#Blood Ties|Avengers au | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

missacidburn928s-heathenhideaway · 25 days

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One day I'll be dancing on your grave...

Summary:

Lucien “Luci” Greco, you’re piece of shit ex, has come to NY looking for you. He's the reason you had to leave everything behind in the first place. Didn't stop him from searching for you though. The long lost mafia princess. He needs you if he is ever to rightfully take over the family from your father Declan. Little does he know you're doing mercenary work for the highest bidder. He still thinks you're some wilting damsel, a spoiled little princess. Your daddy didn't raise you that way though. You've been primed to take over since birth. Too bad he beat the shit out of you so badly you had to run for your safety. Somehow, even trying to stay under the radar you've befriended the damn Avengers family. A misfit mafia if you’ve ever seen one. You’re all after the same enemy afterall. Maybe, it's time to finally let someone or several someones in, so you can live life without constantly looking over your shoulder. Question is, do you even want the crown anymore?

Warnings:

Other Additional Tags to Be Added, Angst and Fluff and Smut, Blood and Violence, Past Rape/Non-con, Past Abuse, Past Sexual Abuse, Past Relationship(s), Past Violence, Mafia Avengers, Mafia AU, Threesome - F/M/M, Vaginal Fingering, Oral Sex, Vaginal Sex, Woman on Top

Notes:

Hello Heathens! Welcome to this dark little mafia world I've created. Please be aware there are dark themes throughout this story so be sure to check the tags with each new chapter just in case there may be something that triggers you. Happy reading! Banner @cafekitsune Divider @firefly-graphics

“Well if it isn't the White Wolf and his Captain.” You deadpan as you enter your living room.

“Jinx.” Bucky speaks from his place on the couch.

“To what do I owe the displeasure of finding you in my home?”

“We came to return this.” Steve places a dagger on the coffee table. “Seems you left it behind.”

“Oh Steven. I don't ‘leave’ anything behind. Every blade has a purpose. You should know that by now. That one was left as a reminder of what happens when people underestimate me.” You start to clean the dirt from under your blood soaked hands with another dagger.

“Now if you're done posturing or whatever it is you came here to do. You can kindly show yourselves out. I have a date with my clawfoot tub, a bottle of 151 and season 2 of the Witcher to get to.”

You turn on your heels and head down the hallway towards your bedroom, undressing and leaving a trail of bloody clothes behind you along the way. You're faithful Doberman Hades on your heels. The pair of enforcers sat on your couch are fixated on the sway of your hips until your form leaves their line of sight.

Bucky runs a hand through his hair, pushing it back. “What do you want to do about this? I’ve never known her to kill just for fun. Clearly someone with deep pockets hired her to take out Sitwell. Not that I’m complaining. That Hydra piece of trash deserved it.”

“Tony is going to want answers. Answers that only she can give.” Steve shrugs.

“If she’s willing. She’s not the biggest fan of Tony.”

“Thankfully she loves Pepper. Let’s see if she’ll come to the compound with us voluntarily first.”

Arching his brow and giving Steve a sly grin. “Afraid to get your hands dirty Stevie.”

“More like I’d prefer to have her tied up in my bed than in the back of my Range Rover.”

“Don’t we all Stevie. Don’t we all?”

You’re staring at yourself in the mirror as your phone begins to vibrate along the counter. You glance down and upon seeing the name flashing across the screen you take a calming breath and answer.

“It’s done. There was no need for you to check in on me.”

“That any way for you to talk to your Da? I know it’s done. I had 100% faith in ya to finish the task. I did raise ya after all. So what if I wanted to check in on ya. You’re so damn far away now. I’m not allowed to call my daughter?” Declan proclaims.

“Da. What do you need? You never call to just check in. We don’t work that way. If you wanted to see how I was doing, you’d fly a goon of yours out and stalk me for a week before deciding if it was worth it to come out here to see me. So what is it? I can’t re kill Sitwell for you.”

“Alright. Alright. I get it." He sighs into the phone. "I have some info I feel ya need to know.”

“And that is?”

“Lucien has been gone for a week. Said he had some business to attend to out of town. I just came to find out from one of his little lackeys that said business seems to be in your neck of the woods. Be careful, petal. Keep your eyes open. He very well may be there for some reason other than to hunt you down and drag you back, but I won't risk it.”

You freeze at the mention of your toxic, waste of space, abusive ex. The reason you had to run away to NY in the first place. You swallow and test the water for your bath.

