The Beardiness Is Strong With Him.... And The Shirt 🥵🥵🥵🥵🥵🥵🥵🥵

Born In Flames || Chapter Two

Pairing: Bodyguard!Bucky Barnes x Reader

Summary: Being the daughter of a mafia boss was hard enough growing up. You got out and made a new life for yourself as a bartender only to be sucked in when your old man made a bad deal and he thinks you need protection. Enter Bucky Barnes, your new bodyguard and roommate.

Warnings: guns, shooting, mention of cancer and weed

Word Count: 3,212

Authors Note: And here we see that I have no concept of keeping things nice and easy for a longer than a chapter. Also again, I will say that if you want to be a part of the tag list, either MESSAGE or SEND AN ASK. It’s too hard sometimes to keep up with the notes on things so if you want to secure a spot, do one of those two otherwise you will not be added.

Born In Flames Masterlist

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You knew the moment you got home from work that it was going to be a long….well however long you were stuck with this guy.

Both you and Bucky got up to your apartment and he was quick to lock the door and check outside.

“You can’t spend your mornings on the fire escape anymore,” Bucky spoke as he closed the window and switched the latched to close.

You, already irritated from the whole situation while being tired from work, rolled your eyes and peeled off your boots. “And why is that?”

“Because they sent photos of you sitting out there. Easy shot if they wanted to take one,” Bucky said, crossing his arms as he looked over at you.

“Like I care if I’m shot at. Maybe a dead daughter will teach my dad that his work isn’t the best. You know what?” You turned to him as you threw your hands in the air. “You’re only here because my dad says you have to be. Now I just worked a long ass shift and all I want is a hot bubble bath, my bed, and some fucking wine. Not some guard dog telling me what I can and can’t do. My mornings with Miss Liz are not going to be interrupted because you say so. Now I suggest you listen or else this is going to be a lot harder for you,” you explained, clearly exhausted.

But the look in Bucky’s eye made you want to cower. He let out a deep breath through his nose, looking as though he was trying to restrain himself. “I’m not a guard dog,” he glared.

Then again, you were too tired to care about being scared. “Whatever. I call it how I see it. Now I’m going to go do my thing. Watch tv or go to sleep or whatever it is you do,” you shrugged, leaving him standing in your living room as you went into the bathroom and shut the door.

You stayed in the bath a bit longer than usual, your phone softly playing music as your mind raced with the future and the past.

“But why do we have to leave? I was supposed to go to Marcie’s later for a sleepover!” You whined as your mom packed up a suitcase for you. You were only nine at the time, completely unaware of what your father did for a living. You thought he was just some business man. He was, but in more darker trades.

“I know, pumpkin, but what if I promise that Marcie can come over and stay a whole weekend when we get back? We’ll be at the lake house for a week, that’s all. You know, it’s firefly season. Go get your mason jar and net and we’ll see how many we can catch,” your mother, Charlotte, said. It made her heart ache to see you so disappointed. She had hoped that your life would be somewhat normal but unfortunately being around the mafia would leave your life anything but normal. She tried to make sure you got to do kid things.

Charlotte did, but your father was nowhere to be found. He was always working, always trying to fight some silent war going on. It wasn’t until your early teens that you found out what your father did for a living. You blamed him for everything wrong in your life. How you couldn’t keep friends because he was constantly pulling you away or forcing you into hiding out in the house, how you didn’t get to go to prom or homecoming because you would be an “easy target”.

Somehow you even blamed him for your mother’s death, despite it being cancer. You just felt the need to blame him for every bad thing because it always led back to him. That instance, you could agree that you were being irrational. But the one person who always gave a damn about you was now gone.

A few tears fell from your eyes as you tried to picture her in the good ways. Planting flowers in the backyard of your childhood home, teaching you how to bake cookies from scratch, even helping you sew your first dress that you made by hand. Her smile could light up a room and even with your father’s idiotic ways, she still found the good in him. The good you had yet to see. Sure, he was trying to protect you, but you knew it was for his own benefit, not yours. Frankly you weren’t afraid to die. You realized that as a teen. If you were shot in the middle of some mafia war, then so be it. Maybe then your father would see that his work was more harmful than good.

Wiping your face off with your already damp hand, you sighed. Now you had a bodyguard staying with you, one who seemed like he was at your fathers beck and call. Were you supposed to feed him and keep him entertained? He said he wasn’t a guard dog but right now it felt like you had a damn Cane Corso staying in your apartment. The look he gave you earlier was nothing short of a warning but you weren’t scared.

Also you noticed he had gloves on. It’s the summer, why would a guy wear gloves? Was it so his fingerprint wasn’t pushed around everywhere? But you’ve seen other men work for your father and watch over both you and your mother and they never once wore gloves unless it was winter. It didn’t make sense.

After an hour in the tub and at least one refill of hot water, you got out and wrapped a towel around your body. Collecting your clothes, you left the bathroom and turned towards your room. On the way by the guest room, you heard soft murmurs.

“Yeah…this isn’t gonna be easy, she’s already on my last nerve…I know, sir. I promise she’ll be safe…didn’t see anything today….” Of course he was updating your dad.

Rolling your eyes, you walked into your room and closed the door before locking it. After you dried off, you pulled on a large tee and some pajama shorts. Your stomach growled, realizing that you hadn’t eaten at all since this morning. Glancing at the clock, it was nearly six am. You could wait a while longer, you just didn’t want to see Bucky again. Thankfully a bag of chips and the bottle of wine was still sitting on your nightstand from the night before. It may be warm, but you couldn’t care less.

You dozed off at some point, the bag of chips left on one side of the bed as you curled around a pillow on the other side. You had the day off and you slept in until damn near three pm.

Waking up was easy enough, ready to see if Miss Liz left you cookies. She always knew the days off meant you wouldn’t be out in the mornings. Well, morning for you. So she always left goodies. But then you saw the empty bottle of wine and remembered why you were drinking in the first place.

Sighing, you knew you needed coffee, which meant leaving your room. How were you going to be able to coexist with this guy? His face was the last thing you wanted to see right now. But, nothing was going to stand in your way of your coffee.

