirls around your areola. He reaches into his back pocket, tossing his wallet beside you.

“Buy a new one, shit, buy anything you want,” he whispers against your skin, his hands grasping onto your waist. “Tits are so pretty, baby. I missed you.”

“Is that all you missed about me?” you ask, a huff of laughter leaving your lips while his trail down your stomach.

“Absolutely not, no,” he murmurs against your skin, his fingers hooking beneath the fabric of your panties. He looks at you as he pulls them down your legs, and he presses his warm lips to your inner calves and thighs as he makes his way towards you again. “Missed everything about you.”

You roll your eyes. “That’s corny—”

“Sh,” he tells you, holding one finger up while he uses his other hand to slip one into your sopping entrance. Your walls clench around him, which only forces a chuckle to leave his mouth. “Let her talk for a bit, yeah?”

He hardly gives you a moment to reply before his head dips, his tongue curling up to stimulate your clit before he sucks on it entirely. He unabashedly moans into your cunt, introducing another finger into your entrance simultaneously.

Your head falls back, your hand delving into his hair to hold him impossibly closer to you, even though he seriously would get closer if he could.

“Sweetest pussy,” he murmurs into your heat, his voice rumbling against your wet cunt that he continued to eat like he would die if he didn’t. “Do somethin’ for me?”

You pick your head up to look down at him, nodding without question. He opens his eyes to look at you in return, pressing a kiss onto your mound before he turns around so that his back is now pressed against the front of your couch, still sitting on the ground.

“Sit on my face,” he suggests, tipping his head back onto the couch cushion.

He reaches for your hand to pull you forward, and you pivot on your knee, your front facing the back of the couch. He lays a light smack on your ass before he pulls you down the rest of the way to make you sit on his face.

Your hand reaches down, clutching onto his hair yet again while you cry out in genuine bliss. His tongue softens as he gives you long, deep licks into your pussy, wanting to taste every inch of you on his tongue.

And when your hips start to rock, he seems to be even happier. Much more incentivized too. He lulls his tongue out of his mouth, flattening it to let you ride his face as you so pleased. You made a mess of his chin, his mouth, his nose—he hardly cares.

(In fact, he doesn’t care. Not one bit. You might even have to pay him to care.)

“Y-You know,” you whine, grasping a bit firmer onto his hair while your hips continue to roll on his tongue, “I’m still mad at you.”

He nods his head, which only stimulates your cunt even more. “Mm, yeah?”

It felt so good. Everything about this was absolutely ecstasy, you can feel your eyes pricking with tears from how stimulated you’re growing.

“Yeah,” you choke out, resting your palms on the back of the couch to brace yourself. “I’m really fucking mad.”

Leon can’t help but grin, his hands brushing along the plush of your thighs. “I’m not too sure, sweetheart. Not with you riding my face like you love me ‘n all.”

“Shut… shut the hell up,” you moan, squeezing your eyes shut as your movements begin to grow even more crazed the closer you get to your release. He was right, but that didn’t mean you had to admit that.

“Okay,” he complies, his eyes fluttering shut while he starts to greedily make out with your pussy, feeling the way you pulsate on his tongue. “Shuttin’ me up real nice with this pretty little pussy. Cum on my face too while you’re at it, pretty girl.”

Not nice enough, but you cry out anyway, your head falling while your legs tremble on either side of his head. “I… Leon, ‘m cumming,” you say through an airy moan.

His movements slow as yours do, his tongue eagerly reaping the benefits of its labor in the form of your sweet release. He lets out a content sigh, pressing a few sweet kisses on your inner thigh.

You slowly rise up from his face, and he turns around to face you again, licking his lips, not caring about the rest of your thin slick that coats his face. You chuckle, running your hand over his face to wipe it away.

“So…” he drawls, pressing a kiss to your palm. “You’re still mad at me? Tell me more.”

“Later,” you reply, hooking your finger into the loophole of his pants to pull him closer to you.

With a chuckle, Leon pulls his shirt up and over his head, tossing it aimlessly on the floor of your living room. He gently nudges you until you’re laying back on your couch, his hands then moving to undo his belt.

“Ah, I see,” he teases, pushing his pants and boxers down in one motion. He kicks them away before he settles in between your parted legs, his hand pumping his cock.

You raise your eyes from his cock to his eyes, and you give him the most weary expression alive. “I don’t think it’s gonna fit,” you say.

It’s been too long, you were certainly not used to his size anymore. Leon knew it just as well as you did, but he didn’t want to make you nervous by saying that.

His brows knit together as he leans down to kiss you, his fingers moving a bit lower to prod your entrance. “You flatter me,” he says against your lips, his head dipping a bit lower to kiss your neck. “No need to worry your pretty little head, baby. I’ll take care of you.”

You nod your head, one of your hands cupping the back of his head while the other rests on his strong shoulder. “Okay… yeah, okay.”

He nods too, moving one of his hands to meet the one that you have resting on his shoulder. He intertwines your fingers, pushing your hand back onto the couch while he uses his other one to slide his tip along your folds.

“I promise,” he whispers, pulling back to look you in the eyes. “I’ll take care of you.”

He always has. Even after the events of tonight, you know that he always will.

“I love you,” you say without thinking. A flush rushes across your face, and you close your eyes in utter embarrassment. (Seriously? A confession of your undying love while he’s actively entering you? Time and place.) “I’m so sorry, I—”

“Nothing to apologize for,” he whispers, pushing his cock further inside of you until he bottoms out. “Mm… I love you so much,” he replies without a care in the world. “And I’m not sorry about it.”

Your eyes soften at that, and a small chuckle leaves your lips. “Well… that’s good, isn’t it…?”

His eyebrows knit together, laughing softly at your awkward reply. “You’re such a dork, baby,” he whispers, dipping his head to plant a kiss on your lips while he rolls his hips into yours. “A pretty one, though.”

Your eyes flutter shut as he presses a kiss on your lips, and they stay shut, even when he opts to just rest his forehead on yours. “Your dork,” you say, a bit breathlessly with a smile on your face.

“Mhm,” he nods in agreement, a toothy smile stretching across his face. “My dork.”

Such a lovely interaction that you nearly forgot that he was fucking you like there was no tomorrow, because the moment he falls silent, your eyes widen. “Oh, God…”

He smiles, kissing your cheek while he continues to thrust inside of you, his cock being swallowed whole by your pussy in a way that made him feel like he was finally home.

“See?” he whispers in your ear, giving your hand a gentle squeeze. “You’re taking me so well, pretty. So well.”

That makes you chuckle, but your laugh doesn’t last for long when the head of his cock rams into you even harder. Your hand smooths out along the expanse of his back, dragging your nails back up.

“You’re crazy,” you gasp out.

Leon smiles. “Crazy about you, sure.”

You laugh through an airy moan, tilting your head to the side as your eyes flutter shut. “Soooo corny,” you whisper.

He shakes his head with his same toothy grin, using his free hand to tilt your chin towards him again. His thumb brushes along your bottom lip before he kisses you, and it is just about the sweetest kiss that you could have ever asked for.

“You love it,” he murmurs in reply, a bit breathless as an overwhelming heat pools in his lower stomach.

You shake your head. “I love you.”

Leon clicks his tongue at that, giving your hand a squeeze. “And I’m the corny one?”

That makes you laugh, which makes him laugh. He loves hearing you like this, so happy yet so utterly ruined by the way he feels inside of you. He knows that the feeling is mutual, which only amplifies how much he’s enjoying this. Having you again.

He softly moans in your ear, his breath hot on your skin. “Pussy was made for me,” he rasps, pressing a kiss to the shell of your ear. “You were made for me.”

After a few more strokes, he truly begins to lose himself. His cock twitches inside of you, and he dips his head into your shoulder. “Mmh, ‘m gonna cum,” he rasps.

He pulls back, but you only pull him closer. It’s been so long, he hadn’t truly thought that you’d be okay with that. But here you were, his favorite girl. Always surprising him. “I love you, sweet girl.”

You nod your head, wrapping your free arm around his neck while the other gives his hand another squeeze. “I love you more.”

He grunts when your walls clench around his length, his lips pressing a longing kiss to your shoulder. “Cum with me, baby, c’mon. I need it, honey, please.”

You’re in no position to deny him or yourself. Your body trembles beneath him, a gorgeous moan ripping through the air while he buries himself deep inside of you, stuffing you full of his cum while you find your own release on his cock.

The two of you lay there for a moment, out of breath and entirely engulfed by one another. He slowly pulls out of you, pressing a few chaste kisses along your shoulder, your neck, your jaw, until he eventually kisses your lips.

When he pulls away, you smile up at him. You chase his lips once more, giving him a tender kiss before you lay your head back down.

“Now, as for why I’m still mad at you…”

note. yeahhh i need him bad in a way that’s concerning to feminism. anywhoooo interact if you enjoyed i rly like writing for him :D thank you so much for reading!

⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⠀ ✧ masterlist | request

[writingwisterias]

Each Era of Leon and their first date with you

WARNINGS: Fluff, Fem!Reader

RE2,RE4R, Damnation, Infinite Darkness, Vendetta, RE6, Death Island

(not proof read was bored at my dads and did this quickly lmao)

RE2:

Leon sighed as he looked at himself in the mirror for the 100th time, his keys jingling as he pocketed them.

He swore his heart was going to explode with how fast it was beating, the idea of a first date still seemed stranger after everything he had been through.

His fist shook as he knocked on the door to your house, the stained glass window was decorated with flowers. The walkway lined with small flowers was the perfect family home, something he again assumed would be something to give away after he signed his life away to the government.