“Thanks for the heads up. I’ll stay vigilant, as always. Now leave me be so I can enjoy my post kill ritual.”

“Never one to waste words.”

“I got it from you. Night Old Man.”

“Night Petal.”

Placing your phone on the tray next to the tub you proceed to submerge yourself in the steamy water. You tilt your head back and exhale as tortured memories bring themselves to the surface.

“Sunshine” His voice is getting closer to the darkened corner you’re hiding in. “Come out, come out wherever you are.” He throws one of the dining room chairs away from the table. “Come on baby, I won’t hurt you. I promise. I didn't mean to scare you. You know how I get when I have a shit day and your dad calls attention to my fuck ups in front of everyone.”

His steps get closer and the next thing you know his hand is in your hair and he’s pulling you out into the living room. Tossing you harshly on to the coffee table. You barely get your hands out in front of you before your face can connect with the solid wood.

“You know better than to hide from me, Sunshine. For that, I’m gonna deny you the use of my tongue to open you up. Hopefully you’re wet enough cause I’ve got a lot of pent up anger that I need to get rid of. Don’t move if you know what’s good for you and take this dicking I’m so graciously giving you.”

You brace yourself as he slams himself inside you, grabbing a fistful of your hair and craning your neck back so he can wrap his other hand around it. He’s squeezing so tight you know there will be finger shaped bruises left behind.

You find yourself zoning out as you try to preserve your precious air and he continues his brutal pace. It’s the only way to get through it with your mind intact. Your body will heal. It’s the emotional trauma you're most afraid of. Before you get too lost in your head, he speeds up, hips moving erratically until he stills and you feel him empty inside you. Thank the goddess is stamina is so shitty.

“Much better.” He kisses the back of your head. “See how easy that was Sunshine. Go get yourself cleaned up so we can have dinner. I don’t feel like staying in so wear something that’ll help cover those bruises. Don’t want anyone getting the wrong idea.”

You numbly nod your head and limp off to your ensuite bathroom where you stare at the mottled mess of purple around your neck. You heave a sigh and get to work covering up his handiwork.

Hades emitting a low growl, snaps you out of your daydream when the pair of Super Soldier enforcers saunter into the ensuite to see if they can persuade you to come to the compound of your own freewill. You decide then and there to have a little fun with them first. A sort of quid pro quo if you will. You're keyed up from your kill and want to drown out the memories of your past that seem to want to flood back tonight. What better way than with some orgasms.

“Can I help you? As you can see I’m trying to relax.” You announce to the steam filled room.

“Tony would like to see you. He has some questions pertaining to your last kill.” Steve states.

“And before you give some snarky ass comment, we’re asking if you wouldn’t mind coming in with us of your own accord. Although I’m more than okay tying you up and dragging you in myself.” Bucky wiggles his eyebrows and shoots you wink.

“Okay.” You casually declare.

“What?!” The soldiers stare at each other in shock over how easy that was. Too easy.

“What’s the catch?” Steve asks.

“It’s simple, really. It’s a win/win all around. I’ll go if Bucky uses those metal fingers of his and gets me off, then lets me ride him while I suck on that golden dick of yours Captain.”

“Deal!” Bucky blurts out, making his way over to the tub as he rolls up his left shirt sleeve.

He wastes no time submerging his hand in the hot water and seeking out your folds. He lightly runs his fingers along them and up to your clit where he makes a couple light circles, eliciting a moan from you.

“Fucking soaking and it aint even from the bath water. You’ve thought about this before, haven't you Doll.”

“Wh-what can I say? The metal is sexy. Oh Fuck!” He slides two thick digits knuckle deep inside you and curls them upward. “Yes. Yes. Right there. Right fucking there Wolfie.”

Your head is thrown back in complete pleasure as you give in to the manipulation of Bucky’s metal digits. Steve is off to the side, all of his blood having run to his cock, making his pants extremely uncomfortable, watching you writhe and make the most delicious sounds.

“That’s it. Come on babygirl. I can feel how close you are. Give it to me and then you can take me for a ride. I know you want to be stuffed full.”

His words have the desired effect and your pussy squeezes down on his fingers as you detonate and ride the wave of your orgasm.

Before you fully can come down from your high, you're pulled from the water and impaled on Bucky’s thick girth as he sits on the edge of the tub. The stretch and feeling of being so full almost sets you off once again. You take a moment to let your body accommodate him.

“Thought you wanted to ride me, Doll? So ride. Before I change my mind and bend you over this tub instead.”

Your hips move of their own accord at his threat. Undulating and bouncing to a sensuous rhythm. Losing yourself in the moment.