Sliding out of bed and running your hands through your messy hair, you slowly walked out. The television was on, a rerun of Criminal Minds playing. You glanced over and saw Bucky on the couch, turning his head to gaze at you.

“Sleep okay?” He asked, though you just ignored him and walked into the kitchen.

Bucky furrowed his brow. He was trying to play nice but you weren’t making it easy.

Apparently Bucky already had coffee, considering there was a hot half a pot left. Grumbling to yourself, you poured some into your mug and walked over to the window. Pushing it open while silently daring Bucky to tell you off, you slipped outside and took a seat on the little pillow you kept out there. Glancing to your right, you saw the little Tupperware and a note.

Hey babe, these are just regular cookies today, kinda smoked all the weed instead. Hope you have a good day! -L

Man, you loved this lady. Popping the top open, you took a cookie and dipped it in your coffee before eating it. Soft chocolate chip with a hint of butterscotch. You are about two more before looking down at them. Four remained, making you sigh. You really had to make this living situation at least a tad lighter.

Taking the plastic bowl, you reached out through the open window without looking back. Rustling the bowl to get Bucky’s attention, you heard the tv mute and boots for the ground.

“What are these?” Bucky asked as he leaned into the open window. Setting the bowl down in front of him, you took another sip of your coffee as you stared out towards the park.

“Cookies, do they not have them where you’re from?” You asked, raising your eyebrow as you looked over at him.

“Yeah but what’s in them?” He asked, of course he has to be the cautious one.

“Stuff you make cookies with. They’re not drugged this time,” you shrugged, leaning back against the brick wall.

“This time?” Bucky widened his eyes. You reached over and grabbed the note, setting it in front of him. He read it over and rolled his eyes. “Pot cookies? Jesus. Get inside, someone could be watching you.”

You glared at him as you stayed in your seat. “Yes, pot cookies. And no, I’m gonna stay out here a little longer.”

Bucky grumbled incoherently and pulled away from the window. Setting the cookies on the counter, he walked over to his coat and pulled out his gun. Sliding it behind him in the waistband of his pants, he returned to the window and climbed out.

“What the hell?” You asked, scooting over to avoid being crushed by his big ass.

“You won’t come inside so I have to come outside,” Bucky said, taking a seat next to you.

You glared at him, knowing he was doing his job but you were entirely annoyed. “Why are you doing this? Why did he pick you and why did you agree?” You asked after a moment of silence while he got situated.

Bucky sighed and crossed his arms, leaning back against the brick. “He chose me because Charlotte hand picked me.”

You lost your breath for a moment, not expecting to hear your mothers name from him. What did he mean that she hand picked him?

Bucky saw your confusion and continued. “I was new to the mafia business. My friend Steve had worked with your dad for a few years and they brought me in. I had just been brought home to Brooklyn after an incident overseas when I was in the army. I was discharged and after a while, I was able to get back on my feet. I started out as just a guard, making sure no one came into your fathers building without us knowing who they were. Charlotte took a liking to me after I helped her a few times with bringing things in and out. We talked for a while and I’m not sure why, but she wanted to make sure I made it in this business. She talked to your dad and he agreed to give me a chance at being more than just a guard. You were a…junior, at the time I think. Your mom loved talking about you, telling me how well your art was doing, how you didn’t want to be a part of this life. She worried about you. And then when she found out she had cancer-“

“Stop.”

Bucky’s words were left hanging in the air as you raised your finger. You couldn’t listen any more, not while you were struggling to not cry. You already did enough of that the night before and you still had a headache from it.

“Just…don’t,” you said, your voice softer than before.

The two of you stayed quiet as you sipped on your coffee, your emotions calming down as the moments passed.

After about ten minutes, you got up and stepped over Bucky before slipping inside. The coffee was gone and your heart ached. Leaving the mug in the sink, you sighed when you heard Bucky step in and the window close.

“Listen, we just…gotta make this work, okay? So you can go back to doing whatever it is you do and I can go back to not being a mafia daughter,” you said as you turned, leaning against the counter.

It caught Bucky off guard but he looked over and nodded. Now that you knew he was doing this because he felt like he had to help since he owed your mom where he was today, you knew she would be disappointed in how you were treating him.

“So I’m assuming my dad gave you money for food and stuff while you’re here?” You asked, to which he nodded. Since Bucky was going to be watching you, your dad gave him a very, very good raise. “Well, I need to go shopping today. I guess you’re coming with. But please, lose the suit jacket. It’s gonna look pretty suspicious when I’m dressed in a tank too and leggings while you look like you’re ready for an important business meeting. Plus, aren’t you hot with those gloves?” You asked, motioning your head towards his hands.

Bucky frowned softly, rubbing the back of his neck with a shake of his head. “Gloves stay, but I can change.”

You raised an eyebrow but shrugged. Walking to your room, you closed the door behind you and decided to keep it simple. Just as you said, a black pair of leggings paired with a dark red tank. Oh how you missed the fall. You threw your hair up in a bun and grabbed your purse, slinging it over your shoulder. Bucky was done before you and you saw how he changed into a pair of jeans and a blue long sleeved Henley. Why did he want to wear long sleeves so bad?

Without questioning him, you grabbed your keys and the two of you headed out.

Shopping was…simple enough. From the things Bucky chose, it was clear he was probably into cooking. By the way your side of the cart looked, it showed that you didn’t cook much at all. At least you had all of the pans and such for him to use. They were all still pretty brand new.

You felt Bucky move closer to your side as you two walked, though you tried to move away. His arm slipped around your waist and that’s when you stopped completely. “What are you-“

His hand gripped your waist, as if to stop you from speaking. “I think we’re being followed. Just walk normally and don’t say anything,” he whispered, slowly taking steps forward and pushing you along with him. You went to look around but he cleared his throat a little before shaking his head. “Don’t.”

You walked alongside him, trying to act normal as if you were just grocery shopping with a boyfriend. Granted, that had never been a thing you’ve actually done. “Is there anything else you need?” You asked, though it had seemed like you two were pretty much done.

