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clatoera · 4 months

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Picket Fence is Sharp as Knives: Chapter 1 At Dinner Parties, I Call You Out (ARWBFB sequel)

Heeey besties. We're back. We're back. Thus begins the sequel to Always Remember We're Burned for Better. Fucking wild right.

So. This is chapter one of the sequel. The title of the sequel comes from High Infidelity, not because they're experiencing that, but because I liked the line being about picket fences. This fic is structured much different than ARWBFB. It's going to be more vignette day in the life style fics. It's not high intensity. It's not high drama. ARWBFB has all of that. This is the life after the war and that is this.

This concept of this fucking chicken...this is entirely what I wanted to write the sequel for. The mental imagery of spatchcocking a chicken. I'm not lying as you are about to see.

Thats what this whole sequel is to be. Just..moments of life. Fun moments of life. You are welcome to send requests. I will do my best to honor and address them.

So yeah! Fic title from High Infidelity (t swift)

Chapter title from gold rush (t swift).

AO3 Link

masterpost

So! Yeah!

Here we go again. Thank you all for being here and rejoining me.

Life moves blessedly slow in a world without the Hunger Games.

A life without training to run, a life without interviews to attend. A life with morning runs as a leisure and not a warm up, a life with meals with seasoning and flavor, a life with friends a forty minute train ride away.

It is a peaceful life, albeit somewhat boring for two twenty something kids who spent their life learning to kill.

It is unbelievably peaceful, actually.

Cato and Clove sit nearly on top of each other on their living room couch, her little legs tucked in his lap, her feet in his hands. Their luggage sits unpacked by the door from a ten day trip to District Four, having been discarded immediately upon their return in long awaited exchange for their own cool bed sheets on their sun warmed skin. If you ask Cato the best part of the trip, he will tell you it was watching more freckles appear on the skin of his wife every passing day. If you ask Clove she will tell you it was watching Cato’s hair lighten and his skin take on that golden hue she hadn’t seen since he won his games what seemed like a lifetime ago.

They don’t need to talk, not when she’s lounging in his lap like this, reading aloud the new curriculum designs Enobaria had dropped off for their input. It was more difficult than any of them had anticipated, adapting their training plans to regular recreation activities. Every once in a while Cato gives a hum of approval or digs his thumb into the arch of her foot in a way that makes her lose her place in a sentence.

“Do you think they’ll let us come teach?” Cato wonders out loud, before kicking his own feet up and pushing his side of the couch back in a reclining position. “Feels like it could be fun, it’s something to do..”

“I think after reading this shit they better let us do whatever we want, I don’t even think i’m pronouncing the word Calisthenics right.” Clove latches her knees over his thighs and pulls herself closer, the warm thrum of his hand on her knee keeping in cadence with her reading. She writes something in the margins of the paper that Cato cannot see, but it’s almost certainly something about the meaning of a word that she will look up later to save herself the embarrassment of asking Enobaria. “Do you think they’re going to keep teaching kids to read after they turn twelve? I feel like thats a skill we should prioritize.”

“I’m not even sure I learned to read well enough before them.”

A frantic rapping at the door interrupts their commentary, and they share a suspicious look though neither move from their position intertwined on the couch.

“Who knocks?” Cato raises an eyebrow, his hand stilling from where it strokes at her knee. “Doesn’t half the country have a key to our house?”

“We really should change those locks.” Clove muses lightly, making no move to answer the door or even see who it was. Cato had a point. Whoever it was..either they’d let themselves in or they’d leave.

“What, tired of Enobaria letting herself in for breakfast?” Cato taunts, but there's no real malice there. If the worst that happened to them for the rest of their lives were their family members inviting themselves over at eight in the morning then they are better off than they were with all the victor glory in the world.

“I just want to know when I became responsible for feeding the world,”

As if on cue the front door creaks open, and shuts incredibly softly within the same second. There is only one person, one frame, that could slip in like a ghost and as silent as a wisp.

They hear her soft voice and the ruffling of what sounds like bags before they see her.

“Clove? Clove I need help.” Glimmer turns the corner from the entryway, two large white canvas totes on her arm. Whatever panic she was in pauses as she sees them for the first time in nearly two weeks, as if they were separated across a war torn nation again. “It’s been so long since i’ve seen you- oh! Don’t you two just look so cute and in love.” She raises a hand to her cheek dramatically, pursing her lips out in a plush. “How was the honeymoon?”

“So long? We got married twelve days ago, and it was you who disappeared without a goodbye-“‘Cato starts to debate, but a firm kick to his thigh shuts him up. “I mean, it was great, Glimmer.”

“I was going to ask if you even enjoyed the beach but from the looks of it you did go outside!! I’m very proud.” The woman sits herself down on the other side of Clove, still holding a canvas bag on each shoulder. “I’m still just so happy for you!”