Your outfit was different from what you wore at the office, your frame decorated in a soft flowery dress, "Hey, you look nice" you spoke sweetly the door shutting behind you.

He couldn't stop the blush that lingered on his cheeks, the smile that grew impossibly wide as he linked his arm with yours. It felt nice; the weight of your arm in his...it felt right. "So do you" he stuttered out, cringing at the shakiness of his voice.

Once he finally settled in the restaurant, his nervous chatter reduced. You smiled as he talked enthusiastically about your interests, offering pointers and tips on how to help with the garden. Even offering his own help to you.

He somehow stumbled his way through the date for you to offer him a second one, departing the night with a simple kiss on his growing red cheeks.

RE4R:

After everything he's been through, he fought hard with himself to hold the slight shake in his hands.

Checking himself over briefly before going out, his outfit was casual but practical. A new warm jacket draped over his form since he lost his other one in Spain.

His knock is firmer, he's hand tucked in his pockets as he waits for you to leave your house. Not looking at the door, only looking at his feet.

It's only when he sees you his breath falters, your hair curled nicely falling across your shoulders, your dress showing off your form perfectly. "wow" is all he managed to get out, his smile growing at the dust of pink that showed up.

He's cracking jokes the entire evening, small puns here and there as he checks the menu for what he wants.

Pays for the whole thing, maybe would let you pay for the tip.

You already knew he was in for a second date..he didn't even need to ask

Infinite Darkness:

Most relaxed out of all of them, he was confident he looked good, opting for a shirt and jeans. His trusty leather jacket thrown over his shoulders.

He's looking at the door when he knocks, his body is still stiff but there's no obvious signs of being nervous

Smiling before you even made eye contact, hand on your waist as he leads you away.

Opting for a more low-key casual date in case he gets called away on a mission so he takes you to a coffee shop.

Paying for everything again, I'm sure he has so much money and no one to spoil.

But more touchy than the other ones, hands on your lower back as he guides you to a table, small touches of his fingers as he walks next to you.

If he's feeling bold enough he would kiss you, his hand weaving in your hair as he brings you closer.

Damnation:

Despite his grumpier tone during this film and his drinking habits in full force. He would try and do everything in his power to show up sober and not hungover.

This would mean he's slightly more nervous, not just because of the lack of sleep since he didn't drink the night before but also because it's first time he's been open with someone like this for a while.

Would be the easiest person to deal with at the start of the night, very closed off when he picks you up. However he does manage to compliment you though, his cheeks blushing when you return the favour

His humor is dry having lost the will to keep going it became more depressing but you didn't seem to mind. He instead started to view you as a light in the darkness.

So much so that he doesn't want the night to end. Dragging it out by going on a walk buying hot drinks and enjoying the simple conversations.

This is when his guard slips and you see past the tuff exterior he built to survive the harsh world.

His kiss at the end of the night is simple, but leave an impression on you along with a promise for more

Vendetta:

We all know he's the most depressed out of all the eras, so he wouldn't really care too much in his appearance. He's just shocked you even took enough interest.

I imagine it's more after the events of the movie where he's slightly on the brighter side.

He wouldn't talk about his job, using the date as an excuse to get away from it.

Very touchy, probably the only time he's realized how touched starved he actually is.

Drinking, he would probably try to avoid it during the night. He doesn't want to give you the wrong idea but towards the end he eventually gives in..not quiet content enough to go sober.

His kiss is sloppy but meaningful; a lot of his unspoken feelings about you given in the last moment with the kiss..leaves you begging for more.

You feel like you still don't really know him but know him enough to want to go for a second date

RE6:

Defiantly had a drink before he left, his outfit is scruffy and doesn't put too much thought into it. At least he put aftershave on though!

His knock on the door is firm and confident, smiling instantly when he sees you and almost escorts you to the car.

Opted for a nice restaurant making sure he booked a booth so he could have this moment without other people looking at him and you.

His conversations are mainly about your interests again, dealing out a couple of his own hobbies without giving away a lot of what he does...not fully trusting you to handle that information yet.

Keeps his drinking to the minimum, wanting to actually remember the events.

Drives you home but you stay in the car a bit longer, the conversation seemingly flowing a lot easier in this situation.

Kisses you passionately again, cradling your face as he does it.

DEATH ISLAND:

He's more nervous this time around, putting in more thought into his clothing..scolding himself for being so nervous.

Sober when he picks you up and during the entire date.

Is the most open with you off the bat about his interests but is still blunt with his job.

Picks you up on his bike but tells you before hand so you can dress appropriately.

Smiling the entire time he's driving you to the location, he loves how your hands tighten around him as he goes faster. The feeling of you pressed so closely to him

His heart melts when you exclaim how much fun it is!

Very big on touching, but always asking permission before he does.

Kisses you after you get off the bike, not driving away until he sees you have gotten in the house safe.

[alexsummerz]

JACK KRAUSER DATING HC’s

Dating Headcannon.

it’s my first one pls be indulgent.

• I see Jack being with someone independent and strong, someone who would impress him.

• If he meets his partner in the field (well before the events of RE4), I think he would probably be attracted to a partner who is competent and efficient, someone who stands out. He would underestimate/ignore you at first encounter, but after seeing you in action or during training, he would be pleasantly surprised and start to be intrigued.

• If he meets you outside, he would prefer a strong, independent woman who lives alone and can take care of herself. I think he would also like someone sporty, not someone obsessed with sports or necessarily muscular in appearance, but someone who enjoys staying fit.

• If the person is not athletic, I don't think it would bother him, but they would need to accept his strict routine because he has a REALLY strict one due to his physical condition (wakes up early, goes to bed early, probably strict meals with occasional indulgences).

• Honestly, Jack is 99% dedicated to his job and wouldn't have time to go flirt or pursue anyone on his own. Against all odds, I don't think he would make the first move; I imagine it would be the opposite. His partner would have to catch his attention subtly, with lots of eye contact or something like that.

• He would definitely go for the calm type, someone with a mysterious aura. Calm but not easily pushed around, he needs someone who can hold their own and has a quick wit. Because he's definitely the type who "teases you when he likes you" once he's somewhat attached, and he would definitely want his partner to be able to respond to his banter.

• Someone disciplined and polite. Being in the military, nothing is more important to him than that. Keep your manners, as he detests disrespect above all else.

• In the early stages of the relationship, he definitely wouldn't be the type to compliment or open up quickly, even though he thinks it deep down and it would probably be written all over his face how beautiful he finds his partner, but no words would come out of his mouth.

* Do I look fine in that dress?

* Hm. (obviously you do)

• Whether you meet at the army or outside, he would definitely hide his mercenary activities from you at the beginning. Not because he's afraid of being judged, because honestly he doesn't give a damn about what people think of him, but he wouldn't take the risk of involving you in other dangerous things. Plus, he can't stand questions or you prying into his affairs.

• He's definitely not the type of guy to forbid you from dressing a certain way or going out. I really think he would be the type to think, "Look how beautiful my girl is. Would you like her to be yours? Well, no, only MY HANDS have the right to touch her."

• TRUST above all else. Honestly, even when it comes to going out, nothing is forbidden. If you want to have fun outside, go ahead, he probably won't join you because he's not very comfortable with society, but he won't forbid you either because he trusts you. However, break that trust once and it's over. NO TIME TO WASTE, not much into second chances at that level. If you betray him, fine, but the guy vanishes in an instant.

• As the relationship progresses, he becomes more tactile. He's 100% into booty slaps and squeezing at every possible opportunity. He finds it amusing.

• If he comes home with an injury or something, and you bombard him with questions right away, he'll get annoyed and tell you to leave him alone and that he doesn't need help.

- Yeah, whatever, stop being stubborn and let me see.

But since you're persistent, he will let you at least take care of his injury. He won't admit it, but he loves the concerned look on your face when you're treating him. It makes him feel important.

• Most of your arguments would be due to his communication issues, for sure.

• But it's not like he's a guy who likes to argue, but it can happen, and when it does, he needs someone who isn't afraid to tell him that they disagree with him. It's not in his interest to have someone who just blindly agrees with everything he says.

• You're definitely the first one to say "I love you," even if he doesn't respond at first, it's not because he doesn't feel it.

• He needs someone understanding and patient with him.

• After a lot of time, he will probably start opening up about his feelings and tell you how beautiful you are and how much you mean to him.

• He will become increasingly protective as you confide in each other, and he will probably want to beat up anyone who gives you trouble.

Some cute details:

* He loves it when you massage his back. Your hands are really gentle, and he enjoys it a lot.

* He enjoys lifting you up and carrying you to give you a kiss.

* Definitely the type of guy to grab you by the neck before kissing you.

* If you want to have a pet, he would definitely be reluctant at first, but once it’s there, he will inevitably grow attached to it.

* He will playfully engage in combat moves with you whenever possible, taking you down, etc. (while being careful), and it amuses him.

* If you're sad, he may not be the best at finding solutions or talking, but he will be there for you physically, with lots of cuddles.

In bed.

(I won't go into too much detail since it's not my thing to write about that, but here's what I think)

* Very respectful, definitely not the type to rush you if you're not ready.

* Very much into consent and respect (thankfully, pls stop writing imagine with a forced relationship).

* Sometimes rough, sometimes gentle. It depends on what you like and his mood.

* He loves seeing your face.

* It's asking too much for him to keep his hands off your butt.

* He enjoys teasing.

* He loves to dominate you, but seeing you on top of him from time to time also gives him thrills.

AND THAT’s it. Hope you like it :)

[pervertwhore]

FILL HER UP AND LEAVE HER DUMB!