That is until Steve strolls over and teases your lips with his precome coated tip. “Open up, Doll. Gotta make good on that deal.”

You gaze up at the Golden Adonis standing to your right and give him one sweet kitten lick before you take him down to the root. Hollowing your cheeks, you begin to bob your head along his length, sucking the life out of him. He can’t help the moans and groans slipping out of his mouth as you suck his dick like no one ever has before.

Knowing your mouth is setting the Captain's world upside down, you pick up the pace, grinding and bouncing on the dick splitting you open. You set a tempo that has the room filled with nothing but the wet sounds of skin against skin, moans and language that would make a nun blush.

Bucky has a firm grip on your hips as he pulls you down one final time and erupts inside you, triggering your own orgasm. You come screaming around Steve’s length, setting him off as well. Rope after rope of his hot white seed coats your tongue and throat as you swallow every precious drop.

Releasing him from your mouth you lick any run away drops off your lips and proceed to lift yourself off of Bucky’s lap. “Fuck that was even better than I imagined it’d be. We most certainly need to do that again. Many many times.” You grin devilishly. You are a glutton for sin after all.

You grab a washcloth, dip it into the hot bath and begin to clean up the mess Bucky left behind. Satisfied with the level of cleanliness, you turn towards the out of breath enforcers. “I’m nothing, if not a woman of my word. Grab yourselves a drink and recoup while I throw something presentable on for the big boss man. What are we riding in by the way? Will I need my leathers or are we in a cage tonight?”

“As much as I would love to see you in your leathers, straddling me on the back of my bike.” Bucky bites his lip at the image presented in his mind. “Stevie here, brought his Range. So cage it is tonight, Doll. Gonna have to save that ride for another time.”

“No problem. You’ll just have to enjoy that sight when you're watching me from behind as I sped past you on my Ducati.” You tease.

“You won't be ahead for long, sweetheart. And once I catch you, I’ll gladly bend you over it and fuck you til cant stand, let alone handle you bike and are stuck riding bitch with me.” He cockily proclaims.

“Promises. Promises.” You smugly smile back.

Steve interrupts your moment before it escalates further. “Okay. Enough you two. Although I would love to watch that transpire, we do have somewhere to be. Come on Buck, let our little murder queen get dressed. We’ll be ready when you are Jinx.”

You walk up to Steve and plant a kiss on his cheek. “Always so polite. Even after you just had your massive dick shoved down my throat. Oh you're the best kind of dangerous. I can’t wait to see you unhinged.”

With a whistle to Hades you head back into your room and your walk-in closest to throw on some clothes and be on your way to the Avengers compound.

"There's the woman of the hour. I thought you'd put up more of a fight with the Super Soldiers. Guess I was wrong this time. We were just talking about you." Tony gets up from his chair, grinning.

"We?" You question.

"He'd be talking about me." You gaze down to a blonde head of slick back hair and a voice that haunts your nightmares sitting in front of Tony.

"Jinx, I'd like you to meet…"

"Lucien Greco." You deadpan.

He stands from his seat and turns in your direction. His blue eyes scan you from top to bottom. Cocky smirk plastered on his face. "Hello Sunshine. I was hoping I'd find you here."

"No one calls me that anymore." Another emotionless response from you.

"So I've heard. Jinx. Fitting if I do say so." You barely restrain the growl that wants to emit from your chest.

"You know him?" Bucky asks.

"Yeah. He's the asshole who gave me this.” You lift your shirt and pull up the center of your bralette, showing off the jagged scar in the middle of your sternum. “Right before he left me for dead on the side of the road."

“I didn't leave ya for dead darlin’. I was always coming back. Just needed to teach ya a lesson first.” Lucien imparts.

Before he gets a chance to even take a step, you have him pinned against Tony’s desk. Your favorite dagger, precariously placed under his chin. Blade pressed so close against his throat, a deep breath would break the skin.

“Tony. Please get on with whatever it is you need to discuss with me. Every second that passes I’m one step closer to slitting his throat and that’s just too quick of a death for him in my book. So make it quick and I’ll be out of your hair.”

Tony lets out a sigh. “Unfortunately you’re going to have to deal with him for this discussion. Says he knows who hired you for the hit on Sitwell and that we’re all after the same thing. Revenge.”

“Of course he knows who would have hired me for this hit. He’s been working for him since he was a teenager. Been around him his whole life actually. He is correct about revenge though.” You state a little too calmly.