“I’m assuming you did not bring gifts?” Clove closes the portfolio of ideas, placing it on the arm of the couch on the other side of Cato. “The wedding’s over, what kind of emergency could you possibly be having now? The dresses fit, they were perfect, what do you need help with, Glim?”

Glimmer lets out a sigh of clear distress, finally letting the bags fall to the floor and relieving her shoulders of the weight. “I may have overcommitted.” She begins, and the repetitive way she starts to twist at her fingers betrays the anxiety that’s been building. “My mom used to make this chicken when I was little. She didn't make it a lot, but it was for special days. It was just so warm and comforting, Clove. And for the last few days it has been all I have wanted. It keeps me up at night. I think about it all day and I want it so bad and I don’t have a mom to make it so I told Cash and Gloss to come to dinner because I was going to try and I did try and it was terrible and pink and Marvel definitely hated it but lied not to hurt my feelings and I don’t want to kill my brother and my sister and my- Marvel, and I really really want this chicken I don’t even like Chicken with bones but it’s all I want and-“ Glimmer ceases her ramble to takes a deep breath and squeezes her eyes shut, willing away the tears she is on the verge of releasing over this chicken she desperately craves. It isn’t even that remarkable- she just wants the comfort that her mother cannot give her. “And long story short they’ll be here in two hours for dinner.”

Clove sits up far straighter than her lounging position in Cato’s lap, and his chuckle in the background would have earned him a glare had it not been for the shock filling Clove’s face. In fact, Clove is sure if she had not literally returned from vacation last night, she would have choked her.

“You invited your family to dinner at my house. That I have to make?”

“Well…Cash was bringing Enobaria! So! I told her to invite Brutus too!” Glimmer buries her head in the heel of her hands, physically forcing the tears back into her head. “I’m sorry! I just want this so bad and I almost killed Marvel with it earlier, and I’m lonely, and all I want is this chicken.”

Cato and Clove share what can only be described as a what the fuck look, and Cato puts his hands up in defeat. There had been an unspoken agreement amongst all of them, that knowing Glimmer’s precarious history with food, that they’d never tell her no if she wanted something to eat. This, unfortunately, fell into that category.

Of course there was the question of are we actually crying over chicken or is this something bigger, but that was simply not something they were willing to address right now.

“….as long as Brutus doesn’t bring those fucking dogs.” Cato concedes, and can’t help but shiver in distaste. Something about those three giant puppies made him feel incredibly unsettled, despite the significant size advantages he had on the literal dogs. “I sure as hell won’t complain about anything you make.”

Clove shoots him a look of disbelief, eyes wide and eyebrows raised, as he merely shrugs. “You should make those really good potatoes with it too, Clovey. ”

Glimmer look’s up with glistening eyes, and nods enthusiastically. “I promised there’d be salad too.”

“Am I your personal chef, Glimmer?” Clove mumbles, but pushes herself from Cato’s lap to a standing position. “I need to start now. If you only gave me two hours, come on, you’re helping.”

“But I can’t cook!” Glimmer tries, but Clove is grabbing her by the wrists and pulling her along regardless.

“You’re going to learn SOMETHING today.”

Clove drags Glimmer, who shuffles her feet in hesitation, all the way to her kitchen island before beginning to dig around her kitchen drawers. “I’ve seen Cato eat an entire chicken for breakfast when we were younger, you better have at least two between him, marvel, and Enobaria.”

She’s fluttering around the kitchen, sliding a cutting board in front of Glimmer along with an impeccably sharpened chef's knife. Directly beside Glimmer she places one for herself, but instead pulls out something that not long ago Glimmer would have seen her throwing at a target in the capitol training center before their conjoined games. She must make a face at the realization, because Clove’s soft laugh grounds her back in reality.”

“It makes me feel like I'm still doing something cool.” Clove explains, running her finger over the sharp edge of the knife. “Not much use for them other than this, anymore.”

Glimmer shakes her head rapidly, eyes wide as Clove pulls the two little chickens out and plops them directly in the large, steel sink behind them. “This is so cool, Clove. So cool.”

“What? Cooking? It’s a basic survival skill when you’re seven and no one likes you, Glimmer.” Clove comments, before bringing the cleaned chicken over to Glimmer. “Okay. You’re going to learn how to do this, today. What’s your mother put on them?”

“...I don’t know. It was just good.” Glimmer shrugs, and takes the most minute step back away from the raw bird carcass, hands flush against her abdomen so she doesn’t have to touch it by accident.

“What the hell do you mean that you don’t know, I can’t just magically recreate it? Didn’t you want it specifically?” Clove whips her head to look at Glimmer in sheer disbelief, taking the opportunity to pull her long hair to the center of her head, securing it back and out of the way of her work before reaching out and flicking the ends of Glimmer’s ever increasing long blonde hair. “I’d pull this back, unless you want raw meat fluid in your hair.”