Bucky shook his head and the two of you walked to the front near the registers. He put everything on the conveyor belt, including yours to which you were going to stop him but the moment you made a sound, he narrowed his eyes. You chewed the inside of your cheek as he paid for it all, knowing you would pay him back. After everything was bagged, the two of you walked out while his arm moved around your waist again. Sure enough, he spotted the same people he saw before. The two of you put the bags in the car and although you never wanted to be that person, he suggested you leave the cart in the middle of the parking space beside you and drove off.

“Don’t go home,” he said as he pulled the gun out from the back of his pants.

“Why not?” You asked, taking a left turn instead of a right like you normally would have.

“Do you want to lead them to your house?” Bucky looked at you as if you were that dumb.

“They already know where I live. Where should I go?” You sighed.

“Anywhere but home. Just drive around. Go to Jersey for all I care,” he shrugged, turning in his seat and looking out the back window.

You decided to do just that, head towards Jersey. But about twenty miles down the road, a car appeared and Bucky saw that it was the same men from the store. They were coming up quickly and without care, the passenger leaned out and shot at your car. A scream left your lips as the bullet went straight through the windows, swerving slightly.

“Fuck!” You yelled, pushing harder on the gas. Bucky slid into the back seat and proceeded to kick the entirety of your back window out. From there, he had a perfect shot at the men. It was a fire fight back and forth, while you stayed ducked down as much as possible while still being able to see the road. Your poor car was going to be fucked after this.

Bucky got a few good shots in, even managing to knock the gun out of the man's hand and into the oncoming traffic. He could see that he got the man somewhere from the line of blood down the side of the car. The two men decided to retreat and took a side road, heading back to their own base.

You drove for a while before pulling into a parking garage, hiding at a far end. You were somewhere in Manhattan, though you had no clue where. Once you shut the car off, you slowly began to rise up from your crouched position. Bucky shifted and leaned in between the seats, looking you over.

“Were you hit?” He asked, though he didn’t notice any blood. You shook your head, even as your hands shook. You may have had close calls in life with the mafia business, but this took the cake.

The way you looked at Bucky showed your fear. You may not be afraid to die, but then again, you never came that close. In some way, you were hoping that when you did die, it would be quick and painless. Not a car chase with the possibility of being hit.

“My car…” you muttered, your mind buzzing.

“Will be fixed. Are you okay?” He asked, taking your chin with his gloved hand and making you look at him. You hesitated for a moment, though you nodded.

“Get over. I’m driving,” he spoke, letting go of your chin.

This time, you let him.

@crownstealer @borikenlove @bitchassbucky @babyboibucky @buckybarneschokeme @buckys-blue-eyes @vanillanaps @bibbidibobbidibucky @spicynudlesoup @bemine-bucky @suchababie @kbkbb

YOU ALMOST GAVE ME A HEART ATTACK I THOUGHT YOU WHERE GONNA SAY THAT IT WAS THE LAST CHAPTER !!!!

AND YOU CANNOT IMAGINE HOW READY I AM TO READ THE NEXT CHAPTER !!!!

I am as happy as Anthony was in this scene !!!!

I have an announcement about the next chapter of Enamored my loves;

Alright so, the next chapter is the wedding chapter and it sort of…well-

That chapter got out of control, I have no idea how it happened😂 But consider this as like a prewarning and make sure to get something to eat and drink with you for this Saturday’s chapter because that wedding chapter is going to be:

✨12k words✨

Remember to take breaks and stuff😂

Also related, we’re not getting an extra scene this Tuesday because that gigantic chapter has kicked and continues to kick my ass 😂 BUT since it’s so long, we will have more than one sneak peek and the first one is coming tomorrow 😁

Do you guys remember how you joked about getting a 10k chapter and I was like “haha wouldn’t that be something?” 😂

I m genuinely in love with anyshit that involves mafia bucky

Went to start writing part 3 of 2M,1B (Two Minds, One Body) but got caught up making mafia!bucky moodboards and aesthetics...

I know for a fact that when I’m gonna finish all of the fics that you wrote I’m gonna cry !

Lost and then Found pt. I

Imagine being taken by HYDRA. After years with them, they set you loose on someone you haven’t seen in a while. Unfortunately for HYDRA, you weren’t as susceptible to their mind experiments like they thought.

Words: 8.6K Author’s Note: Major trigger warning! There will be a bit of talk about non-consensual pregnancies and some failed pregnancies from said attempts. Also I didn’t want to post this, but this upcoming week is going to be stressful for me and I honestly don’t know how much writing I’ll get done. Please read the bottom note for help on hopefully part 2 of this.

Keep reading

For anyone that is body shaming Sebastian Stan, you are not welcome here.

george russell having a rookie beast and tiny verstappie in the form of kimi antonelli as his teammate for 2025 is the cosmic karma they talk about

I need this to be a series !

What Didn’t Kill Me (Made Me Stronger)

Imagine being kidnapped at a young age and then returned to your family some years later after being rescued. Only difference is that you’re not the same as you once were.

Words: 8.8K Author’s Note: Very brief crossover here with Marvel here and there. This is going to take place the summer before Teen Wolf’s senior year, but all the drama they went through their final year doesn’t happen. It’s a normal year. Well.. somewhat normal.

Keep reading

Fuck that’s a tough choice but I would love to see masquerade part 2 ooor ships in the night part 2 !!

Which should I start writing first?

Two Minds, One Body [pt4]

Ships in the Night [pt2]

Letters After Dark [pt2]

Killing Time [pt2]

Masquerade [pt2]

This is easily my favorite series and the fact that it gets better every you write a new part

Run These Streets {4} || Street Racer!Bucky

Summary: You take it upon yourself to get Bucky out of his funk after receiving home detention for his racing. Warnings: 18+ only, nsfw, illegal racing, changing wound dressings WC: 2.5k

Bucky Masterlist || Part One || Part Two || Part Three || Part Four

The local radio station was playing loudly in Bucky’s garage when you arrived. He didn’t even hear that you had pulled up until you turned the volume down and he smelt the food you had bought with you. “You need to rest babe.” 

