Posession (fic)
Written to fill the jealous!Bucky prompt here. And good lawd, this turned out dark. Warnings for tattooing and mentions of past abuse. >.<
Bucky was not inclined toward jealously, nor was he typically inclined toward possessiveness. With the exception of Natasha. And when he first saw those marks on her-pain that had been inflicted by someone else-both emotions arose in him in abundance. Natasha was his to mark, and he couldn’t stand the permanent evidence that someone else had been there. If Natasha hadn’t taken care of the man herself (good girl, always so good), Bucky would have done it himself.
Bucky was not inclined to torture people to death. His skewed moral compass compelled him to pick one or the other. If he was going to kill someone, he’d make it as quick as possible, and if he was going to torture someone, he’d let them live. But he would have made an exception for Ivan. He would have made sure the man experienced all the pain he’d put Tasha through before looking him in the eye while he killed him. But Petrovitch was dead, and Natasha had saved him from himself.
He sighed as he lay next to her, tracing the scars on her back. Making love was not the same, not since she got the scars. They didn’t make him love her any less, of course; they just made things harder. He knew that the only to ease his mind regarding those scars was to get rid of them. Or to give her a scar of his own.
When asked where she wanted it, she suggested her ass. He was fine with that choice. It’d probably hurt less there. With skilled hands, two words were inked into Natasha’s left buttock. Winter Soldier. When he was done cleaning her up, he pulled her into his arms, whispering soothing words and telling her how well she did. There was a weight off his chest.
Nobody would ever question who she belonged to again.
Bucky was not inclined toward jealously, nor was he typically inclined toward possessiveness. With the exception of Natasha. And when he first saw those marks on her-pain that had been inflicted by someone else-both emotions arose in him in abundance. Natasha was his to mark, and he couldn’t stand the permanent evidence that someone else had been there. If Natasha hadn’t taken care of the man herself (good girl, always so good), Bucky would have done it himself.
Bucky was not inclined to torture people to death. His skewed moral compass compelled him to pick one or the other. If he was going to kill someone, he’d make it as quick as possible, and if he was going to torture someone, he’d let them live. But he would have made an exception for Ivan. He would have made sure the man experienced all the pain he’d put Tasha through before looking him in the eye while he killed him. But Petrovitch was dead, and Natasha had saved him from himself.
He sighed as he lay next to her, tracing the scars on her back. Making love was not the same, not since she got the scars. They didn’t make him love her any less, of course; they just made things harder. He knew that the only to ease his mind regarding those scars was to get rid of them. Or to give her a scar of his own.
When asked where she wanted it, she suggested her ass. He was fine with that choice. It’d probably hurt less there. With skilled hands, two words were inked into Natasha’s left buttock. Winter Soldier. When he was done cleaning her up, he pulled her into his arms, whispering soothing words and telling her how well she did. There was a weight off his chest.
Nobody would ever question who she belonged to again.