Glimmer gags. Audibly gags. So loud in fact that Cato peaks into the Kitchen with a bewildered, but smug expression before he pulls a chair over to the island across from them. “I have to watch this.”

“God you’re such a dick.” Glimmer mumbles, but composes herself in time to loosely tie her hair at the nape of her neck. “I’m fine, I’m fine, let's just..do this.”

“You’re the one who wanted it.” Clove rolls her eyes, but hands Glimmer a pair of kitchen shears. “Okay. Pull out the insides, and then you’re going to cut out the spine. It cooks faster that way.”

What little color Glimmer had in her face drains immediately, leaving her a sickly shade of translucent white. She drops the scissors instantly, and braces herself on the marble countertop. “T-the insides? We’re going to cut out the what?”

Clove tries, oh she tries, to hide the amused smirk dancing along the corners of her lips, and notices Cato does not even bother to hide his own laugh. “Yes the insides, there's a bag of organs in there– Glimmer didn’t you say you already tried this? What did you even do?”

“I just..I unwrapped it and put it in the oven for a while, I don’t know!” Glimmer defends, but anxiously wrings at her hands. “They don’t come with directions.”

“Damn, I get it now, I wouldn’t want to stick around if I were Marvel either-” Cato starts, but the look Clove throws his way is as sharp as the knives she once did. “I mean..totally understandable mistake…you know what, I value my life and I enjoy being married so I'm going back to the couch if you need me.”

“Smart move.” Clove remarks, shaking her head as he walks away. “Smart fucking move.”

“I don’t think I can do this.” Glimmer decides, pushing herself away from the cutting board and the knives. “These look like babies.”

“They’re featherless, dead, headless chickens, Glimmer.” Clove reminds her firmly, grabbing her by the wrist and pulling her in again. “They aren’t babies.”

“They look like the size of new babies. I can't cut them up.” Glimmer insists, pulling away until her back hits the countertop behind her. “I can’t.”

“Glimmer! YOU have killed people’s babies, now get over here and cut out the spine of this fucking chicken.” Clove snaps, grabbing the pair of scissors. “It’s going to make it cook evenly and faster and it’s called spatch-cocking–”

“You’re doing what to a chicken?” Comes from the living room, the disembodied laugh of Cato following behind. “Say that word again!”

“I married a fucking child.” Clove murmurs, and once again drags Glimmer closer. “Just wait until you have to put butter under the skin.”

“Oh my fucking god.” Glimmer whines, but stands dutifully beside Clove. She does not reach for the scissors, as she isn’t sure she’s capable of steadily holding anything in this immediate moment. “I just feel so so sick.”

When Clove digs a knife through the back of one of the chickens, the grinding sound of ribs and bones separating from the spine push Glimmer over the edge. “I think I need to lay down.”

“Wait, listen to this. Cato always wants to do this part but it’s my favorite.” Clove climbs on top of the counter, and flips the raw chicken over. She kneels over the cutting board, and puts both her hands on top of the chicken. Quickly and efficiently she presses her weight forward, and the sound of ribs shattering and cracking echoes through the kitchen.

Glimmer hits the floor within seconds.

“Oh for fucks sake…Cato! Glimmer’s down.” Clove hops off the countertop, and steps over her friend. She switches the cutting board to work on Glimmer’s untouched task. She doesn’t bother to move Glimmer as she begins to work on that one as well, cutting through skin and tissue as if for a moment she is back in the games.

“Hey that's the best part,” Cato pouts as he appears behind Clove, leaning down to kiss her cheek briefly, before leaning down to scoop Glimmer’s unconscious body into his arms. “What do you want me to do with her?”

“I dunno. Put her in one of the extra rooms.” Clove shrugs, but cocks her head as she looks at Glimmer’s uncharacteristically pale skin. “She seems sick, Cato.”

“What’s new?” Cato grumbles, but does as he is instructed to carry their friend out of the warzone that is Clove’s kitchen.

Marvel arrives within the hour.

He lets himself in directly through the back kitchen door, a goofy, warm smile on his face. “There’s my favorite ex-bride, how was your little trip!” He announces himself, setting various bottles of wine and other alcohol on the island as a peace offering for Glimmer’s otherwise frantic arrival. “I burn if I even think about the beach too long, but it sounds fun.” He glances around the kitchen, where various arrays of trays full of food cooling or waiting to go in the oven are spread. “Where’s Glim?”

“That's a great segway. I think I should be asking you about your last two weeks.” Clove teases, narrowing her eyes at the man. “Are you two like..back together? Are you just fucking, what’s going on over there?”

“Great question Clove, great question. Things are good, really, they’re great. I’ve been staying there for like two weeks but I don’t know, Clove. I don’t know how I'd explain it.” He reaches for one of the still sizzling roasted potatoes, but drops it both from the burn on his fingertips and the sharp whack on the back of fingers with Clove’s rubber spatula. “I’m just taste testing! Seriously, where is she?”