Bucky winced as he stood up from the empty engine bay he was inspecting. He looked like he was about to argue but wisely closed his mouth when he saw the bandage on his side was turning red. “Fine.”

“Scrub up and come inside, I got your favourite.” You ordered as you teased the mouth watering bag in front of his face while walking past. 

“You are my favourite.” He called out as he watched you disappear into the house, your soft laugh drifting back.

The oil and grime was stubborn and by the time he had scrubbed his hands clean you had set the table and poured you both some homemade ice tea. You could see he was in pain as he gingerly lowered himself into the chair so you opened the cupboard that was littered with pill bottles and half empty first aid kits.

“How do you find anything here?” You mumbled as you looked at the labels and found most of them had expired years ago. “Honestly, I don’t even know how you survived on your own so long.”

“Luck mostly.” He chuckled before groaning. “I may have pushed it this time.”

“You think?” You shook your head as you carried a few rolls of gauze and painkillers. “Take these and lean back. Your bandage is soaked.”

You carefully took off the soiled bandage, trying not to hurt him anymore, and felt your stomach roll at the sight of the sutures that followed the line of his ribs. None of them looked torn but the wound was still bleeding so you wrapped it again with fresh gauze and checked he had swallowed the painkillers.

“You’re lucky you didn’t have to go back to the hospital.” You tutted. “Do you know what a pain in the ass it is having to get hold of your probation officer?”

“Not really,” he admitted with a timid smile, “that’s why you’re so great, because you take care of all that shit for me, and I love you for it.”

“Nice save.” You giggled as he sat up and kissed you before you took your seat. “What’s the damage?”

“I can save a few parts but she needs a new engine and most of the panels replacing but the chassis is straight so she’s not completely written off.” He muttered as he pushed his food around the plate. “It’s gonna cost a fortune that I don’t have.”

“I know how much that car meant to you.” You said softly as you placed your hand over his. “We’ll find a way to get her fixed.”

He wasn’t convinced as he chewed his lip. There weren’t many options left since he was on house arrest for illegal street racing that resulted in the crash. Even if he wanted a mainstream job he couldn’t leave his front yard and he doubted many people would hire him after the addition to his record.

“I’m going to go lay down for a bit.” He mumbled quietly after eating in silence.

You were about to offer to join him, even though it was far too early for you to be able to sleep all night, when your phones buzzed simultaneously.

Unknown Number: 14th and 3rd. Midnight.

Bucky’s phone was tossed away angrily and you sighed heavily as you got up to grab it, finding no new cracks on the screen. He had been in the hospital for the race the week before and you wondered if every Friday night would be this hard for him. The four month sentence suddenly seemed a whole lot harder, especially if he couldn’t have some connection to the racing scene.

Grabbing your laptop, you came up with an idea and worked quietly, tinkering with Bucky’s TV while he slept. When you were all set up you walked into his room you were surprised to find him wide awake, staring blankly at the glow in the dark stars on his ceiling. 

“Babe, I have a surprise.” You whispered as you broke through his harsh self reflection he had been stuck in. “Two actually - though one you might not like.”

He frowned at that and sat up, his chest still shirtless despite the drop in temperature. “Yeah, doll? Why’s that?”

“Why don’t you come to the living room first.” You said as you offered your hand to help him stand, linking your fingers as you led him down the hallway. “I connected my laptop to the tv so that you can still watch the race tonight but, and this is the part you won’t like but hear me out, it's connected to our headcam.”

“So you’ll have to be there, racing, for me to watch.” He laughed humorlessly as he shook his head. “No way, doll, you’re not going out there without me.”

“It’s a win-win babe, you still get to watch what you love and we kinda need the prize money for those repairs.” You argued as you sat him on the couch and let him pull you to his side.

“Not if it means risking your life. The Camaro isn’t worth that.” 

“You know I can drive, just as good as you.” You said, taking a deep breath. “I’m doing this Bucky, with or without you…but I could really do with you having my back.”

You held out your headset that was already connected to the laptop and waited as he stared at it. You were about to give up when you saw him look away but with a heavy sigh of his own, he took the headset and placed it on his lap.

“No unnecessary risks, you hear me?” Bucky warned. “If you get a hint of any dodgy shit from the other drivers, you pull out. And, I will cut this ankle bracelet and steal a car to come find you if this connection cuts out for more than a second.”

“Deal.” You grinned as you jumped up. “I need to steal your tires real quick and head off.” 

“Take a breath.” Bucky caught you by the hand and kissed your knuckles. “Adrenaline makes for easy mistakes.”

“I know, I know. It’s just been years since I last had a proper race, I forgot how it feels.” You rambled as you tried to calm your mind. “Tell me I’m gonna win.”“I don’t have to.” Bucky chuckled, kissing the corner of your mouth with a smile. “Because you are gonna win.”

You were conscious of his injury so you carefully wrapped your arms around his waist and kissed the light beard that was growing out along his jawline. “I love you.” 

“I love you too.” He whispered against your lips. “Drive safe.”

Your Hellcat wasn’t meant for racing in the sense like Bucky’s Camaro. It wasn’t fit with a roll cage and the interior hadn’t been gutted out to lighten its tare weight but Bucky made sure the front seats had been fitted with harnessed bucket seats a long time ago. But the soup and nuts of the matter was that your Hellcat was fast and with your skills it was easily a strong contender. 

“Holy shit, it's been awhile since you brought her out.” Steve grinned when he saw you pull up at the 11th hour. “How’s our boy doing?”

You held up your helmet with the camera mounted on the top. “Ask him yourself. You can take Bucky away from the race but you can’t take the race away from Bucky.”

“I wanted to see the race, not his mug.” Bucky joked in your ear and from the indignation of Steve’s scoff could read his best friend's mind. 

“He’s talking about me isn’t he?”

“Maybe.” You winked. “I actually have a favour to ask.”

You hit the mute button on the helmet's microphone so you could talk to Steve and heard Bucky call out after a moment's silence. 

“Sorry, Buck, must have knocked it. I could still hear you.” You assured him as you imagined he began to pace the living room. “Time to get this show on the road.”