SIREN IS TYPING! | FINALLY! PISS FIC IS OUT! i wanted to apologize for taking sosososo long for putting it out, ive been juggling college and writer’s block HORRIBLY >< i’ve written this like 101380203 times and i guess this one is the least mediocre one.. thank you to my babe pillsy & pups for proof reading this and dealing with the fact ive written this like a million times now.. 6.5k words!

WARNINGS! | NSFW! PISS! URINE! PEE! leon will be pissing while he’s balls deep so if you don’t fw piss do not read! don’t! torture! yourself! age gaps, leon isn’t like? the best person? gross, sleazy, i guess! damnation leon is in his mid thirties, reader is in her early twenties, dumbification, semi-public sex? bar bathroom drunk sex, sloppy fucking, creampie, mediocre orgasm cuz leon is gross and only really cared about himself, clit playing, etc etc idk

SYNOPSIS! | damnation! leon kennedy x bimbo! reader — bar hook ups are rare when you’re in your thirties and go to sport bars filled with men, but when a pretty face comes in wearing the sluttiest outfit and doesn’t have a thought in her brain, leon knew he needed to get in a quick fuck. but after a full night of nursing whiskey, he can’t help his bladder filling up mid fuck!

dim lights, chatter, and old men — that’s what this bar was. 

so why were you here? 

leon was surprised, pretty girls like you don’t come around to places like these often.

look at you! dressed in the sluttiest crop top and skirt you could find. were you stupid? coming to a bar filled with gross middle aged men dressed like that? it was like you were asking for trouble. 

leon had been seated at the bar, staring down at his glass blankly, mind fuzzy and blurry while his face stayed void of emotion. he had been on autopilot, maybe if he was at another bar he would be doing something else— but that was empty wishful thinking, once a sip of alcohol enters his system his mind blanks. a way to cope, simply. that was the intention tonight. but that’s when you came in — practically skipping to the bar and taking the empty seat next to him. 

he had glanced over at you, a thoughtless action, but when he saw you, he was pleasantly surprised by what he saw. 

you were cute, sitting up with perfect posture, your tits practically spilling out of your shirt while you stared at the bartender with sparkling eyes, and you were sitting next to him? god must’ve heard his prayers and thrown him a bone. 

he kept a sly gaze on you while you ordered, watching you bat your eyelashes at the bartender while you ordered, biting your glossy lips in thought while you leaned against the counter. leon felt envious of the bartender, as he stood on the other side of the bar, he must be getting a nice look down your low-cut shirt. asshole. 

as you ordered, leon expected to hear you order something fruity, a frozen piña colada or whatever younger girls like you liked, but leon’s eyebrows raised in amusement once he heard your order. “uhh, can i have a cola? thank you!” you said, sounding so eager, leon’s brain reeled, did you really just ask for a soda? at a bar? are you stupid? the bartender simply nodded and turned away from you. you smiled dumbly and shifted in your seat, pulling your denim skirt down to cover your thighs. barely. you pulled out your phone, a cute iphone 4s with a hot pink cover, it suited you. 

moving to grip his glass, leon pulled it to his lips before he took a long swig of the drink, a small breath leaving his lips as he put the glass back.

“if you wanted a soda you could’ve gone to circle-k, you know?” leon said, turning his head to face you, a lazy smirk curling at his lips. 

your head perked up, and looking over at him, you smiled dumbly. “yeah! but, like, i wanted an excuse to go out! but alcohol is so gross.” you replied, a small laugh leaving your lips as you turned your body to face him fully, leon let out a low hum. “so, you decided to get all dressed up and go to a bar.. just to get a soda? c’mon, at least get a drink.” leon pressed, glancing over at the bartender before looking back at you. “it’s part of the bar experience, sweetheart.” he said, waving his hand in a swift moment as he spoke, you squirmed in your seat, biting your bottom lip, “mmm, i don’t know.. what do you think i’d like?” 

leaning back against his stool, leon let out a small laugh, “i don’t know, sweetheart. a strawberry margarita? you like strawberries, yeah? it’s a nice fruity drink, something you can handle.” he nodded, watching as the bartender slid over a glass of soda. 

taking the glass, you moved it over to your lips, popping the red straw into your mouth before taking a sip. “are you gonna buy it for me?” you teased, batting your eyelashes up at him before you crossed your legs. huffing, leon let out a small laugh, “what’s in it for me?” did you really think you could drain his wallet and not give him anything in return? c’mon.

“uhm.. you’d make me, like, super happy,” you said, a smile curling on your lips as he stared at him. 

“as pretty as your smile is i’m gonna need something more.” he said, you’re already smiling, why would he pay ten bucks to see you smile more? sure, he had the money, but did he want to give it? nah. 

“aww,” you whined, “okay, you can get anything you want, mister!” you caved, voice high pitched and cheery. “but, like, as long as it’s not like, i don’t know..wanting my organs or something, i can totally give it to you!” you said, giving him a playful wink. were you being serious? anything? c’mon, that was just too easy, a small smirk curled on his lips at your words, anything?

letting out a breath through his nose, leon crossed his arms over his chest, his leather jacket squeaking at the movement. 

“you’re way too eager, sweetheart. you’ll end up in the wrong hands if you continue like that.” he said, moving his head to the side and shifting in his seat, pushing his hips forward, his thighs spreading slightly. manspreading like any other guy at the bar, but your eager eyes flickered down to his pants, watching as the denim fabric curled on his lap.

a spark of thought hit you, your thighs clenched together as a small laugh left your lips, your head moved to the side and you waved his words off. 

“c’mon, mister, i’m a big girl— i can toootally handle myself!” you giggled, moving your finger to curl around your hair. 

leon let out a hum, not believing a word you said. 

“yeah? you can?” he mused, he knew you didn’t.

you nodded though, perking up on your chair, arching your back slightly to keep your posture upright and your tits pushed out. leon took a glance, leopard print shirt that barely fit and a push up bra, your tits were squeezed together in a full display. were you good at tit jobs? with a rack like that, he sure hoped you were.

“well, duh! i’m like, super good at handling myself, mister!” you rebutted, putting your hands on your hips as you hit the power pose, trying to prove your point. 

“leon,” he said, your head tilted to the side, “leon?” you asked stupidly. 

“that’s my name.”

“ohh.”

you were real cute, but damn, you were real stupid too. 

it didn’t take a scientist to figure it out, fuck, look at you. 

you stared at leon like a puppy— a stupid puppy look. not a single worry behind your dumb little eyes, you believed the world was at the palm of your hand, and it probably was. from the stories you told him you were nothing more than daddy’s princess, one pout, and dear old dad was pulling out his checkbook and writing off a fat check with how much money you asked for. he was even paying for your apartment, you had it nice, no need to study or learn, daddy’s inheritance would cover any of your worries. 

you reminded him of ashley, like a far memory, but ashley was a sweetheart. a smart girl, but you? you were just spoiled and stupid, he didn’t mind though, he could easily deal with you if he wanted to. 

leon noticed how you stared at him when he spoke, wide doe eyes focused on him intently like he was the messiah while you were nothing more than an apostle, like the words that slipped from his tongue were the route to salvation. it was silly, he was just some guy in his thirties, buzzed, and in a bar— were you one of those girls that were into that? the cute bimbos that wanted nothing more than a taste of cock from guys over half their age? probably, he’s already caught you sneaking glances at his pants, each shift and adjustment had your eyes glued to his crotch, thinking you were being slick. 

god, what a cock hungry whore. 

he had noted that as he spoke, you would nod along to his words with such eagerness, it made him wonder if you were even listening to him. 

c’mon, his mundane stories weren’t that interesting, maybe if he was honest about his job then he could understand why you seemed so interested, but he was sure if he uttered a single word about the undead the government would have his head. a red little glow dot resting against his forehead and that would be the end of leon scott kennedy. 

the government blew up an entire city with the infected and innocents without care to preserve their image. after all, one more life wouldn’t worry them. well, maybe his, leon’s the president’s lap dog after all—

nonetheless, those were secrets he wasn’t going to share with a nice pair of tits. you probably wouldn’t even understand.

you spoke a lot, with a cute little valley girl accent, the words like and totally were practically engraved into your vocabulary. If leon took a shot everytime you said any of the words he would’ve died of alcohol poisoning. 

the more you spoke, the more leon realized you didn’t have a sense of safety, it was almost funny. why did he know what high school you went to? what state were you born in? what your favorite doll growing up was? you had just met him and you were letting him in on all your secrets, like that one time you ran over the neighbor's mailbox and fled the scene immediately after, then playing the innocent angel card. or when you cheated on all your trigonometry tests in high school by writing the answers on your upper thigh and then wearing a skirt to have easy access to the answers. in your words, you never got caught because if the teacher asked you to lift your skirt he would be a sick perv! 

he wasn’t complaining, your stories were entertaining at the very least, a nice distraction from his own world. 

by now, leon had given in and gotten you that margarita, only one, sure he wasn’t a saint— he was a guy in his mid-thirties wanting to fuck a girl almost a decade younger than him— but he wasn’t horrible. 

you, on the other hand, had no sense of how to drink alcohol, sipping down the juice like it was juice and the effects were beginning to become apparent by your tittering and giggling. 

you were having a great time, getting looser and sloppier as you continued.