“I cut the spine out and she passed out. The whole thing really freaked her out, I don’t know. She’s upstairs sleeping.” Clove waves off, focused instead on the slicing and peeling of pomegranate for the salad in front of her. “I thought she said she tried to do it herself.”

“Clove. She did. I threw up for forty five minutes after she left, it was raw. And cold. All she talked about for three days was this chicken, I couldn’t just say no.” Marvel admits with a low whisper, as if the sound would travel all the way upstairs and wake her up with fresh betrayal.

“Look who it is! I think we need to start calling you loverboy.” Cato surprises Marvel, grabbing him by the top of the shoulders and squeezing. He leans in from behind him and whispers “I have videos of you drunk, crying over her, at eight in the morning. I will never delete them.”

“It was an emotional day, Cato.” He defends himself, but can’t help the silly little smile that he cannot wipe away from his face. “I was just feeling the love.”

“You were feeling something alright, and that something is five-seven and blonde-”

“Okaaay, who wants a drink.” Marvel jumps up from the island chair, scurrying over to let himself into the cabinet that contains all the various glassware. “Glimmer made this cranberry thing the other day that was so good, well.. I thought it was good. It made her do that gaggy thing.”

Clove slowly turns her head to watch him shuffle around the kitchen, narrowing her eyes at him. “Do we need to be concerned that everything is making her do that, because the chicken did too. Is this some new ploy to not eat?”

“Nah, she wants to try things, maybe she’s just getting sick. She’s the one who wanted this dinner so badly.” Marvel insists, stealing a handful of Clove’s pomegranate seeds to sprinkle in the coup glasses. “I guess if she’s sick we’re all going to get it so. Enjoy it before it hits us.” He slides a glass in Clove’s general direction, before sliding a matching one to Cato.

It’s Clove’s turn to choke, when the burn of the liquid hits her tongue. “Uh yeah, Marvel, this is straight up vodka.”

Cato seems unphased, and instead takes the entire thing like a shot. “I don’t think it’s half bad.”

“Ah. Right. I’m supposed to add the juice to it. Sorry!” Marvel helps himself to the refrigerator, searching for whatever he simply assumes Clove will have on hand. On his way past a tray of croutons, he nabs a handful to shove in his mouth before he continues speaking. “I was thinking, you could use the leftover chicken to make chicken soup, that could be REALLY good.” Marvel suggests, words barely comprehensible around the crunch of toasted bread.

The look Clove responds with is a blend of disdain, disgust, and amusement as the blade of her knife does not stop rocking to slice through the salad vegetables in front of her, a skill to cut and look away from training days past. “...do I look like your mother, Marvel?”

“Well, no, my mother’s dead and you’re not.” Marvel says so easily, so casually, it’s almost possible to ignore the ache in his voice,

Clove can’t help but drop her knife, bringing her head to rest in her hands as her shoulders shake with laughter, “Hey, so is mine!”

Joining in with borderline giggles, Cato adds; “Hey, Clove, tell Marvel what you had to do to the chicken.”

“...I cut out the spine and broke the ribs?” Clove plays with an innocent intonation in her voice, knowing full well what Cato’s trying to get her to say again. “What’s so funny about that?”

“Noooo, Clove say it. Say the word.” Cato pleads, sticking his bottom lip out in a little pout. “Say it.”

Clove audibly sighs as she rolls her eyes, but gently places her hands on the counter, and looks to Cato with a serious expression. Without flinching, smirking, or letting her expression betray her, Clove looks him dead in the eye as she says, “it’s called spatchcocking.”

Cato and Marvel both erupt into childish laughter, Marvel even more so than Cato, as he has to place the glass in his hand back down so he doesn't drop it. Marvel continues to laugh, nearly bent in half with his forehead resting on the countertop as his entire body shakes with his laughter. “Say it again, say it again.” Marvel begs, resting his face on the cool marble countertops.

“You’re also a fucking child.” Clove reminds, going back to her task at hand of trying to rapidly finish dinner before the rest of their friends (family?) arrives. “Leave my kitchen. Both of you.”

“But Clovey-” Cato starts, reaching to wrap his arms around her waist before she slaps his hands away.

“Out.”

Marvel wipes the tears out of his eyes as he grabs one of his wine bottles and heads towards any room but this. “Hey, do you have any wedding cake left I didn’t get to have any-”

“Out.”

By the point Glimmer is awake, she remains curled up on the couch looking rather green.

“Glimmer do you want to come try the chicken, see if it’s how you like it?” Clove offers, holding out a tiny plate to her.

As soon as Glimmer reaches for it, the smell hits her and leaves her maybe even more nauseous than before. She gags before she can even skewer it with a fork, and Clove walks away with fury all over her face.