Steve walked around the other drivers before making his way back to you, a small nod giving you the go ahead to pull up to the spray painted starting line. 

“Do you still get nervous? I feel like my stomach is going to try to climb out of my throat.” You swallowed as you reached the line and focused on the woman removing her bra to flag the race start.

“Every damn time.” Bucky chuckled, easing some of the worry knotting your insides. “Concentrate, doll, finishing in one piece is what matters.”

“Yeah, about that…” 

You ran out of time as the woman waved her bra three times before letting it loose and you dropped the clutch and floored the gas. The front wheels lifted off the road as you launched forward and for a second all you saw was the reflection of lights glimmering off One World Trade Centre before you fell back down to earth. You gripped the wheel tighter as the suspension bounced and noticed there was a supercar to your left that was inching ahead of you, but the machine was made for drag races not taking corners which was exactly where you were heading.

“90 degree right turn coming up.” Bucky guided seriously. “You’re going into it pretty fast there.”

“Yup.” You confirmed much to his dismay as you pushed further, the last to start breaking heading into it. “I didn’t come here to lose, Barnes.”

You ripped the e-brake back as you turned, kicking the back out and drifting into the corner before anyone else. The others were quick on your heels but you had effectively put the supercar out of the running as it popped out of the corner in last place. 

“It’s been months since we tuned your ride.” Bucky growled as you raced along the straight, jumping red lights as the scream of your engine limited. “Take it down a notch.”

“Can’t do that babe.” You shook your head, his view on the tv screen shaking with the movement. “I didn’t have enough cash for the buy in.”

“Fuck.” Bucky swore as he fisted his hair in his hands. “Right turn then hard left.”

You eased off the accelerator for the back to back turns and your heart skipped a beat as you almost over-corrected coming out of the turns. 

“Why didn’t you say anything?” Bucky asked as he watched the street fly past in a blurr, feeling like it was him in the driver's seat. “300 yards until you have a long left turn so don’t go in too tight.”

“You wouldn’t have agreed.” You admitted as you flicked your eyes to the GPS and saw the turn he was talking about, one that snaked under the highway. “We need to work on your terminology.”

“I’m not exactly used to being in this position, you’re much better at this job.” 

Headlights flashed in your wing mirrors as the Toyota Supra tried to take you on the straight with his lighter car. 

“Right back at you.” You murmured as you tried to keep your eyes on the road, on your competition and on the ECU diagnostics that had popped up with an alert. 

“Turn!”

Your eyes flashed away from the screen in the centre of the dashboard to see you had reached the left turn. You braked too much in a spike of panic before turning and clenched your fist tighter on the gear stick as you chopped down and tried to chase the Supra that made it past. The next two corners were a dog fight as you edged to close the gap and came neck and neck on the last straight. 

“I’m not losing to a fucking import.” You growled as you turned the nozzle for the NOS and watched the pressure engage. 

“That bottle hasn't been swapped since the roady to Boston.” 

You could practically taste Bucky’s fear, hear the anger at himself for not keeping your car in top shape but his was supposed to be the race car, not yours.

“You worry too much.” You said, stealing one of his favourite phrases. “It’s scary isn’t it, being on that end of the line.”

He grunted in agreement. “Does it get easier?”

“Nope, but I’ll always do it for you.” 

You saw the Supra boost forward and chuckled because your V8 cylinders were about to annihilate his inline 6. You pressed the release for the NOS and felt the increase in horsepower almost immediately, the front wheels threatening to lift off the ground with the surge. 

“You got this, doll.” Bucky all but shouted as he chewed his lip and froze in front of the wide screen tv. “You’ve got this.”

Your long hood inched past the Supra’s and you saw the driver smash his fist against the steering wheel before the finish line appeared not a moment too soon. Your triumphant laugh was echoed by Bucky’s cheers and you spun into a burn out at the end of the street where Steve waited with the other unofficial officiants of the street racing scene. 

“I love you!” You laughed as you tore off the helmet and kissed the camera.

“I love you too, now get your sexy ass home so we can celebrate properly.”

Steve was quick to work his way through the three race cars parked behind you and took the pink slips and keys from the angry losers before any got ideas of making a run for it, which wasn’t unheard of. He was grinning from ear to ear as he brought the winnings over and you knew it would go a long way into paying to repair Bucky’s Camaro as well as some of his legal fees.

“Thanks, Steve. I actually have one last favour to ask.” You said as he engulfed you in a hug.

“Anything for you.”

You were still riding your high as you drove to Bucky’s and parked outside, needing a moment to gather your thoughts and calm down after the rush of endorphins left your hands trembling. The moment only lasted a second before your door was pulled open and Bucky grinned proudly at you. 

“There’s my girl.”

“She’s got a surprise for you too.” You said as you unclipped the harness and stepped out to see three pairs of headlights coming down the street. Their engines purred across the quiet night and Bucky draped his arm over your shoulder as he watched them approach. “I didn’t have cash for the buy in.”

“You said.” He nodded. “So you used your car as collateral.”

“Kind of.” You smirked, seeing the Toyota, a Ferrari and a Camaro as few years older than Bucky’s park at the curb. “It was a race for pink slips.”

His jaw gaped wide as he stared at the cars, his friends climbing out of the drivers seats. “These are all yours?”

You laughed and shook your head. “No, baby, they're ours.”

Deserve

Summary: Marc never stays with you after he fucks you. You are better left in the hands of Steven. This time, he doesn't leave you.

Pairing: Marc Spector x Reader (implied Steven Grant x Reader)

Word Count: ~4k

Warnings: smut, some references to rough sex, angst (with a happy ending) - don't let me fool you this is just touch starved marc struggling with being loved

A/N: im fine im just really out here with nothing else to do but think about moon knight

Marc was an intense person. 

He was like the patter of rain against the roof, against an open window pane. He was like the shock and flash of lightning during a storm. 

The grim set of his mouth and shoulders, the unending weight of the world that made his brows dip into that hard line. Marc felt more than he let on, was affected by things people said and did, let the blows rain like ash against his skin and said nothing. 