“y’know, leon? you’re like, totally hot! likeee, i haven’t met a guy your age that looks this good!” you babbled, giggling at your own words.

nodding, leon raised an eyebrow, “yeah?” he replied, he was getting force fed compliments by you, it was starting to get annoying, but he wouldn’t say that. 

you were like a puppy, he already made that connection,

but you were definitely one of those overly clingy puppies, the ones that whimpered and whined when their owner wasn’t in the same room they were in. you’d probably do anything to please your hypothetical owner, you already offered to do anything for a margarita, god knows the skies the limit with bimbos like you. 

he wondered if you would follow him out of the bar, like a puppy. where are we going? can i come with you? can you take me in?— okay, maybe not that last part, but he couldn’t be too sure. 

you’d have some cute floppy ears as a pup, leon thinks, but that was enough of the puppy metaphors, you were still giggling and babbling stupidities. 

after a bit of buttering up, leon decided that if he wanted to make a move on you, it was now more than ever.

you would be more than willing, that’s for sure.

taking out his wallet and calling over the bartender, leon fished out his black american express— sure, it was a silent brag, but he didn’t care. 

“i’ll pay for the lady’s drinks too,” leon explained as he signaled over to his side, the man nodded and took his card before stepping away to finish the transaction. you stared at the older man with stars behind your eyes, sparkling under the dim yellow light, “you’re so sweet,” you began, leaning in against his arm, batting your eyelashes up at him. 

your arms wrapped around him, hugging it, squeezing and feeling the muscle under the jacket that just so did a good job at hiding his build. 

your brain was starting to melt as you squeezed his biceps, “can i make it up for you? i can pay you back,” you cooed, words slurred slightly as you nuzzled your head against his jacket. it smelled nice, he smelled nice. his cologne was almost sweet, and masculine, but not musky and gross, it was so nice, he was just so nice. 

leon glanced down at you, taking back his credit card as he did so. 

you were so fucking desperate to get fucked it was almost laughable.

“you can make it up to me,” he hummed, his arm slipping around your smaller waist, his hand coming to rest against your hip, squeezing the flesh. 

“c’mon,” he nudged, patting your hip before he stood up from the stool and took hold of your hand, leading you away from the bar. it almost seemed like he was taking you to the back exit, was his car back there? you followed behind him, clinging onto his arm, you were nothing more than arm candy for him. 

as the music got softer and the chatter died down, leon lead you down the small hallway in the back of the bar, by where the bathrooms were. 

you assumed you would just walk past them and slip out through the back door, but instead, leon’s arm moved to rest behind your back, letting you walk in front of him before he pushed you into the men’s bathroom. 

stumbling, your gaze moved around the new setting. “leon! you didn’t need to push!” you whined, fixing your skirt as you looked back at the older man. leon was by the door, his hand holding the door knob as he shut the door behind him and locked it. “sorry, sweetheart, couldn’t have anyone see you. you’re not supposed to be in here.” he said, a small huff of amusement leaving his lips as he moved to face you. “men’s,” he reminded, pointing over at the singular urinal by the toilet. 

“oh, yeah,” you said, suddenly not seeing an issue with his actions. 

“why are we here?” you asked curiously, leaning against the sink, the bathroom was small, just a single-person layout. “you said you wanted to make it up for me, right?” leon reminded, you nodded, your head tilting to the side. “well, you’re gonna make it up to me here, that’s not a problem, right? there’s no harm in a bit of thrill.” he waved off.

“wait, we’re gonna fuck here? but that’s like, totally gross!” you whined, your lips curling into a small pout, leon stepped closer, “it’s not that bad, it’s just a bathroom.” he shrugged, he’s been in worse situations. he’s ran through sewers, lived off scraps in spain, and didn’t have access to showers, he’s been covered in blood and zombie guts before— safe to say, a meek little bathroom at a bar was the least of his worries. 

“but like, the floor is gross and sticky!” you whined, why couldn’t he take you back to his place? that’s so not cool! 

leon hummed, moving to press your body against the porcelain sink of the bathroom, he stood behind you, his hands resting on your hips nicely. “i’m not gonna throw you against the floor, sweetheart, relax,” he said, a small breath leaving his lips as he moved one of his hands against your upper back, applying pressure and bending you over the sink. your manicured hands moved and gripped the sides of the sink as your head leaned up. 

you locked eyes with leon through the mirror, he had the same brooding expression he’s been holding for most of the evening. 

leon’s gaze moved from your back to your pretty face as he gazed at you through the mirror, icy blue eyes meeting your warmer ones. “i’m gonna keep you here, yeah? bent over and pretty, so relax.” he explained, his hands moving back down to your hips, sliding down to grip your ass. he squeezed the flesh of your ass before his hands slipped your denim skirt up. 

“cute,” he complimented, tone coming out more monotone than he intended. you were wearing these cute literally lace panties, they were a cutesy little pastel pink. 

did you always wear these out or were you wearing these just so any guy that wanted to fuck you saw?

your face heated up, your eyebrows furrowing up slightly at his words as you glanced at him. a small whine left your lips, “do you like them?” you asked softly, arching your back nicely, popping your ass out, the curve of it showing off the cute little panties like it was a lingerie ad. or screenshot of a porn video. “yeah,” leon replied, “who are you trying to impress, sweetheart?” he asked, rubbing the curve of your ass idly. 

you bit your bottom lip and swayed your hips twice to side in a slow motion, “you?” cheeky. leon let out a scoffing laugh as his hand moved away from your ass before it came back down, smacking your flesh, your body jolted in surprise. “leon!” ouch! what the fuck! “sorry, i couldn’t help it.” leon said from behind you, looking at the mirror, you noticed the lazy smirk on his lips. 

“you’re mean, at least give me a warning.” you whined, “that would take away the fun, don’t be a baby.” leon grumbled.

pursing your lips, you let out a small huff, asshole!

leon’s hands moved to your panties, hooking his fingers around the waistband before he tugged them down unceremoniously. he was sloppy and drunk, besides, this was a quick bathroom fuck, he wasn’t going to play like the man of your dreams.

chewing on the inside of your cheek, you felt the bathroom breeze caress your exposed skin. 

leon didn’t care enough to push your panties down to your ankles, deciding to just leave them by your mid-thigh.

his hands reached back up to your ass before he angled your hips up slightly and slipped down to his knees. “leon—?” you were just about to ask what he was doing before you were cut off by a gasp being ripped out of your lungs, feeling his warm tongue press against your puffy pussy. 

leon’s lips were pressed against your cunt, one hand holding your thigh up as your weight rested on the porcelain sink, the edge of the sink still digging against your pelvis uncomfortably— but the attention to your pussy was making the discomfort a forgotten thought.

“leon!” you squeaked, your hand squeezing the sink as he sloppily licked and sucked on your cunt. 

was it the best head you’ve ever gotten? no, but you didn’t care— given that it was an older man and hotter than any grimy guy your age, you didn’t really care! 

huffing against your cunt, leon slipped his tongue between your folds, he wasn’t doing this to get you off either, but he didn’t have lube, so spit was the second-best option. with his eyes shut, his nails dug into your thighs, savoring the taste of your cunt. 

you kept your back arched and your ass stuck out as small mewls and whines left your glossy lips, your eyebrows furrowing slightly as your breathing got shaky. 

his licks were quick and sloppy, his own spit rolling down his chin, making his skin glossy before she pulled away from your cunt— a line of drool connecting his tongue and your cunt. 

you let out a noise of displeasure, that was so quick and anti-climactic!

standing back up, leon huffed as he stared down at you, catching the pout on your lips. “what? did you want me to go in without prep?” he asked, letting out a small breathy laugh, “should’ve just told me.” he shrugged, his hands slipping down to his pants as he sloppily undid his belt, fumbling with the leather.

“what? no!” without prep? that would hurt! 

“then stop pouting.” leon bit back. 

slipping his cock out of his pants, he let out a shaky breath as his hand wrapped around it. beating his fist around his dick, leon huffed, feeling his cock come to life slowly— the whiskey was making it hard to keep his cock up, but eventually, he managed a semi. 

good enough. 

moving his cock against your slick cunt, leon nudged the tip against your warm pussy, teasing your folds. letting out a small breath through parted lips, your eyes shut, focusing on the feeling. 

tilting his head to the side as his gaze stayed focused on your cunt, watching your spit covered folds spread as he rubbed his tip up and down your slit, slipping it under before he slapped his shaft against your puffy clit, watching your shoulders tense at the feeling:

“g’nna put it in,” leon mumbled, slurring his words slightly.

“o-okay.”

slipping his tip back against your slit, leon nudged his cock forward, his tip pushing apart your walls, they eagerly spread— warm and wet, welcoming his cock nicely. 

sucking in a sharp breath, leon clenched his jaw as his lips pursed, fuck, was the only thought in his mind.

feeling his cock push past your pussy walls in a slow, savoring pace, your eyes fluttered as they rolled back, your lips parting as a shallow gasp left your lips. gripping the porcelain sink, you whined. “leon..” you mumbled, biting your bottom lip as you raised your gaze to look at him through the mirror. 

“yeah?” he mused, his hips and thighs resting flat against your ass as he held your hips. meeting his gaze, his own eyes were lidded, face flushed pink, “i haven’t even started n’you’re already whimpered like a puppy.” he huffed, moving one hand to your head, grabbing a fistful of your hair as he yanked it back— making your back arch almost painfully. 

a sharp yelp left your lips at the movement, “..leave me alone,” you replied to his tease, your eyes shutting. 

leon said nothing in reply, instead, he pulled his hips back, feeling your walls hug him snugly, a shuddering breath leaving his lips as he did so. you might be a fucking idiot, but your pussy was making his brain numb. 

gasping out a moan, you felt his cock pull back before it slipped back inside your cunt, his cock nuzzling against your cervix. your pussy was practically a fleshlight if leon thought about it. 

drunk bathroom sex wasn’t something out of a dream or a porno, it wasn’t meant to be meticulous and romantic, it was gross and sloppy— that’s what this was. leon’s cock stuffing in and out of your pretty pussy at an uneven pace, hard, fast, and sloppy. 