The audacity to come all this way, beg for dinner, and then outright gag at it.

Fuck you, Glimmer.

All four of their older counterparts arrive at once, exactly on time, as if they were waiting across the street for the clock to strike dinnertime.

“At least you didn’t bring the dogs.” Cato greets Brutus, who otherwise would in fact be tormenting him with three pitbulls running through his yard.

“Clove won’t let them around the food. I had to prioritize.”

Gloss follows close behind, and immediately is confused by the way Glimmer is curled up on the couch rather than playing her favorite role of hostess (even at someone else's house.)

“She had the audacity to gag at my chicken. She better get used to fending for herself. What a bitch.” Clove explains, standing to the side as Cashmere leads Enobaria in by her hand.

“She’s not herself, Clove, don’t take it out on her. She tried to cook. You know something’s up with her.” Cashmere gently reminds her, tugging in Enobaria behind her.

“Cooking is Clove’s love language these days, Glimmer just broke her heart.” Enobaria teases, but pulls out a bottle of the good District One wine to have with Dinner. “I knew there was no way in hell we were eating in one.”

“I thought you were in One this weekend at Cashmere’s?”

“Oh, yeah. Whenever Glimmer said dinner at six everyone came to two. We’ve been patiently waiting by the door.” Enobaria explains, looping her arm over Clove’s shoulders. “Look at you. A little housewife making family dinner.”

“Do NOT call me that-” Clove warns, but any further commentary is interrupted by Marvel, who runs into the living room with that stupid, goofy grin on his face.

“Clove! Tell everyone what you did to the chicken!”

#arwbfb tag #clato #cato and clove #clato fanfic #the hunger games #clove kentwell #cato hadley #hunger games #hunger games fanfiction #hunger games fanfic #marvel and glimmer #marvel tag #glimmer tag #cash and enobaria #the careers thg #the careers tag

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smurphyse · 1 year

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Breakfast with the Enemy | Dark!Bucky Barnes

Smurph's Masterlist | Series Masterlist | Previous Chapter | Next Chapter

Chapter 3 of Lesser of Two Evils

Warnings: domestic violence, fear, hair pulling, choking, vomiting, forced fingering, humiliation, graphic depictions of violence

Summary: You and James have an awkward late breakfast together. Later, cuddling on the couch turns into something darker

Note: This is a dubcon/noncon fic! Heavy violent content and smut will be prevalent. Read at your own risk and mind the warnings at the beginning of each chapter.

Bucky didn't sleep. Her twitching and whines kept him up all night, and his aching cock didn't help.

She was so small and damaged, and all he wanted was to flip her over and pound her into the mattress until she couldn't move or speak, but he knew he needed to savor it. He wondered idly if she'd cry the whole time, and all it did was soak the sheet in precum.

She was covered in bruises, and the ones on her thighs intrigued him the most. He knew she'd been with Loki for at least a year, and with how relentless his abuse of her seemed, he wondered if she got them from fighting back.

Had she closed her legs desperately to stop him? Or was it a byproduct of his own viciousness in bed? She had no idea, but the more Bucky learned about their sex life the more he'd know about the man.

She still had fire, so he hadn't broken her completely. She was petrified of going back, so he was brutal enough for her to sneak out in the dead of night just to avoid his wrath.

He gazed down at her troubled face, grimacing even in her sleep. How had she gotten out without him noticing? Steve said everything was still quiet at the compound last he heard, so she was smart enough to disappear into the darkness undetected.

He'd have to watch out for that.

The battle between the HYDRAs and the Norns was decades long, starting when Loki and Bucky were just kids. They'd played together as children, their fathers close and their mothers good friends. When the war began, Bucky and Loki wanted nothing to do with it.

But Bucky could still see him, in his mind's eye, standing over his father's body in that warehouse in Brooklyn…hands stained red as Jimmy Barnes bled out on a dirty floor. The look in Loki's eyes when he spotted Bucky… it changed the way he saw his friend forever.

He became his enemy. The one he'd do anything to make suffer slowly and painfully, wailing for relief.

The key to Bucky's revenge lay next to him now, half naked and vulnerable. Lost and alone, a lamb ready for sacrificial slaughter.

"Little girl," he murmured into her hair. He pulled down the covers enough to expose her legs, one draped over his middle.

Smoothing his hand up her thigh, Bucky palmed her ample ass and squeezed. She was rail thin from lack of good sleep and food, but he saw the potential of what she could be. She just needed to feel safe.

His cock was trapped under her thigh, and while all he wanted was to force her on it until he was satiated, Bucky ran his hand up and down her leg and whispered to her again. He couldn't break her too quickly.

"Time to wake up."

She grumbled a bit as she stirred, clutching him tighter and burying her face in his armpit, "Sleep, please."