You had learned long ago that Marc did not welcome comfort, that he felt it was something he did not deserve to receive. Soft, shaded mornings were for his alter. Everything squishy and warm, hazed in the breathy glow of a sunrise, was for you and Steven, not him. 

Maybe it wasn’t that Marc didn’t welcome comfort. 

He craved it, wanted it, longed for it. 

And he should not long for it, want it, crave it. 

He’d told you as much, over and over, the weight of your gentle hands against his skin like burning embers. 

He wanted it. He so badly wanted to sink into that flame, but he was worried it would burn him alive, melt him down into something unrecognizable. 

It was only when something went particularly badly that he allowed some comfort. 

He loves you, this you know. 

You see it in the heaviness of his stare, in the intensity of his worry, in the way he hugged you, held your hand, worried after you like you had not survived for years on your own. 

But if you ever dared to hold his hand, hug him, drag your fingers down the length of his spine, it was too much for him. These were things he could offer you, but that you should not give him in return. These were not things he deserved, these were things better reserved to his alter, who was deserving of everything he was not. 

Marc is intense.

He’s hard and wild and something close to broken some days, when reality drifts in and out of focus, when the world is best left in the hands of Steven.

There’s always a beating heart of anxiety behind everything he does, that this time he will not be enough, that this time he will not be fast enough, that this time the universe would get the last laugh again.

So when Marc fucks you, he is intense, he is like the weight of the all consuming world poured out. Salt water in wounds. 

You don’t mind. 

The times he’s gentle with you, you get the sense that he’s mourning, like the act is grief, something lost that he’s stealing back from the gods. Something that is temporary and definitely not for him. 

This night, he had come to you like the storm he bred inside him, the hatred of self and fear of a future he could not control, of a tentative reality of things only he could see. 

Marc was rough with you.

His fingers in your mouth, his hand hard against your cunt, against your ass. He had buried himself inside you, set a punishing pace. When his mouth was on yours, his kiss had been more like an effort to consume you. When his hand wrapped around your throat, his eyes had snapped to the mirror, and you had known Steven had been cautioning him, that you were in fact breakable, no matter what you said, that he should be careful of you. 

But you’d covered his hand with your own and tightened his fingers, eyes fluttering closed as you lost yourself in whatever bit of himself he would give you. 

~

A last stuttering breath passes your lips, eyes screwed closed, pleasure lighting up the insides of your veins, molten, like a river of fire that never ends. 

You clutch the sheets beneath your fingers and turn your face into a pillow as the last waves of your orgasam shutter through you. You bite off the moan that bubbles to the back of your throat when you feel Marc shift inside you, so full it's almost painful. 

Your thighs tremble, the insistent pressure of Marc’s hand against the back of your neck keeping you in place. His other hand kneads the flesh of your hip, and you know a bruise has already formed there. 

Marc pulls back, and thrusts into you one last time, a pleasant satisfied ache beginning between your legs. 

The firm fingers at your waist finally let you drop your hips to the mattress. 

You feel weightless and warm, content, like you’re floating through a cloud. Marc presses a kiss to the space between your shoulder blades, before the heavy bulk of his body surrounds yours. 

Disappointment darts through you in a brief little flash, because this is Marc’s parting gift to you always. 

The kiss between your shoulders, the all consuming fire of the warmth of him against you, before he hands the reigns to Steven. 

Marc never stays with you, after. The kiss against your spine is all you get from him. Whether because he can’t be bothered with taking care of you or because he feels he doesn’t deserve to, you aren’t sure. 

Steven is always there though, to kiss you back to life, to smile at you, make love to you so slowly and sweetly it was like a dream you never wanted to wake up from.  

His fingers slide up your arms, massaging as he goes, until he reaches your clenched hands, gently uncurling them from the fabric of the sheets until he can twist his fingers with yours. 

You feel him squeeze carefully, his nose dipping to the crook of your neck. 

A stillness falls over you both, silence, peace, creating a warm little bubble. 

You don’t mind his weight against you, it settles the frantic beating of your heart, drenches you in warmth. 

Normally, Steven would say something to you when he fronted, a kiss against your cheek and a softly spoken hello, love. 

Today, he’s silent, arms tight and grounding around you. 

But it's Steven, you know it must be. 

Because Marc never stays. 

You turn your head, nuzzling your nose against his arm, feeling his damp skin against your cheek. You want to open your eyes, reach up and touch the little black curl of hair you know must be stuck to his forehead at that moment. 

You’re content to stay like that with him, content to feel the gentle drift of his nose along the curve of your jaw. So you keep your eyes closed and let your mushy, sex-addled brain drift, as lips press along your jaw, behind the curve of your ear. 

And you’re happy to stay in the gentle warmth being offered to you, the glow of being loved so well.

But then, he does something inexplicable. 

Steven pulls away from you. 

He gets up. 

And he leaves. 

An empty feeling that you don’t like crawls up from the pit of your belly. A feeling that’s suspiciously like abandonment, that you know is not grounded in reality. 

Steven never left the bed, not without saying something to you first, not before checking in with you to ask what you needed or wanted. Especially not when Marc had been so rough with you. 

It was a routine that was being broken, a sacred step you didn’t know needed spoken out loud. 

You swallow thickly, peeling your eyes open. 

You don’t like the dirty, used feeling that’s overwhelming you, like you did not matter. 

Pushing yourself up is a monumental task, the ache of your bones like the grinding of cinder blocks against your flesh. You glance over your shoulder at the door. 

Then there’s a clatter from the bathroom and the door swings open, Steven emerging in only a pair of briefs. He still doesn’t say anything as he approaches and encourages you with gentle hands to roll over, the brief warmth of a washcloth between your legs. 

Which is odd. 

Because Steven would normally lie with you and talk with you, until you were coherent again, until you were secure enough for him to move away without feeling the sting of abandonment. 

Steven also talked almost non-stop to you, never without something to say. 

Normally,  you would throw on a shirt and play cards in bed, watch something on your laptop. Sometimes, Steven would just hold you and talk. Sometimes, he would make love to you again. 