“f—fuck—“ you choked out, your hand moving to rest against the mirror as you clung desperately onto something. your eyes were shut, lips parted into an ‘o’ shape as his cock bullied your pussy, “s-slow down!” you squeaked. leon groaned, “you can take it, relax.“ he muttered, hips snapping against yours, heavy balls slapping against your puffy clit. 

letting out a drawn-out moan, you shook your head dumbly, your brain mushy, “no..” you mumbled. yes, you could take it, if anything, you wanted it, but what happened to having fun? leon let out a small grunt, gripping your hair and making you arch more— he leaned over slightly and pressed a small kiss on your forehead, “your pussy is telling me otherwise, sweetheart.” he cooed, letting go of your hair before he gripped your forearms and brought them to your back, keeping them flush against your back before using them as leverage to continue fucking your cunt.

your eyes rolled back as your body rested against the porcelain, fuck! you were so turned on it was hard to place it into words—! you couldn’t even speak. 

guttural moans were leaving your lips, your walls fluttering around his cock, squeezing and gripping, sucking his cock back inside you greedily. 

while leon fucked you, he realized how increasingly louder you were getting. your pretty moans were nothing but an ego boost, but he shouldn’t be fucking a twenty-something-year-old girl in a public bathroom, he doubts the shitty country music that played through the bar speakers was going to be able to drown out your noise if you continue, so he moved to grip your wrists in one hand before he reached out from behind you and clasped over your mouth.

your cunt squeezed, “shhh,” leon cooed, “can’t let people hear you, remember?” he reminded, making sure you kept quiet. nodding, you moaned into his hand and squirmed, cheek pressed against the porcelain. 

mid-fuck, leon’s drunken mind realized something— 

he needed to fucking piss. 

he hasn’t realized it before, but now, his lower belly was aching, his full bladder making sure it’s known. 

he tried to ignore it, he just wanted to cum, honestly— but as he continued to slip his cock in and out of your cunt, the more his bladder ached. the organ crying out at him, all that whiskey from earlier was now aching to come out.. how many drinks did he have before? he doesn’t even remember. 

the pressure in his belly was increasing, he could feel his bladder tossle as he moved, if he pressed on his lower belly right now— right above his pubic bone— it would probably be hard. it was like a balloon, jesus. 

letting out a small hiss, leon muttered an “oh, fuck,” moving his hand from your mouth back to your hip, gripping the fat of your hip tightly. his brow furrowing and jaw clenching as he shut his eyes. 

he could pull out, sure, but he was already do fucking close— “..what happened?” you babbled after hearing the mutter coming from the older man after his hips stilled.

leon glanced over at your face through the mirror, you looked fucked out and faced, face of a fucking pornstar. 

“i gotta take a piss.” he mumbled, his hips stilling, but his cock still nuzzled inside you. “huh?” you mumbled, peeking your head up to meet his gaze through the mirror. “i have to piss.” he repeated, his face was flushed, was it because was embarrassed? because he was in the middle of fucking? or because he was drunk? he didn’t know. 

your mind wasn’t going— too stupid and fucked out to even think straight. 

“then go pee—“ you mumbled, assuming he needed to pull out and take a piss before coming back. 

leon stared down at your cunt, feeling your gummy walls squeeze him real nice, “how about i piss inside you?” he breathed, finding his words humorous, this seemed to bring you back to reality as your head perked up. “w-what?!” you squealed, “ew! don’t do that!” you argued, pee was gross already! and inside you? that’s worse!

leon let out an amused breath, “it’s just pee, sweetheart, why the fuzz?” he mumbled, sucking in a breath and feeling his bladder squeeze, making him shudder.

he already made up his mind.

leaning over you, leon pressed his body weight on your back, keeping you sandwiched over the sink. “everyone pees, don’t get all shy on me now.” he mumbled, pressing a kiss on your shoulder as you whimpered, your cunt squeezing him nicely. “no.. it’s so icky..” you mumbled, letting out a small breath.

“then why are you squeezing me so tight?” his lips pressed against your skin, one of his hands slipping under your body and moving to press against your own lower belly, right above your pubic bone, he kept a firm pressure against your tummy.

“why lie to me?” he mused, “you’re practically choking my dick, if anything it’s like you want me to piss inside you.” he laughed, the alcohol in his system was staining his conscience in his moment. if he was sober, he wouldn’t have even thought about taking a piss inside of someone, but he wasn’t sober, and alcohol makes you do things you normally wouldn’t. so here he was. 

you shook your head slightly, but your cunt stayed tight, fluttering around him, were you really getting turned on by the idea of this man pissing inside you? what happened to you? what would your best friends say if they found out you were letting an older guy fuck you in a gross bathroom and finding it hot he wants to piss inside you? 

leon shuddered, okay— wait, it was getting harder to hold it in. becoming borderline painful. sucking in a breath, he shut his eyes, pressing his nose against your skin, he took in a deep breath— taking in the smell of your sickly sweet strawberry perfume, “i’m gonna piss.” he grunted out, a final warning for simple generosity. 

he might be a creep for fucking a dumb girl in a bar bathroom, but he wasn’t fucking evil. 

at least that’s what he tells himself.

keeping his body pressed against your own, his belly pressing against your curved back, keeping you trapped against the porcelain. 

letting out a shaky breath, leon let himself go, a type of bliss he hadn’t felt in a while enveloped him as the pressure in his bladder released. 

your eyes widened at the feeling, it was so weird! it was an icky full feeling, you could feel it slip out of you, staining your pretty pussy, thighs, panties, and floor. you winced, your eyes shutting, a small frown on your lips as you imagined who was going to clean this mess up. leon’s stream was long and hot, your shoulders were tense, feeling your pussy get filled with his warm piss— ew! 

“s’gross..” you gasped, squirming. 

“shh,” leon mumbled, keeping his hand firm against your lower tummy. 

once he finished, leon let out a deep moan, pissing with a hard-on was fucking hard! but finally, his bladder didn’t feel like it was going to explode, he pressed his face against your shoulder, his body shivering as he wrapped his arms around you and squeezed you. he let out a panting breath, his hips resting flush against your ass, you let out a small breath, with his body pressing against you and forcing you against the sink it was making it hard to breathe. 

“i can’t breathe—“ you gasped, clawing at the sink.

a small grunt left leon’s lips as he heard you, “shit, sorry.” he mumbled, pulling his body away from yours. moving your head up, you arched your back and took in a deep breath, feeling your pussy squelch, you swear there’s still some piss clogged up inside your cunt. 

your face felt hot, you were about to ask what he was planning to do now, but he beat you to it, moving his hips tentatively, feeling your cunt squeeze and squelch. his hands moved to your hips, squeezing your ass, his dull nails digging into your skin as his thrusts picked up the speed— finding the same sloppy pace from before. 

your brain was fuzzy, your head tilting to the side as a high pitched moan left her lips. 

leon’s cock rubbed against your gummy walls, rubbing against the spongy little spot right by your tummy that had you gasping. you bit your bottom lip and then whined, you had to keep quiet, remember? 

his balls kept slapping against your clit, kissing that bundle of nerves whenever his hips pressed against your ass. leon groaned— another sensation filling his lower belly, blossoming like a pretty flower as his balls swelled up. shutting his eyes, his pace started to get erratic, fucking into you like you were some sex doll, mumbling curses, he leaned his head back, his lips parting as he panted. 

squealing as he bullied your cunt, you whimpered, your words getting caught in your throat. you couldn’t think, you could barely even breathe, your pussy hugging his cock. 

“are you on the pill?” leon asked through gritted teeth as he fucked you— you couldn’t even process what he said, so you only moaned pathetically, “sweetheart,” he said, a little louder to bring you out of your brain fog, his hand moving to rest against the back of your head, “w—wha?” you babbled, “are you on the pill?” he repeated against, tugging at your hair, you whimpered and shook your head, birth control gave you ache! you quit it immediately! 

letting out a small groan, leon nodded, mumbling a small, “okay.” before he let go of your hair. 

your head fell downwards as his thrusts stayed rhythmless and sloppy, his balls felt like they were going to explode, but he didn’t want to pull out, fuck.

“cumming—“ he gasped, his cock twitching eagerly before his cum spurted out of his tip. moaning, he gave you a final thrust, nuzzling his cock inside your pretty pussy before his cum came out in small drools, filling you up nicely. 

your lips quivered as your walls pulsed around his cock, leon stayed still for a few moments, enjoying the last bits of his orgasm before he pulled out of your pussy— watching as his cum leaked out of your cunt before he shuddered. he stepped back, giving the puddle of piss on the floor a glace as he scowled— post nut clarity hitting him. 

oops.

he pulled his jeans back up and shoved his cock back inside his pants before letting out a small breath. 

whining, you moved your hand to your pussy, nimble fingers finding your clit as you rubbed it, “m’leon..” you mumbled, sticking your ass up as your back arched. leon looked back at you, “mhm?” he hummed, “help me.” you whined, still toying with your clit.

oh yeah, you haven’t cum yet. 

he typically wasn’t the type to stick around after a hookup, the magic dies after cumming, but he did piss inside you, the least he could do was get you off. 