“Are you implying Declan Scott paid you for killing Sitwell?” Tony questions.

“Never said I got paid for the job.” You shrug your shoulder.

“Why didn't you get paid?” Steve utters.

With a smug little grin Lucien answers for you. “That’s an easy one, boys. He killed her mother. In fact he was the reason she went into labor. Little Sunshine here was born in blood. Taking her first breath as her mother took her last.”

“You’re extra chatty tonight Luci? It’s a pity those words just might be your last.” You look him dead in the eyes, a look of murder in yours.

“Wait. Wasn’t Declan’s wife murdered while pregnant? He has a daughter right? She’s been MIA for the last 3 years.” Bucky adds in.

“That would be, correct gentleman. Although I wouldn't classify her as MIA any longer now would I darlin’.” Lucien chuckles.

You press the dagger in a fraction harder and watch as a trickle of blood begins to slide down his neck.

“Alright. Enough with being vague. Just tell us what you're trying to say, Greco.” Steve growls out.

Smug as ever he lets them know what’s going on. “Alright. Alright. I’ll lay it all out. You’re little Jinx here, is Declan Scott’s one and only daughter. The rightful heir to the Bay Area Mafia. I’ve come to drag her back home where she belongs before Hydra makes good on their threat and ends her fathers life.”

“I’ll be going nowhere with you.” You say through gritted teeth. “You seem to have left out the part where you only want me home so you can lock me up and throw away the key. That way you can run things solo. Not happening. I’d rather bleed out in a ditch again than see you take over for my father. Whatever deal you thought you’d strike here it’s over. Your word is as good as a knife in the back. Your mouth is full of nothing but slick words and a poisonous tongue.”

“You used to love my wicked tongue Sunshine.” You press the dagger in a bit further once again. The tiny river of crimson soothing your raging emotions.

Not wanting to have to clean blood out of the carpets Tony takes charge of the tense situation. “As sexy as it is watching her hold you at knife point, I’m going to have to ask you to leave. Seems you are no longer needed for this conversation.”

He presses a button on his desk. “Happy. Would you mind escorting our guest off the premises please. Take him wherever he wants to go, as long as it’s far from here.”

“Will do, Sir.” Happy replies.

“Thanks. Now Jinx. I’m gonna need you to step back from the deadbeat ex so Happy can remove him.”

Bucky comes up behind you and places his flesh hand on your hip and his metal one around the wrist holding the dagger. He whispers in your ear so only can hear. “Let’s make him wish he never stepped foot in here thinking he could get one over on you.” He kisses along your neck as he lowers your hand away from the lowlife's, guiding it down to your thigh, where he helps you return it to its sheath.

“That’s my girl. Head on over to Tony now. Steve and I will be right behind you.” He places a final kiss on your lips and turns you toward is awaiting boss.

You walk over to Tony and he grabs your hand, kissing your knuckles. “We have a lot to discuss, little one. Seems you’ve been holding back on us.”

You laugh. “Don’t say I didn't warn you.”

#poc reader #avengers x reader #avengers smut #bucky barnes smut #bucky barnes x reader #mafia au #steve rogers x reader

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artficlly · 1 year

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the shadow (miniseries - part two)

Post Endgame Avengers AU miniseries - part two

avenger!bucky x widow!reader avenger!kate x widow!reader (platonic)

PART ONE | PART TWO | PART THREE

Reader is an ex-black widow sniper who escaped the Red Room with the help of Yelena and Natasha. After working as an illegal hired gun, Yelena recruits the reader to the team as a sniper. The reader is closed off, not wanting to form connections or friends with anyone. Though, as their shell begins to crack, they notice they have a lot in common with a certain Bucky Barnes.

Warnings: violence, death, wound descriptions, lots of blood and gore, mention of weapons, swearing, lots of angst, fluff and sinful thoughts. lmk if anything needs to be added.

Word Count: 6.5k

A/N: hi! second part to this mini-series!! i wasn't expecting so many people to enjoy it so tysm!! i've decided it's going to be three parts so one more part after this!!

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The fourth unexpected thing to happen in your life was Bucky Barnes.

The idea of connection or friendship was foreign to you. In the Red Room, any type of bond to the girls around you was punished. You heard and saw what happened to girls who bonded, forced to kill each other until one reigned victorious. Love, friendship… Those types of thoughts were weakness, a sickness that would consume you. You couldn’t complete a job if you had insecurities or family ties to be exploited. You couldn’t complete a job if empathy got in the way. That is why all Widows received a hysterectomy, to cut away any chance of pregnancy. Any chance of love for a child was stripped away, before you even had the realization that you wanted it.