Bucky scoffed, smiling as he shook his head. Resting his hand on her shoulder, he shook her lightly, "Wake up, doll."

She peeled her eyes open slowly, blinking as her gaze focused on him smiling down at her. Panic enveloped her as she scrambled to get away, but he gripped her shoulders and hoisted her upright. She went stock still, gulping loudly and staring at him wide eyed.

Bucky brushed back her hair as she began to tremble, her little chin wobbling, "You hungry?"

She hesitated, watching him suspiciously before saying in a small voice, "I can make you breakfast Mr. Barnes."

“That's not what I asked."

Her brows furrowed, and she shook her head, "I'm okay."

He squeezed her shoulders, and she flinched and tried to curl inward, "Are. You. Hungry?"

Her belly growled loudly and she slapped a hand over it and winced, "Yes, sir."

Looping his hands under her armpits, Bucky lifted her and set her on his hip. He kissed the side of her head and said gently as he carried her out of the room, "Good girl. That wasn’t so hard, was it?"

There was no mistaking the blush that plumed across her cheeks at the praise, and he wondered how long it had been since she'd gotten any. Loki was manipulative, but maybe since she was locked away in his house all this time he'd dropped the guise and just tortured her.

While the first floor of Bucky’s building was a garage, the second was a gym and training center, everything made exactly to his specifications. The penthouse was actually the third and fourth floors combined, as Bucky had done extensive remodeling when he bought the place. All open concept, with one of the best views of NYC a guy could ask for.

Two bedrooms, his office, the kitchen and living room were all on the third floor, a series of stairs leading up to the shelf lined walls that were the fourth floor library. A voracious reader, Bucky had taken after his father and purchased as many as he could get his hands on, new and old. There were a few places to sit and read up there, but Bucky mostly used it as a place to snag a book before plopping on the couch in the center of the floor.

“Wow,” she breathed as he took her through the living room and to the kitchen. She clung to him like a child as she turned in his arms to see as much as she could. “Your home is beautiful, Mr. Barnes.”

Bucky patted her backside in thanks, keeping her on his hip as he pulled out a few pans and some ingredients for French toast. Realizing he couldn’t make breakfast with her perched on him, Bucky set her on the counter and started cracking eggs into a mixing bowl. She pulled at her fingers as he went about his morning routine, watching him with big watery eyes.

When Bucky went to put a piece of bread in the preheated pan, she let out a little gasp and moved as if to reach for him, but quickly pulled back. He cocked his brow at her, “What?”

She gulped and chewed a bit on the inside of her cheek, “I don’t want you to think I’m telling you what to do…”

He waved his spatula at her, “Tell me.”

Letting out a little sigh, she tugged on her fingers again, “You have to put some butter down or it’ll stick to the pan. It’ll burn.”

“It always burns.”

She nodded, averting her gaze as she submitted. Her scrawny legs dangled over the edge of the counter as her whole body seemed to clench, ready for him to lash out for questioning him.

After eyeing her for a moment, Bucky went back to the fridge and grabbed a tub of Country Crock, dug a knife in and plopped some butter into the pan. She pointed at it cautiously, “A little more.”

“You know butter is bad for you, right?”

“Better than Crisco,” she shrugged. “You’re carbing up for your workout, right? It’ll help.”

“And how did you know that, little girl?” he asked playfully, but she just frowned and waved a hand toward his chest.

“Look at you.”

He chuckled at the red spattered across her cheeks, but he did what she suggested and put a little more butter in the pan. She sat quietly as he cooked, only speaking when spoken to and chewing anxiously on her lip. Bucky let her be, tiring quickly of her trembling when all he was doing was making her food.

He piled the french toast high on a plate, grabbed a few extras and took them over to the bar peninsula at the end of the counter. He felt her eyes on him as he moved around, watching his every step. When he went back to the kitchen and approached, she spread her legs on instinct and opened her arms for him to pick her up. It made him grin as he set her on his hip, she was learning so fast and he hadn’t even had her for a day.

He set her down gently in a chair and went back for two coffee mugs and the pot. He set the carafe down on a trivet and settled into the stool next to her. “Do you take sugar or milk?”

She bit her lip and looked down at her lap, “I’m not allowed to have coffee.” Bucky frowned and shot her a look, but she refused to look his way. “Why can’t you have coffee?”

“Loki says it makes me… insufferable,” she mumbled so pathetically Bucky wanted to laugh. “And he doesn’t like the taste on me.”

Bucky pushed the mug closer to her and pointed at it, “Take a drink.”

She eyed him like he was trying to trick her, but she obeyed. Her hand shook as she lifted the mug, and impatiently Bucky cupped it for her and held it to her lips so it didn’t spill everywhere. She took a small sip and grimaced, but he held it until she took a larger one, only pulling away when she began to cough.