“yeah, yeah, gimme a sec.” he mumbled as he zipped his pants up and fumbled with his belt before he stepped closer. 

he reached out, pulling you away from the sink, “c’mere,” he said as you finally got to stand up straight before he stumbled back and plopped down onto the toilet, sitting you on his lap before he spread your legs. he pulled you flush again his body, resting his head on your shoulder as his hands slipped down your tummy before finding your puffy clit. 

once his fingertips pressed against the nub, you shuddered, biting your bottom lip while you grasped his other hand as it was wrapped around your waist. 

leon was quiet as he rubbed your clit, feeling your squirm and twitch in his arms. 

whimpering, your eyebrows furrowed upward as your head leaned back, your orgasm wasn’t too far at least, after a few minutes of moans and gasps, your body tensed. your pussy felt hot, full, and soppy, “leon,” you gasped, wishing his fingers worked faster! 

he let out a small hum in reply, not really bothering to put effort — he was too drunk for that. 

as the tight coil in your lower belly tightened and tightened, a sharp gasp left your lips as it snapped, your hips shuddered as you came. 

your thighs clamped together, trapping leon’s hand between your plush thighs as you rode out your orgasm. your grip on his arm was still tight, your manicured nails digging into his leather jacket while you rolled your hips against his arm, practically humping his hand as you savored the friction against your cunt. 

“there you go,” leon cooed, pressing a small kiss on the side of your neck before he fished out his hand from between your thighs, watching his fingers glisten from your slick.

your legs trembled as you took in a deep breath, leon pushed you up, making you stand. he fixed your skirt and glanced down at your piss-stained panties, “uh,” he began, “you can throw those away.” he said, feeling guilty for ruining such a cute pair. you frowned, “but they’re my favorite..” you whined, they were so cute! and sure, you could take them home and wash them, but you didn’t want to parade around town with pissy panties, getting pissed in was enough for tonight.

sighing heavily, leon scratched his chin, feeling his stubble scratch his skin before he dug into his jacket pocket and dug out his wallet, “here,” he said as he finished out some cash, “get yourself a new pair, sweetheart.” he said, see he wasn’t so bad. “get yourself a plan b while you’re at it.” he said, handing you the cash.

blinking dumbly at him, you took the money, “huh?” 

leon stared back at you, god. fucking idiot. 

“get yourself a new pair of those cute panties, yeah?” he began, you nodded, “and get a plan b too.” he repeated. the clueless look on your face was both making him want to bash his head against a wall while also wanting to shove his cock in your mouth. “do you wanna get pregnant?” he asked, his tone having a hint of frustration in it. 

you shook your head, “exactly.” he sighed. 

“a plan b will help you not do that.” he explained, finally, a look of realization hit your fucked out face, “ohhh.” you said softly as you fisted the cash. 

“well—“ what the fuck does he say now? ‘thanks for letting me fuck you!’ no! that’s sounded stupid, fuck. 

letting out an exhale, he took your arm and nudged you forward. “come on,” he said before he guided you out of the bathroom, his steps were sped up since he didn’t want to be seen leaving the bathroom with a fucked out girl. 

once outside, leon noticed you were still following him like a lost puppy. 

“what are you doing?” he asked, did you not have better things to do? you were practically attached to his hip, “what?” you asked as you blinked slowly, “why are you following me?” he asked, a bit perturbed by your clinginess. 

you paused, “i don’t know.. i wanna go with you.” 

leon chewed on the inside of his cheek. he should’ve known you would’ve wanted to stick around— he had that thought before, but he didn’t think you would actually want to stay at his side.

moving to rub his forehead, leon let out a breath. 

c’mon, don’t pull on his heart strings like that. he couldn’t just leave you on the side of the road after a fuck like that. besides, you stared at him with those doe eyes of yours, you really looked like a lost puppy. 

“fine, okay, c’mon.” he sighed as he lead you to his motorcycle.

what the fuck did he get himself into?

TAGS! @nilpill @rigorwhoring @dollivication @gor3-hound @v0lturiaq @withonly-sweetheart @pupsmoke @flutterylust @angelstargel @ghosty-the-doll @mydarlingclaudia @lolachannel @t1nyb0nes @mj_el2709 @kerredgraveblog @tr3nzit444s @lilbunnyelle @cigarett3wif3

[arquiiva]

Hiii:3 I was wondering if you are still taking requests, if you don’t it’s totally fine and just ignore this! But I was thinking what about preg fem!reader and like she has been producing a lot of milk so she likes has to pump you know? And Leon likes watching but also has the urge to suck the readers tits at night when he can’t sleep

So instead of staying awake for hours he decides to try readers milk while she’s asleep and like when she wakes up she like kinda feels bad that he couldn’t sleep so she likes gives him a handjob or. Blow job idk you can pick.

hnnnghh i love you

warnings ; minors dni smut, somnophilia ig, preg!reader so afab, leon being pervy, handjob, cursing, husband!leon

pregnancy wasn’t easy.

an understatement, by a mile. your legs were always aching, you had migraines most of the times, trouble sleeping, swollen feet… even thinking of all the painful side effects made your head throb.

the worst pain was probably in your breasts. now in your third trimester, your body was preparing for the baby to arrive any day now. so, of course, your breasts were full of milk.

the doctors warned you that this period would be full of soreness and aches, but you never knew how bad it would be ‘til now. they advised you to use a pump to drain some of the milk, and relieve yourself of some of the pain, albeit not much.

your husband, leon, has been extremely supportive during this time. always running errands for you, indulging your peculiar cravings no matter the time, and when you can’t sleep, he gives you the most mind-blowing orgasms of your life.

but you haven’t properly fucked in a while, no. doctors say that orgasms help with the pain and stress, but intercourse could cause potential harm to the baby. so it’s always either his fingers or tongue all up in your pussy, and your mouth or hand wrapped round him.

both of you have had trouble sleeping lately. you, because of the constant soreness in your muscles and joints, and leon because of his constant worrying. he wants to be alert for when the baby comes.

so you’re both exhausted a lot of the time, like right now.

you’re staring at your laptop mindlessly as you use the pump, trying not to sigh too loudly at the relief that fills your very soul. you’re scrolling through some article about how to avoid postpartum depression, when your stomach rumbles slightly. you adjust yourself in your seat, looking up at leon who’s stood at the island in the kitchen; you startle once you realise he’s already looking at you.

“is everything alright?” you ask him, and he straightens up, his eyes moving to yours. that’s when you realise that he’d been watching you use the pump. suppressing a smile, you ask, “can you make me, uh.. anything. ‘m starving.”

leon snaps out of his daze, nodding. he mumbles something like ‘yeah’ and moves over to the counter.

you remove the pump after another moment, finally feeling less sore in your chest. you tuck away your boob, biting the inside of your lip in thought.

it was cute, how you’d continuously catch him staring at you whenever you’d use the pump. you often wondered if it was a fascinated, curious kind of thing. or maybe something deeper, maybe he was into that? you’d never discussed it. you hadn’t brought it up to him yet, silently enjoying the way he looked so focused when watching; it sort of turned you on. and you didn’t want to embarrass him.

you snapped out of your thoughts suddenly, “actually babe, can you make me a sandwich? meatballs, cheese.. and, ooh, put marinara sauce in there. and some onions.”

“onions?” leon scrunched his nose, though he trashed the food he was already making without a second thought. looks like you’d have to talk to him about waste, though.

you raise your brows at him expectantly, and he held his hands up in surrender. once he turned back around, you smiled and went back to your laptop.

with your chest being significantly drained, you manage to fall asleep that night. you have to sleep on your side so that the baby has oxygen, which is annoying at times, but now it’s no bother; you have your hand on leon’s chest, and your head on his arm.

leon didn’t sleep though. he was basically zoned out, staring up at the ceiling as he continued running his nails up and down your forearm gently, even though you were already asleep. he craned his head down, pressing a small kiss to your hand, and looking over at you.

he took you in - the moon was casting a small slither of silver across your features, the shadow of your eyelashes moving slightly. your nose twitched every now and then, as if it were itchy, and you couldn’t itch it. your lips were open the smallest bit, small breaths pressing against his bare shoulder.

his eyes moved more downward, looking at how your tits pressed against each other in your thin tanktop - your hard nipples visible through the material.

he swallowed, turning his eyes back to the ceiling. he couldn’t deny that since you started producing milk, he was growing obsessed with it. the way your tits always looked swollen and heavy, the brief glimpses of droplets that’d miss the pump that he wishes he could just lick up—

it was disgusting. he could never tell you about it - you’d surely be grossed out, disturbed even, and be uncomfortable around him forever. it was for his baby’s survival, not for his selfish pleasure.

although, a voice would often debate in his head. the baby hasn’t arrived yet, ‘s all going to waste.

he would always dismiss these thoughts of course, but tonight he found it very difficult to do so.

hesitantly turning his gaze to look back over at them, he felt his mouth fill with saliva. clearing his throat quietly, he glanced back at the ceiling, but goddamn they were like a magnet. looking back over at them, he sighed shakily. it’s okay if he just looks, right?

yeah, just looking. it’s not like he’s not seen them before.

he didn’t even remember at which point he reached up to brush his fingers against your exposed cleavage. he trailed his fingertips down to your nipple, and with his thumb and index finger, he tweaked it slightly.

a quiet groan escaped him when a dark stain spread across the material. “fuckk..” he whispered to himself, feeling his sweats already growing tight.

he watches the stain spread, almost drooling. his eyes are wide, not moving from that spot.