You wondered if that was why Yelena was so motherly towards Kate.

When you started to feel things, emotions, connections, friendship? You had tried to shut it down. You had tried to ignore the clawing anxiety as you realized - these people, these Avengers, you felt something for them. You felt fear when they were hurt, you felt happy when they laughed, you felt pride when they succeeded.

You felt it everytime Kate received a blow in battle and got back up. You felt it every time a target pulled a gun on Sam and despite all odds he managed to talk them down. You felt it every time Yelena’s eyes would glaze over at the mention of the Red Room, memories of the pain, the torture. You felt it when Clint would talk about the years during the Blip, when he had worn his own type of mask to cover his pain.

Most of all you felt it for Bucky.

The two of you had tried denying it. You had tried to ignore the pull. Sam would often comment on how similar the two of you were, yet completely opposite at the same time. Bucky was loud, boiling rage. He was screaming nightmares, holes in the wall and absolute burning passion for those he loved. You? You were ice cold, closed off and deadly. You had stared down the Italian Mafia with just a knife and an iron will. You were vengeance, bloodthirsty and prowling like a cat in the night.

Yet you orbited around him, a frozen planet growing closer and closer by the day. Then when you collided with his sun? The entire world exploded into lights and color. And it was breathtaking and beautiful. He was so deadly and soul crushingly himself as he consumed you.

He killed to protect, to love.

You killed to survive.

You killed because you convinced yourself that you liked it.

After the mission where you face was finally exposed, things changed. Due to your concussion, Yelena had insisted that you were taken to the headquarters to be examined by a doctor. You had refused. You had said you would return to your apartment and care for yourself. If you slipped away in your sleep? Natural selection.

Yelena seemed to sense your discomfort, your unwillingness to be around people. Headquarters would have been fine if it wasn’t swarmed with hundreds of agents. Agents who knew who you were, knew your reputation. You didn’t care to meet them. Without your mask, you knew your facial leakage would show your discomfort. The fact that maybe, behind the hard, snarling exterior that you were afraid.

So, you made the next best deal. Living in Yelena and Kate’s spare room until you were deemed healthy. As much as it wasn’t ideal, it also wasn’t terrible. As much as you hated to admit it, you trusted Yelena. You liked Kate too, she could be young and annoying at times but… you felt a certain protective nature over her.

You had been foolish to think you would only have to deal with Yelena and Kate on a daily basis.

The others - Clint, Sam and Bucky - frequently visited for the short period you stayed in the apartment. At first it had been curiosity, wanting to witness you in such a domestic setting. They had only seen one side of you - the one you displayed for the public - the bloodied weapon. It almost seemed to amuse them, seeing you curled up on the sofa reading a book or enjoying a shared meal. Then, you soon realized, they hung around because they enjoyed your presence.

You had never been one for television - in the Red Room you had been raised on politics, language and underground dynamics - yet you found yourself hooked to some raunchy period drama Kate loved. Clint would always make everyone play board games after dinner, to which they soon discovered you were ruthless at Monopoly. Small, everyday things you didn’t even know about yourself. Yet they now knew them. They learnt them alongside you.

You had expected your relationship with Bucky to be similar to Yelena. You and Yelena would joke around and play rough, train together and avoid hard topics. But Bucky, he seemed to want more than just the surface. You and Yelena would always have a bond - both being Widows - that would be hard for others to understand. You knew each other's insecurities and fears because they were the same, bred and manufactured by the men who had raised you. Bucky however, he treated you like a puzzle to crack. He would inspect every piece of you, understanding how it all linked together. Then, he would put you together, examine the whole picture and know the finer details.

It started simple - your shared love for books. Bucky had always felt strange about movies (or ‘pictures’ as he liked to call them). In some ways you shared the sentiment of now feeling an allegiance or addiction to the screens that ruled the world. What you did feel connected to? Books. They had been there since the beginning of your life, always the same. Predictable. You would breathe in the scent and be instantly relaxed. It reminded you of the library in the Red Room where you would study history and politics to be well-versed for missions. A piece of safety. Home.

One of the first few times Bucky had visited with Sam, he had given you a book. He had noted how you often read and that you were running low on options. Yelena and Kate also often read, but not as much as you. Their bookshelves were limiting for your avid reading habits. So Bucky had bashfully given you a book while no one was looking.