But none of that happened until you were ready. 

Steven still doesn’t speak to you as he climbs back into bed, handing you Marc’s discarded shirt, which he gingerly helps you sit up and slip on.  

Steven’s head twitches toward the mirror, and you watch him watch his reflection for a moment. You frown, wondering what Marc could be saying to him. Marc, who always and without fail disappeared and walled himself off from both of you. 

And then it dawns on you. 

In your post-orgasm haze, and without the sound of his voice, you hadn’t noticed the signs that this was very clearly Marc still fronting, not Steven. 

Marc never stayed with you, never. 

Your throat is tight when he doesn’t say anything, his head is still swiveled toward the mirror, brows drawing tighter together with each passing minute. 

“Hey,” you clear your throat, “c’mere.” 

You snuggle down and hold out your arms. 

You half expect him to huff out an exasperated breath and lay back but avoid your touch. 

But he doesn’t. 

He curls into your arms, nudging his nose into the hollow at the base of your throat. He cradles you close, inhaling gently. 

But to your utter surprise, he lets you smooth your hands over his shoulders, through his unruly curls. The motion of it soothes you, comforts you. 

You glance toward the mirror and wish that you could see Steven there too, so you could ask what was going on in Marc’s head, why he was pretending to be Steven. 

“You okay?” You say as he lets you run a hand down his face, over the ridge of scar above his brow. 

It takes Marc a long time to respond, buried in your skin as he is, breathing you in, tracing rough hands along your hips and over your thighs, massaging where he knows you must be sore. 

You kiss the top of his head, blearily giving him all the love he was usually too prickly to receive.

He nods against you, so you slip hands down his back, over his hair. You aren’t sure why he’s pretending, but you find you don’t mind. It’s the kind of love you always want to shower Marc with but that he rarely allows. 

You want to ask him why, why he didn’t let Steven front. But you worry he might think you’re asking to see Steven, that you don’t want him there with you. 

Emotionally, Marc was a fortress, impenetrable and soldily quiet. Things simmered down in his gut, pushed away and down down down, until they overwhelmed him, until they burst to the surface in a violent torrent. 

Most often, it was when someone he loved was in danger, when the past became something he could no longer stare down, when the things he avoided were impossible to ignore.

And you’re terribly afraid that if you say anything now, he’ll clam up, shut down, pull away from you, leave the flat and take your heart with him. 

Gently, you slide down, until you’re eyelevel with him, one hand against his neck, thumb tracing the line of his jaw carefully. 

You feel Marc’s hands go to the small of your back, big hands gingerly tugging you closer, until your nose is touching his, until you share the same air. 

And you can hardly believe that the man who had smacked your pussy, held you down and fucked you until you felt like you couldn’t breathe, whispered filthy things in your ear that you can hardly remember, that your brain fuzzes out when you think about too much - is now holding you so gently you may as well be made of delicate glass, is now allowing you to stroke your hands through his hair, pet his broad shoulders. His eyes are closed, trust you didn’t think Marc possessed pouring over you in waves. 

You know why. 

You know why he’s doing this. 

Marc would rather accept love in the guise of his alter than ever believe he was worthy of it himself. 

You think about the hatred that lives inside Marc, about the self-hatred that loomed always at the back of his mind. The hatred that ran so deep, that he felt so potently, that even his alter had thought the worst of him at first. 

Killer, mercenary, cold-blooded. 

Things that Marc accepted into the folds of who he was without question. 

Marc never let you hold him like this, and so you do so for as long as you can bear, tilting your chin into his so you can kiss him softly, feeling the slow drift of his hands down your sides to the curve of your ass, over the bruised skin of your hips and thighs. He hooks his fingers behind your knee and tugs your leg over his hip. 

You finger a curl at the back of his neck, the glow of brown skin molten in the low light of the flat. 

You swallow and hope that you don’t drive him away, but you can’t stand it any longer - his thinking that this is softness you would only grace Steven with. 

“Marc,” you whisper. “I know it's you.” 

Even the way they hold you is different. Of course, you can always tell. You did not need their voices to tell you who was fronting. 

Marc’s eyes flash open and you’re surprised to see fear there. 

You hold fast to him, though he doesn’t try to pull away. You raise a questioning brow and resume your gentle ministrations, trying to show him without words that you did not treat him carefully because you thought he was Steven. 

“How’d you know?”

You shake your head and press your thumb against the center of his chin, “I can always tell. It’s not something you can really hide.”

He tries to tug his face away from your hand but you don’t let him, stubbornly making him look into your eyes. 

“Baby,” you say, “You know that you are just as deserving-,”

“Don’t,” he says sharply. “Don’t do that.”

“But you are, Marc. I always want to do this but you always leave me,” you stoke a hand through his hair. “I know Steven has talked to you about it, too. Told you that you don’t have to go.”

Marc is stiff against you and you consider for a moment letting him go. 

But you don’t. 

You hold on, and murmur, “It’s okay to want this. It’s okay.” You keep feathering your hand through his hair, your touch as gentle as you can make it. “I love you, you know.” You touch the gold chain around his neck and finally glance away from his eyes, staring at the hollow of his throat instead as you say, “You don’t always have to have your walls up. I’m not - I won’t -,” you stop and consider your next words. “I love you exactly as you are.” 

There’s a long moment of silence after that, one in which your heart beats painfully fast and you wait for Marc to push you away. 

But it doesn’t come, his body slowly relaxes against yours again, your fingers continuing their careful press against his skin. 

His head tips toward the mirror on the wall, and he nods after a few long minutes, carefully plucking up one of your hands, to kiss each of your fingers, the flat of your palm, and then to curl them closed again, hold your hand against his chest. 

You can feel the steady thrum of his heart, and Marc doesn’t look at you when he says. “I want it too.” 

You wait a moment but he doesn’t say more. 

“I’m happy to give it to you, Marc.” 

“You - you give too much as it is.” He pauses for a long moment, before pushing you onto your back, hovering over you, his eyes darting over your face. 

And you’re amazed, wondering, at the love struck expression he wears, like you were the pinnacle of a universe that barely made sense, that was barely held together. 