“shit,” he muttered under his breath, knowing that any semblance of self control he had was gone. he slowly leaned closer, carefully moving your hand from his chest. he pressed his nose against the crease of your tits as his hands slowly and carefully moved your top up over your bump. he pulled them over your breasts and left it rolled up on your collarbones.

a small noise left him at the sight of them; he’d seen them like this, but up close was a whole different story. he could see smeared milk around your areola and some tiny droplets rolling out, and he muttered something incoherent as he leaned down and gave it a swipe with his tongue.

he watched you, your brows twitched - almost a frown. if you reacted like this asleep, who knows how you’d look at him awake?

he licks more thoroughly now, his tongue doing a full circle to collect all the milk. he tastes it, his eyes almost rolling back.

cautiously, he leans in again, tenderly wrapping his lips around the swollen bud. with a few gentle sucks, it fills his mouth. this time, his eyes do roll back, and he groans a little too loudly.

he would freeze, get off you, apologise profusely, if he knew that you were stirring above him. your eyes flickered open, squinted almost-shut and blinking rapidly to adjust. you took a few seconds to get your bearings, then you looked down and saw your husband; eyes closed and suckling at your tit like no tomorrow.

despite being extremely confused and still a little disoriented, you let out a soft moan at the feeling of relief that’s filling you. leon jumps slightly, eyes flashing open and staring up into yours. you just run your hand through his hair, whispering that it’s okay.

he didn’t even stop though, he was hooked. and now, knowing that you enjoyed it, his cock twitched in his pants. he groaned against your nipple, his eyelids becoming heavy. you could see his adam’s apple bob every few seconds with every swallow.

you shut your eyes for a bit, relishing in the feeling. you didn’t even notice when he switched, only when his teeth brushed against your nipple did you open your eyes. you silently winced, but you quickly softened because he’s just so excited, ‘s not his fault.

you let out quiet, breathy sighs as he works you; feeling the stress basically dissolve from your body.

then, you feel it.

well, technically, you hear it before you feel it. you hear rustling of the bedsheets, like constant movement. then, only briefly, does leons hips brush yours with the biggest fucking boner in the world.

you let out a quiet laugh, hand reaching down to steady his hips. “what’s all this about, hm?”

for a second, he doesn’t reply, still glued to your nipple. you don’t even think he will, until me murmurs something like ‘couldn’t sleep’ against you.

you smile softly, the thumb on your hand that’s settled on the back of his head rubs against his hair.

your other hand’s movements are not as wholesome - shifting slowly from his hip to his crotch; and you almost let out a moan at how rock hard he is. he lets out a muffled gasp at the contact.

you slowly palm him through his sweatpants, feeling something damp in the centre of your hand, a clear sign he’d been leaking. pressing a little kiss to the top of his head, your hand reaches into his waistband and takes his cock, pulling it right out of its confines.

you hear and feel his breath hitch. you swipe your thumb against his slit, feeling precum spill out relentlessly. he’s twitching in your grip. all worked up over some breastmilk.

you stroke him softly, running the precum up ‘n down his cock for lube. his hips are bucking forward, eyes staring up at you.

you pick up the pace once his dick is slippery enough, and you can faintly hear the wet sounds of it beneath your touch. you keep pressing gentle kisses along his hair.

his eyes are going distant, as if he’s focusing on the pleasure of it all. your hand continues its motions, your thumb pressing against a prominent vein that you know by now makes him see stars.

he rumbles a moan, hips bucking more into your hand - as if he’s trying to fuck it. you let him.

he thrusts shallowly into your fist, small pants heaving from his mouth. he has to pull off of your nipple, and kiss around it just so that he can gain his breath.

“you’re doing so good ‘fr me.” you whisper, hand moving to meet his thrusts.

still grunting quietly, he throws a weak glare in your direction. “stop stealing my compliments.”

you smile toothily, running your hand up and down more vigorously and rotating it around him at the same time.

his glare drops, and he almost looks like he’s gonna throw up - instead he just leans back forward to take your nipple back into his mouth, suckling gently.

the bedsheet is rustling madly because of your rapid pace, patting against your arm. but it doesn’t matter, because you know that leon’s close. he’s panting like a madman, his throat wrenching out quiet little whimpers that you almost don’t catch.

swallowing harshly, leon pulls off your nipple. “fuuuuhhhck..” he moans. he presses his face into your neck, huffing. “ohh fuck, ‘m gonna cum baby.”

if it’s possible, your hand quickens. “so do it then.” you tell him, and his thrusts basically become frenzied into your grip.

hes gasping against your neck, sucking in air roughly. for a few seconds he’s silent, like he’s lost his breath, then he grunts loudly and leans up - pressing his lips against yours harshly. it’s sloppy, all spit ‘n tongue, and the feeling of his cum that seems neverending spurt against your bare leg and pyjama shorts give you a feeling you can never explain.

he’s sighing against your lips, continuing to move his lips slowly with yours. your hand is languidly stroking him now, going from the tip to the middle. after his hips twitch again, you pull away.

he releases you, laying his head down on the pillow, a satisfied smirk on his face. you gently kick him. he gets the hint, pulling up his pants and stumbling over messy bedsheets. he stands, going to get a towel.

you stare after him, the hand that’s drenched in his cum just hanging in the air, and you pull the sticky bedsheets from your waist.

you glance down at your breasts, and are relieved to see no more milk coming out.

maybe you will have to do this more often.

[arquiiva]

headcannons of how DI!Leon fucks?

oh my

where do i start

we all know he wouldn’t have the stamina he once did😔

but that doesn’t mean that it’s not so mind blowingly amazing that you can’t walk for at least a few days

he really likes when you ride him. his hands are holding onto your hips tightly, grunts leaving his lips every time your hips smack against his.

he’s staring up at you with hooded eyes, brows slightly furrowed. adoringly.

he’s saying things like, “fuckk, girl, that’s it..” and “gimme a second- damn…” and “tightest pussy ‘ve ever had…”

ugh

i need him rn

when he’s close he’ll hold you still above him, thrusting his cock up into you hard. he’s breathing heavily, blown eyes glued to how you swallow him so good.

sometimes he’ll flip you over, one of his hairy arms wrapping round your back n pulling you into his chest as he sits up and flips you onto your back

he’ll keep thrusting in and out of you, pace growing sloppy, his grunts transitioning into groans and pants. he’ll lick your neck, sucking and nipping.

then, when his thrusts start slapping slower and the sound between you two becomes more wet, he finally cums. he’ll press his lips to yours harshly, tongue tangling with yours and his final moan is muffled.

when he’s got you in doggy, his hand is tangled in your hair and the other is pressing down on your back to help you with your arch. his eyes are staring at the recoil when his pelvis repeatedly meets your ass

sometimes he’ll palm your cheeks, spread em a little, grunt a few words of praise, “takin’ me so good” “look at you, pretty baby..”

or he’ll have you in a mating press, hips just moving up n down and he’s going soo deep that tears are welling up in your eyes

he’s got his hands on your thighs, holding them up so that your knees are basically next to your head, resting most of his weight on you. it’s almost suffocating, but you love it

he’s whispering lewd things in your ear, “does my girl want me to stuff ‘er full? yeah? you want my cum?” and “yeah, that’s a good girl. y’re a good girl, aren’t you? mhmm, yeah..”

let’s just say he stuffs you so full that even his thick cock ‘n fingers can’t keep all his spend inside

he’s not so good at aftercare, but he’ll wipe you up with a towel and hold you close against his delicious hairy tits chest

i need to lie down

[arquiiva]

thinking about how damnation leon fucks you ://

he’s a little lazy..

and drunk.

so a lot of the time it’s you riding him

whenever ur hips meet his, quiet little grunts spill from his mouth as his eyes are staring up at you like you hung the stars. though you can hardly tell with how they’re barely open

every few seconds his brows will pinch together, a brief whiney moan wrenching itself from his throat as his fingers twitch from where they grip your hips

when you lean down to kiss him, he’s so slowly kissing you back, heavy eyelids fluttering closed

when he’s got you in missionary, it will always turn into a mating press, he’d press most of his weight on top of you as he slowly thrusts in and out of your soaked pussy, huffing and puffing into your neck whenever you clench around him extra tight

“oh fuck, baby…” he’s mumbling, thrusts growing uncoordinated and sloppy. “feels so good… feels like fucking heaven, fuhhhckk… gonna make me fuckin’ cum—”

and you’re just lying there, hardly breathing because he’s just so big and strong and you basically have no room between the two of you, crying out for him to fill you up good, arching your back for him

and his cock just feels so good that even if he’s not fucking you as hard n fast as he used to, you can’t help but cream multiple times around him. he just reaches places you can’t reach yourself, and he just makes you see stars every time

sometimes he just wants you to sit on his face after a long mission, waking you up at ridiculous hours of the night whispering to you how much he needs you on his mouth, how he needs to taste you now.

and so sometimes he won’t even fuck you, he’ll just lay there with your thighs on either side of his face, big fingers gripping them tight as he laps at your cunt like a man starved

his eyes are closed, so you can’t see that his eyes are rolled to the back of his head as he’s shoving his tongue into your hole, fucking it in nd out of you

and he makes sure to pay attention to your clit as well, flicking at it desperately, trying to pull as much needy sounds from you as possible

and he doesn’t stop when you cum the first time, no, he keeps going ‘til you physically pass out.

he can’t get enough of you, even without the stamina, he’s just as insatiable as he was all those years ago. he would think that with all the trauma and alcohol in his life, his libido would be nonexistent, but one look at you desperately clenching your thighs makes his dick spring to life. literally

in conclusion, i need him

[arquiiva]

OK BUT WHAT ABOUT HOW RE6 Leon fuckss??? 👀👀👀

ive been WAITING for this one

ughh..