“I thought you might like this one.” He had said, handing you a copy of Emma by Jane Austen. You didn’t have the heart to tell him you had already read it, years ago just before the Blip. Old you would’ve sneered at him, would’ve told him you didn’t want his sympathy. But the new you? The one who cooked with Kate and laughed at Yelena’s dancing? She had smiled - no - she had beamed at Bucky. And he had smiled right back.

And there it started. He would visit to give you new books, and sometimes you would give him books back in return. He would visit without Sam. Sometimes he would visit when it was no one but the two of you home. You would sit, cross-legged across from each other on the couch, knees bumping and talk for hours.

At first it was just about the books, the characters, the plot, the setting, the fantastical mystery of it all. Then, slowly, you would talk about other things. You would talk about the war, before everything, the Blip and everything in between. You would talk about history and politics, catch him up on everything he had forgotten. Thanks to the Red Room, you were a walking encyclopedia of knowledge about different countries, laws, politicians and more. You would speak about when you both escaped, how adjusting to the real world had changed you.

The one thing you never spoke about was the Red Room or HYDRA.

No, your conversations were about anything but that elephant in the room.

When you eventually left Yelena and Kate’s apartment and returned to your own, the visits continued. And sometimes you would visit him. If the others knew or noticed, they never said a thing. Though sometimes on missions, you could swear you could see them smirking at the both of you.

—

“Herd him out in the open, just in case things get messy,” You grumbled into the ear piece. Sweat had begun to pool at the back of your neck, hair stuck to your clammy skin. Moroccan summer heat was hell, especially dressed in a full black tactical suit.

Through the scope you watched Kate weaving through the crowd in the packed marketplace. Colorful banners of fabric hung low over shopkeepers, keeping them and their goods out of the direct sunlight. Through the ear piece you could hear the hustle and bustle of overlapping talking, merchants yelling out and Kate puffing for the heat. If you were hot now, you couldn’t imagine how she felt. She was dressed in civilian clothing, but underneath she wore her suit.

Kate had insisted that she wanted to do her first solo mission, much to the protest of literally everyone on the team. They had agreed to let her go, only if you came along as a sniper. Just in case things got messy. For this particular mission, her skills with a bow wouldn’t be helpful.

Kate was currently stalking a man through the market. He was armed with a suitcase and probably a lot of hidden bodyguards somewhere within the market. Some agents had caught news of an underground trade happening in Morocco. This usually wouldn’t concern you, if it weren’t for the fact that the goods being traded was super soldier serum.

Kate was going to draw him out into the open, engage and steal the suitcase. You would watch through the scope, make sure she wasn’t in hot water and then regroup at the jet. The target looked like he was completely oblivious, but you didn’t let that fool you. Instead you followed him, occasionally pivoting to check on Kate as she followed him out from the market into a semi-empty courtyard.

“I’m going in,” Kate quickly muttered into the comms, closing the distance between her and the suspect.

“Goodluck and be careful.” You replied, eyes watching as the scene played out before you.

Both you and Kate had contacts in, some special shit Stark had made but never finished. Some agents had finally finished the project a few months ago. The contacts recorded all you were seeing, sending a live feed of video back to headquarters. You knew Yelena was watching, maybe a few others too. She would be able to see not only a live feed of your position, but also the conversation unfolding down in the square between Kate and the target.

It had been several months since your concussion. The first few missions back you had kept wearing the mask, you supposed it provided a sense of safety or comfort on missions. One time you had decided not to - much to the surprise of everyone - and decided it wasn’t too bad. So, you wore the mask less and less, until you gave up completely. In the heat like this, you were secretly glad you had opted for a maskless future.

A loose strand of hair tickled your forehead and you observed the interaction before you. Kate was talking at the target, pretending to be some lost tourist. She was trying to get his guard down, make him slip up and be a little more unprepared when she snatched up his precious cargo. What Kate hadn’t noticed though was a large group of men watching the conversation. Rookie mistake, you couldn’t blame her.

Swiveling the scope, you inspect the men closer. They were burly, dressed in civilian clothing… but armed. You could see the bulge of concealed weapons underneath clothes.

“Kate, there's some men eyeing you up. Might be backup. Better move fast.” You speak into the ear piece. Kate stutters over her words slightly, the voice in her ear confusing her script. Through the scope, you can see the man’s eyebrows furrow.

Then, Kate leaps forward. But something must have tipped the man off, or maybe he’s just not as oblivious as he seems. She goes to yank the suitcase from his hands but fails, stumbling into him as he pulls the case closer to himself. They tussle for a moment, the burly men who had been watching beginning to close in. You keep your scope trained on the target, trying to get a clear shot. But you can’t. Past you would’ve made the shot, but you can’t fathom the idea of accidentally shooting Kate.