“Steven deserves this,” he nods down at you. “He’s never-,” 

You hear the unspoken words - that is why Steven was born after all, to be all the things Marc thought he wasn’t, to shield himself. 

“Stop it. Marc, you are not your past. You are not bad. You carry around the weight of the world and these sins you think are yours alone. They aren’t.” You tip your head up to nudge your nose against his, Marc’s hands pinning both of yours to the space beside your shoulders. 

Marc is looking at you in that intense way of his, brows furrowed, mouth tilted in that overly-serious line. 

“And what if I don’t think I deserve it, huh? To get you like this?” 

“Don’t listen to you, then. Listen to me.” You hitch your knees up to frame his hips, holding him against you, levering pressure into the backs of his thighs until he drops down fully against you. “You deserve it. More than most.”

You know everything he’s ever done is flashing through his mind. His brother’s death and his mother’s wrath. His time as a mercenary, his time in the military. The way he thinks he breaks and folds and isn’t strong enough, never strong enough, not enough. The mistake of Khonshu. The way he thinks he failed Layla and Steven, and that he will do it all over again. 

“Hey,” you nudge his jaw again. “Quit that.” 

Marc nods slowly, intense stare pinning you down. “I deserve it.” He says it like he expects you to disagree with him, to laugh. 

“Yes,” you breathe. “I’ll remind you of that.” He releases your wrists, burying his nose in your neck, the breath he sucks in is shaky and wild, the drum beat of a storm he stored inside the stoic stone that surrounded his heart. 

You cup a hand against the back of his neck, your other hand sliding down his side, tracing the violent scars that dot his ribs. Carefully, you slide his boxers down his thighs. Your touch is soft against him, your body already welcoming to him, and he slides into you with a quiet groan. 

It’s not like making love with Steven, who was sillier and goofier than Marc would ever be. 

It’s different to how Marc normally fucks you, when the mood strikes him to give it to you slow. 

This time, it's sweet, it's like the smoky burn of incense, like the homecoming he’d been waiting for for years. Marc kisses you softly, groans into your mouth when he was normally quiet aside to talk to you, demand things from you. 

You tighten your legs around him, encourage him to move slower, push deeper. 

“Fuck,” he whispers against the delicate skin of your neck. 

Sweat beads on his forehead, the glow of him against you like the sun. When you push the curls back from his forehead to look into his eyes, you catch something vulnerable in your heart, like the knife of everything Marc was storming into you. 

“Fuck,” he murmurs again. 

He ducks his head to kiss a path along your throat, where earlier his palm had circled the flesh. 

You drag your nails along his back, rub a hand through his hair, rock the cradle of your hips along with his. 

Marc reaches for one of your hands, kisses your fingers before guiding your hand to your cunt, “Sorry baby, I’m not gonna last. Need you to touch yourself for me.” 

You’re only a little bit shocked, but you tip his chin up to kiss him. Marc normally had a stamina that could win awards. 

Not now, it seemed. Not when you had given him permission to be slow and gentle and soft. 

Your breath is squeezed from your lungs, the heavy drag of him inside you almost enough to make you come. 

Marc doesn’t let you breathe, his mouth an insistent press against yours until you pull away with a gasp and you hear the sound of a quiet laugh against your throat, teeth digging into your jaw. 

You come unexpectedly, hips jerking up to meet him as Marc gives a harder thrust, looping an arm beneath one of your knees to open you up more, to slide that much deeper. 

The spot he hits within you makes your toes curl, makes it hard to catch a breath. 

“I can destroy you like this too, huh?” Marc asks, grinding against you, hips swirling as you groan from the breathless pleasure darting up your spine. 

“Don’t ruin this, Spector,” you huff, nipping at his jaw, only laughing a little. 

“Keep touching yourself. I didn’t say to stop,” he answers. 

Your eyes roll back when his tongue curls against the hollow of your throat. “I want you to come again,” his voice is a husky rasp in your ear.  

You’re still wearing Marc’s shirt, but when he releases your leg to palm your breasts through the fabric, you regret ever letting him partially dress you. 

“C’mon, baby,” he murmurs, “You’re so tense. Come for me again, hm? Come for me.” When he pinches your nipple and rolls it between his fingers, you do. White hot pleasure courses up your spine, makes your mind go blank. “Fuck, are you coming?”

“Yes,” you moan, “I’m coming for you.” 

“For me,” he repeats. “For me.”

“Marc,” you whisper, pleasure making your vision go fuzzy, your exhausted body trembling. “Marc, I love you.” 

His hand goes to your ass, angles your hips, before he thrusts so deep you see stars and he spills inside you.

You make sure to wrap your arms around his head, tightening your grip until he wiggles. “Can’t breathe, baby.” But you don’t want him to go anywhere, you don’t want the idea to even occur to him. 

You loosen your grip but say, “Don’t leave.” 

Marc’s jaw tightens, “Sorry about that.” 

“S’ok. Just don’t go.” 

“Not going anywhere tonight, honey.” 

You nod, nuzzling your nose against his cheek when Marc takes your hand and brings it to his mouth, kissing your fingers and wrist, your forearm, the crease of your elbow. 

“Stop that,” you grouse, a giggle at the tip of your tongue.

“I’m obsessed with you. I can’t.” 

You do laugh then, and he rolls you onto your side. He slips free from you and you feel the emptiness immediately, but then Marc is kissing you again, insistent and demanding, and it's forgotten. His fingers dance up the column of your spine, tracing the delicate vertebrae of bone with soft fingers. 

“Fuck, you’re so good,” he whispers. It's so rare to see him without that stoic facade, the burned in self-hatred, that your heart gives a painful thump. 

You kiss his sweaty brow and think to remind him of something. “You’re so good, Marc. You deserve good things. You deserve kindness.” 

He doesn’t answer and you know he’s fighting down that automatic response, so ingrained into him it was almost a part of his DNA. 

“I deserve it,” he murmurs eventually and you figure it's as close as you’ll get to agreement. 

Marc lets you hold him, and he doesn’t try to move once.