As he set it down she wiped her mouth delicately with the back of her hand, her eyes watering, “It’s… strong.”

“It’s coffee, doll, it’s supposed to wake you up,” he chuckled and she spared him a small smile in return. “How’s it gonna do that without a little kick?”

“Good point,” she murmured, looking back at her hands again.

Bucky really couldn’t help himself, not when she was so afraid and wracked with nerves. Trailing his fingers up her arm, she caught his eye just before he wrapped them around her throat. Her gasp caught mid breath as he pulled her close, his nose nuzzling close to hers.

Tears welled as she went stiff, expecting him to hurt her but for now he had no plans to. Instead, Bucky pressed his lips to hers like he had last night. She didn’t stay frozen for as long this time, and when he kissed her again she relaxed under his firm grip. When his tongue snaked in her mouth, groaning as he tasted the coffee on her lips, she went limp and glassy-eyed.

She tasted sweet like honey, the bitterness of the carmelized dark roast blending like heaven in the soft expanse of her mouth. His mind went wild thinking about how she’d feel wrapped around his dick, and too soon he had to pull away. Patience, Barnes, patience.

She nearly fell off the stool she leaned so hard into his hand. Bucky gave her one last peck and sat her upright, then moved his hand to rest on the back of her neck, “I like the way it tastes on you.”

“Wh-oh,” she stammered as she struggled to catch her breath.

Bucky picked up a fork and speared a piece of toast, depositing it on her plate. She stared at it stupidly so he gave her a soft squeeze, “Eat.”

After twenty agonizing long minutes, she finished a piece and a half, eventually holding her little belly as it settled. Bucky himself had eight pieces, watching her peck her way through her own like a little bird.

"You finished?" he asked softly, and she nodded so he took what was left of her piece and shoved it in his mouth.

Without prompting, she took his plate and hers and took it to the sink. Bucky watched with idle curiosity over his mug as she washed the dishes with comfortability, like she'd lived with him for years. He let her, as it was the first time her hands had stopped shaking since he met her, scrubbing egg and butter from the pans with precision.

He waited until she was done to say, "You don't have to do that, y’know?"

She turned and shrugged, "What else am I going to do?"

Setting down his mug, Bucky stood from the stool. Her eyes went wide and she twisted to face the sink again as if it would protect her from him. He wrapped his arms around her waist and kissed her neck, delighting in her little shiver.

"I can think of a few things," he whispered hotly against her skin, kissing a few errant spots here and there.

Her body froze in place, and there was no mistaking the fearful clench of her jaw. "I meant… outside of that. You want me to be useful, right?"

"Mmm," Bucky hummed, frowning to himself. He hadn't thought about that. "We'll figure something out. If my housekeeper catches you doing her work she'll throw a fit."

"Oh," she said, her shoulders dropping as she eyed the dishes she'd washed. "I didn't realize… Loki had me clean every day."

"I'm not Loki," Bucky growled, pressing his nose threateningly to the back of her ear. He grazed his teeth along the shell, "You have other things to offer me, doll."

She turned slowly in his arms, and he pushed her against the counter just to intimidate her. It worked, the thick swallow she made as she watched him stirred something deep within him. Her eyes were wide and rimmed with tears as she whispered, "I'll do whatever you want, sir."

Bucky grinned like a fiend, "You will if you know what's good for you."

---------------

After one of the most uncomfortable breakfasts of your life, James took you by the wrist and dragged you into the living room. You were pulled off your feet as he plopped down on the couch and tugged you to his side.

You frowned in confusion when he snagged a blanket from the back of the couch and covered you both with it, letting you nestle into the crook of his shoulder. He flicked on the television and some hallmark movie played, one of those cute Christmas ones that Loki despised.

"Relax, doll," he told you, patting your backside and chuckling when you jumped.

"I thought you wanted me here to sleep with me," you said slowly, desperately trying to not enjoy his warmth.

His chest was hard beneath you, strong but comfortable where Loki was all sharp edges and biting tones. Even his prosthetic was comfortable in the way it draped over your back and held your ass in his palm. He gave you a light squeeze and rested his cheek on the top of your head.

"Oh, I'm going to fuck you," he said easily, like this whole situation wasn't fucked up. It was hard to remind yourself that he was just as dangerous as Loki when he was treating you like this. Maybe that was the point.

"Then why are you taking care of me?"

James sighed in annoyance, “You want the truth?”

You hesitated. Did you? Maybe the less you knew the better.

When you didn’t answer, James pawed at you until you sat up. Gripping your shoulders tightly, his piercing eyes bored a hole through yours as he asked, “Well? Yes or no, doll, I ain’t got all day.”

“I…” you stammered, petering off. James shook you and set his jaw, so you forced yourself to speak, “I don’t want to play mind games anymore. If you want something, just tell me and I’ll do it for you. I don’t have the energy to try to read your mind and fail every time.”