Dread pools in your stomach as the man pries the case from Kate’s hands, smacking her across the head with it. She goes down - hard. A piercing ringing shrieks through your ear-piece as Kate’s is shattered. Then silence. You watch in horror through the scope as Kate tries to fight back. There are too many of them, too many. They swarm her and you lose sight. They begin dragging her from the courtyard to a building near the market.

Your hand flies to your ear piece, clicking a button which dials back to headquarters.

“Lena?” You ask, already beginning to pack up your rifle.

“Yeah?” Yelena replies. She sounds casual, surprised that you’re even calling her. Was she not watching the monitors?

“Kate’s compromised. I can’t get a shot, I’m heading down. Can you get me a location?” You ask, shoving the rifle and it’s stand into the duffle bag.

“Shit. Hold on.” Yelena sounds like she’s running through the comms as you begin to descend the stairs of the building you were perched in. You’re tucking your gun in a hidden spot outside - half under the building, half under a bush - that way nearby agents could retrieve it later. You hear Yelena speaking to what sounds like Bucky. A twinge of relief hits you at the sound of his voice, a cold focus finally entering your mind as you descend the down-hill street into the market.

“Do you want us to send agents?” Yelena asks. There was already a group of agents positioned in Morocco, they had been the ones to discover the underground trade in the first place. Although off-duty, they could arrive in a few minutes if called.

“No. I got it, maybe. Put them on standby for now.” You reply, ducking down narrow alleyways and shimmying past crowds of people until you’re stood in the bustling thick of the marketplace. You are cast odd looks for your attire but shake it off, heading in the direction of where you last saw Kate.

“Alright. Keep heading east, she’s in those buildings coming up.” Bucky’s voice speaks up over the comms. He must’ve put in an ear piece as well, you can still hear Yelena muttering to some agents on the phone.

“She alright?” You ask, not even hiding the concern in your voice. You knew that Bucky would be able to see her live feed from headquarters as well as your own.

“For now.” He replies with a sigh. Dread still clenched your stomach as you moved deeper into the market.

After a few stalls, you began to notice the space empty. People had scattered, merchants abandoning their goods. You paused, peering into one of the buildings that appeared to have its window smashed in. Pulling your knife from its holster, you creep into the building. The only indication you are there is the soft crunch of glass beneath your feet.

The shop is a wreck, shelves overturned, goods scattered across the floor. You carefully step over some bruised apples, eyeing a splatter of blood on a nearby wall leading to a staircase. In the back, a door is torn off its hinges, half laying in the alley behind. Had the attackers dragged Kate into the alley? The closer you get to the counter, you can wear a whimper.

Knife drawn, you move around the counter. Huddled in one of the corners is a middle-aged woman, cowering and crying. In her lap sits a young girl who is sniveling, the mother attempting to cover the girl's body with her own. Your earpiece is quiet as you observe the scene, the woman shrinking back as you approach.

“Do you speak Arabic?” You ask in Arabic. You imagine it is probably slightly broken and different in dialect than they are used to. You had learnt the basics of many languages in the Red Room, but you were rather rusty. The woman peers up at you in shock for a moment, still cowering. You quickly put down your knife to show you are no harm, crouching down so you are on their level.

“Bad men, did they do this to your shop?” You ask again in Arabic.

“Yes.” The woman replies, voice quiet and shaking. She pulls her child closer into her chest.

“These bad men, did they have a girl with them?” You ask, trying to make yourself as small and unthreatening as possible. That was hard considering you were armed to the teeth and dressed in all black.

“Yes. They went upstairs.” The woman replies breathlessly. You nod slowly, head turning to the staircase. Your eyes follow the trail of blood that is smeared across the wall. Was it Kate’s blood?

A crunch of glass alerts you to the intruder before he can shoot. Popping up from behind the counter, you angle your wrist and throw your knife directly into his throat. The woman makes a startled whimpering noise in reaction, flinching away from you. The intruder - who had barely made it past the door frame - chokes on his blood and makes a short gurgling noise as you march over and pull the knife from him.

“You need to leave. It is not safe. Cover your child's eyes so she doesn’t see the blood.” You instruct the woman as you stalk towards the staircase. She nods at you with tears in her eyes, following your instructions and dashing out into the marketplace with her daughter. Another thing old you wouldn’t have done. You would’ve interrogated the woman with a cruel tongue. Possibly would’ve killed them both afterwards too. No witnesses.