he’s just so dark and broken :/

he’d have you in prone-bone, his arm wrapped around your neck tightly in a chokehold

and godd you can hardly breathe, raspy & choked moans escaping shallowly from your swollen, drool-coated lips

he’s thrusting into you so hard that he has to hold you extremely tight so that your head doesn’t go flying into the headboard.

you’re rocking forward with every slap of his hips, and he’s huffing hard breaths in your ear

he’s grunting so fucking roughly, and he’s degrading & praising you in the same sentence; “such a good fucking girl for me, hm? always lettin’ me use this tight fucking cunt, never wanna fuckin’ stop..”

he’s nipping at the top of your spine, whispering incoherent things about how wet you are, and all you can think about is; i’m gonna cum, i’m gonna pass out.

and it doesn’t help that he’s always busy on missions :( he’s almost nocturnal, coming home at sunrise times and sleeping throughout the entire day, then groping you when you’re about to sleep, whispering how he needs you so bad, just wants to feel good, needs your sweet pussy round him

and so you’re always fucking in the dark, only able to see his big silhouette and the reflection of the moon on his fucking gorgeous eyes

when he’s fucking you in missionary, your arms are wrapped round his muscular shoulders as he’s rolling his tongue with yours, grunting quietly into your mouth, only pulling away to breathe for a split second before leaning back down, kissing you so fucking sloppily, slowly, languidly

and he’s going so deep, so deep that ur sure if you pressed down on your lower stomach, you’d feel him moving in ‘nd out of you

and he’s all over you, his hands roaming around your body, groping your tits, massaging ur thighs..

and he smells soo addictive, you don’t know how to explain it, but he just smells so masculine that you’re already close to cumming if you focus on it too much

and his grunts and quiet moans are like lullabies, you’re so sleepy and so horny that you’re cumming and dozing off simultaneously

and he doesn’t mind. he’s rocking into you slowly as he’s whispering how it’s okay, “‘s alright baby. go to sleep, ill take good care of you…”

you can vaguely hear him letting out a whiney sigh as he fills you up, letting out one final moan as you drift off

i need him.

[arquiiva]

how would vendetta leon fuck you?? ://

to be honest he’s similar to how i think damnation!leon would fuck

except less lazy lol

it’s obvious that he’s drunk a lot of the time.

so he’s not got the same coordinated thrusts that he’d have back when he was 27, or even when he was an innocent rookie.

he’s more sloppy, chasing his high is all that matters, rather than concentrating on making you feel good.

ik :/

but his pleasure = yours, so watching him above you as he’s fucking you, his face contorting in pleasure and those little grunts nd quiet moans barely escaping his lips makes you feel good anyway.

a lot of the time, it’s missionary tbh. he’s a lot less creative with it at this point, again he just wants to feel good after everything he’s been through, goes through.

his large hands would be gripping you so tight that it hurts, and there will definitely be bruises to deal with later, one of them settled on your hip and the other is holding your side - right under your boob, thumb digging into your ribs. and he’s pulling you down so roughly to meet his thrusts.. it’s not his fault, he doesn’t notice how strong he really is when he’s got you beneath him like this :(

and his rhythm is nonsensical, and you kind of just have to go with the flow for a lot of it. but he’ll remember you, reaching a shaky hand down to rub at your swollen clit just the way he knows you like, and all is forgiven.

you cum a lot of the time just by watching him. his little oh fuck, oh fuck, oh fuck..’s making you cream around him almost instantly.

but if he fills you to the brim with his spend before you finish, he will return the favour tenfold with his tongue.

of course, he needs to roll off you for a min to catch his breath. sometimes, he forgets to even do that, and absolutely crushes you with his weight as he puts his head into the crook of your neck, panting harshly. but it’s okay, you don’t mind, because you love him sm :/

he’ll then kiss down your chest, between the valleys of your tits, and down your stomach so sweetly, tired eyes glued to yours hungrily…

then he’s kissing right above your slit, kissing around it, kissing your thighs…

then he’s pressing a delicate kiss to ur clit. another. then another. pretty soon he’s just making out with the bundle of nerves, making you see stars.

he’ll briefly slip his tongue into your weeping hole, thrusting the wet muscle once, twice, thrice, before licking back up to your tingling clit and flicking at it.. wrapping his swollen lips around it, sucking gently.

and that always makes you cum quick, and hard… if he wants to keep going, he’ll slip two fingers inside with no resistance and immediately start thrusting them in and out…

he loves to take care of u after sex.. but i feel vendetta!leon just kinda forgets??

like, most of the time, he’ll get a towel and clean the mess between your legs, then cuddle u to sleep..

but sometimes, he’ll just roll off you and with his naked back to you, he’ll immediately pass out, snores and everything.

then, on shaky legs, you have to clean up yourself. but it’s okay, because he’s trying so hard :(

anyways, a lot of the time, after a mission specifically, he’ll just cuddle you tightly from behind… kissing and nipping at the back of your neck to bring you to full consciousness

then, when you give him the green light, he’s lifting one of your legs up and over his waist, slipping your cute panties to the side and just fucking you like that.

it’s a stretch with no preparation, and you have to bury your face in the pillow a little to muffle your lil grunts of pain, but they quickly morph into ones of pleasure cause his dick just feels so good every time and belongs in that heat between ur legs at all times :/

and you’ll reach down and play w ur clit, clenching all tight around him, and moaning at the hiss that leaves him at the feeling. he never lasts that long when he’s tired nd fucking you like this.. so he’d shove his nose in your hair, inhaling ur scent when he cums, groaning deeply in his chest.

and you’ll either sleep like that, with him buried inside you holding in his spend, or as i said he’ll clean you up and hold you in his huge arms and sleep like that.

he’s such an asshole… i need him

[arquiiva]

thinking about how re4 leon fucks 🎀

ofc minors dni

we all know this man is pent up.

so its pretty desperate, intense, sometimes even needy

it’s cute, how he seems to deflate once he’s inside. the way all his stress and worries dissolve as soon as he gets you wrapped around him.

at first, his pace isn’t out of this world, but the hardness of his thrusts make you see stars. he pulls back, back, back and then slams himself back in.

his head is buried in the crook of your neck, fingers roughly gripping your hips as he tugs you down to meet his thrusts. he’s sucking harshly on your neck so he doesn’t release the sounds bubbling up in his throat, but kisses the area delicately afterwards. cutie

mostly fucks you in missionary, especially after one of his missions. he’s tired, exhausted even, of seeing so much death and basically being a government puppet. his respite is you, your body, your soul.

when he’s not in your neck, his pretty blue eyes are staring right into yours intensely. sometimes he’ll even reach up and hold your hand tightly. he tells himself it’s for you, to ground you whilst hes pounding you into the mattress, but it’s secretly for him too. you’re here, you’re his.

of course, being away from you for sometimes weeks at a time, leaves him all stored up. his pace will pick up, the lewd sound of skin slapping will grow faster, and so will your sounds. also the headboard banging against the wall… he will break your bed numerous times.

he’ll praise you, whispering how good you are for him, how good you always take him. calling you his pretty girl, his good girl, hishishis. not his to share with the government, not his temporarily, no. you’re his, and you’re not going anywhere.

when he gets close, his mouth will gape and quick pants and, if you listen closely, tiny whimpers come from him. his thrusts become sloppy, his hips and cock twitching, and he always always has to kiss you hard and wet to muffle the loud moan he makes when he cums.

most of the time, you’ll go for another round. okay, a few more rounds. a lot.

but sometimes, if you’re both too tired, he’ll clean you both up, and wrap his strong arms around you and hold you tight n’ close, almost in a suffocating way, and cuddle you to sleep. his hold leaves no room for movement, but you wouldn’t have it any other way. you love him, and want to be close to him.

his pretty baby💕

[yourgentlegirlfriend]

tw: mentions of smut, slight roughness

i don’t know MAYBE it’s just me but i’ve always imagined re4 Leon as a gentle lover.

he’s so gentle and caring, soft kisses on your temple and on your shoulder when you’re getting dressed for the day.

carries in all the groceries in one trip because impressing you is so much more important than the blood circulation in his arm right?

even when he’s moody he will mumble small “thank you” s and “love you”s whenever you do something for him.

he hates it most whenever he has to leave you for work. unexpected trips that make him so heartbroken to see your face get flushed with sadness, your eyes getting glossy and your voice shaking when you say goodbye.

all he can do is hug you so tight, taking in the scent of you and closing his eyes as he kisses your head over and over reminding you of how he always comes back and always will.

and he does

and when he does come back it’s like a different person for a couple hours.

you can’t recognize the sweet leon you know who used to brush your hair for you after a long night of drinking, only thing in your hair is his long fingers, tugging at your strands and pulling your head back as he grinds into you. he is so so rough, he doesn’t even know how strong he is either.

one hand in your hair and the other having a bruising grip on your waist as he tries to focus on a specific pattern that he knows will make you crumble right below him.

“look at that arch so fucking perfect for me, can’t imagine what you would do without me.”

it’s the dirty talk that gets you. you are usually his sweetheart, his angel, baby, princess, honey. but on nights when he comes home from a long trip you’re nothing but his and you can’t question it.

you let out loud whines as you try and stutter words out as you suddenly feel his chest press against your back, his chuckle in your ear sending chills down your spine.

“what, can’t speak? it’s okay, pretty little pussy is speaking for you.”

leon groans in your ear as he kisses the shell of your ear then the back of your neck.

the sweet couple dynamic is shattered just for about an hour, just till he’s done with you. then when he is done with you, he’s letting you lean against him in the shower as he rinses the shampoo out of your hair, talking about how he couldn’t believe the things they have him do for work.