James scoffed, but a devilish smirk spread across his face, “Again, then you should have let me shoot you.”

“Shoot me now, then,” you spat through gritted teeth. That smirk turned into a toothy snarl, and within a second you were launched off the couch and held down on the expensive carpet by your throat.

The blanket tangled between you as James mounted you, throttling you viciously and ripping it away. You struggled under his grasp, kicking as much as you could but he just forced your thighs apart with his own. You couldn’t do anything but flail and cry while he squeezed you so hard your vision blurred.

“How’s this for the truth?” he hissed, shoving up your shirt and exposing you to him. His clothed groin ground against your bare cunt, hard and ready to rip you to pieces. Choking you harshly and ignoring your whines, James leaned in and growled in your ear, “I’m gonna violate every single inch of this body, little girl. You’re my toy now, you belong to me.

“And when I’ve ruined you for anyone else,” James snarled, his nose flush against yours, his breath hot and heavy. “I’m going to tell Loki exactly what I did, and he’ll know just how much you enjoyed it!”

“I won’t like it!” you screamed back, sobbing through your fear and rage. “You’re a rapist, just like him!”

James laughed cruelly, and he brought his other hand between you to cup between your legs. Without warning he shoved two fingers inside, choking you roughly and watching as you cried. Your walls stretched painfully, burning as he ground them as deep as he could, his eyes locked onto yours all the while.

He leaned in close, his lips brushing yours as the chaos suddenly came to a standstill. His fingers slipped from your pussy and he brought them up. When his eyes looked to them, you found yourself looking too.

He spread his fingers to show the slick webbing stringing between them. James turned to you and grinned, “Then why are you so wet?”

You squinted in confusion, disbelief. It couldn't be real, you weren't enjoying this! You pushed at him and he blessedly let you go, watching gleefully as you scrambled away. Tugging the shirt down to cover where he'd molested you, tears streamed down your face and your chest heaved.

James got to his knees and sat back on his heels, bringing his fingers up to suck on them. He moaned disgustingly as you watched, horrified and trembling on the carpet.

"Me or him, doll," he moaned as he pulled them from his lips with a sickening pop. "I can still get you home before he wakes up, but I shudder to think of what he'll do if you come home after that."

You rubbed your throat to ease the sting the best you could, but you knew by now that no amount of gentle massaging would take away what came next. Your stomach lurched as your head swam, and on instinct you got to your feet and bolted for the bedroom.

James was after you in a second, his heavy footfalls pounding behind you down the hallway. You feebly tried to swing the door shut as you entered the bathroom, crashing painfully to your knees as you threw up the breakfast he’d made into the toilet.

As wonderful as it tasted going down, French toast was awful coming back up. James’ panting was the only other sound in the small room as you threw up again, and he kneeled behind you and rubbed his hot hand up your back.

“I lost my temper, doll,” he murmured as you spat the rest of it out. “You upset me is all.”

You scoffed and wiped your mouth with the back of your hand, “I’ve heard that before, Mr. Barnes.”

Blinking away tears, you turned to face him, leaning against the wall and reveling in the cool tile against your body. James sunk down and sat next to you, his large thigh pressed against yours. He palmed your leg and gave you a small squeeze.

“You can call me James,” he told you, in a voice much too sweet for the way he’d been strangling you moments ago. “I plan on keeping you for a while, you may as well call me by my name.”

“You gonna keep calling me ‘doll?’”

James’ mouth twitched into a grim smile as his grip turned harsh. You gasped and tried to pull away but he wouldn’t let you, instead pinning it down on the tile floor.

“You are a doll, not a person,” he told you seriously. “Just a thing to be used so I don’t give you back to Loki.”

You glared at him through watery eyes and nodded, “Fine.”

“Fine, what?”

“I choose you, James,” you sneered, and all he did was smile wider. “I’d rather be your doll than his punching bag.”

James reached out to cup your jaw with his prosthetic hand, the cool metal warming with your body heat. His thumb brushed your bottom lip and he let it drag as he chuckled, “You don’t call what just happened making you into my punching bag?”

You laughed back bitterly, “You have no idea what that man did to me. You have no idea what I’ve let him do so I could survive.”

“You remember that, doll,” James whispered, brushing back your hair like he was your lover and not your captor. He leaned in and kissed your cheek for a moment before pulling back. “You let this happen. Whatever happens to you in this penthouse… you chose it.”

Your chin wobbled as you nodded, your fate now set in stone.

This was your fault. Just like it was when you let Loki buy you a drink so long ago… you ignored your instincts and let him make you his prisoner, and now you’ve let James do the same.

You let this happen to you… again.

“I choose you.”

Notes: Doll's playing with fire! Do you think she's made the right choice? The more Bucky learns about Loki, how do you think Doll will fare??

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