“She’s on the roof.” Yelena pipes back in over comms. “I have the agents on standby.”

You don’t reply, instead following the spiraling stairs to the roof. The path is dark, stone and terracotta walls scratched and fragmenting as you power up the stairs. Taking two, three even more steps at a time you reach the top. The door is cracked open, allowing you to shoulder your way through into the light.

Whatever shred of humanity or empathy that was left in your soul shriveled when you saw the sight in front of you. Kate was kneeling, bloodied, bruised and heaving for breath. Around her were the burly men you had spotted, all armed and smirking. The target had a gun pressed to Kate’s head, finger on the trigger. It seemed they hadn’t been expecting you, their eyes had snapped over in shock at your sudden arrival.

The silent rage crept in, freezing cold and hardening your veins. The sight of Kate, looking so scared, so disheveled? You would never be able to find the words to describe the wrath, the fucking mania that took over your mind. If you had the time you would have made them beg for death. You would’ve skinned them fucking alive, torn them limb from limb and watched them squeal and cry. But there wasn’t enough time. Kate was about to get a bullet to the head.

With the flick of your wrist, your knife embedded itself into the target’s hand. The handgun clattered to the ground, Kate moving to grab it as the target yowled in pain. The burly men turned their shocked gaze between you and Kate. They seemed torn on who to attack first, Kate with the gun, or you with primordial rage. Pulling another knife from your suit, you stalked forward like a panther tracking its prey.

“Don’t look at her, look at me.” You call to the men, lazily slinging your knife in your palm. “I want to see the life leave your eyes when I kill you.”

“Shadow,” You hear Yelena warn over the comms. There is worry in her voice and you know why. You are dangerously outnumbered - you had just challenged six armed men. Six armed men who could potentially be super soldiers - considering the goods they were peddling. You don’t think they are though. Not replying to Yelena, a ragged smirk forms as you dash forward.

One of the men charges to meet you, what looks like a crowbar in his hand. He swings and you duck, skidding on your knees past him. As you slide, you dig your knife into the back of his knee, causing him to fall forward with a wail of pain. A snarl rips from your throat as you rip the knife out, gripping the man by his shirt and slicing his throat open.

“If you want to run, now is your chance,” You sing at the remaining men who look between each other apprehensively.

One of the men takes his chances, rushing forward, gun drawn. You easily kick it from his hands, then send a kick to his jaw. He stumbles backwards with a grunt, but you just press in further. You are relentless with your knife, cutting through the men with little effort. These men may be strong, but they are not trained. And they are not super soldiers. They could hold themselves in a bar fight, but not in a fight against an assassin like you.

The last standing man weighs up his chances and makes a run for it. By this point, you are too far into your rampage to let it slide. Intercepting him, you grab him by his collar, dragging him to the ground. He squirms, trying to break free but all you see is red. With a grunt, you drive your knife into his throat, he makes a pathetic gurgling noise as you twist it. With a huff, you pull it from the wound, blood spurting and quickly making a pool beneath him.

Standing, you sniff, rubbing some of the blood splatter from your face. You imagine all you achieve is smearing it further into your pores. During your bloodthirst, Kate had successfully taken down the target and knocked him unconscious. Your gaze softens as it falls on her bloodied, anxious face.

“You took down the target! What a successful mission.” You say with a grin, moving closer to her. Kate’s shoulders relax a little, a sheepish smile emerging. Had she been… afraid of you? That made you feel slightly unwell.

“Well, you did help-” She starts, motioning to the pile of dead bodies.

“Nonsense.” You tut, picking up the suitcase. “Come, we need to get back to the jet. It’s not safe here, there will probably be more men prowling.”

You allow Kate to descend the stairs first, watching as she scans the environment for enemies. You note how her hands are shaking. The shop is as you left it, disarray and broken glass. The two of you step over the dead man you had knifed earlier.

“Lena, we’re headed back to the jet.” You speak into the ear piece, cautiously following Kate out into the empty market place. It is eerily silent, even more so than earlier. A creeping foreboding feeling clenches your gut as your eyes scan over the empty stalls.

“Good. I’ll have a med team waiting for Kate when you get back.” Yelena responds, though you don’t quite pay attention. Instead your focus is on a group of armed men who had spotted you and Kate from further in the market. You exhale sharply, pulling Kate to you.

“Take the suitcase and run to the jet.” You say, placing the case into her open hands. She looks at you quizzically for a moment, before spotting the men behind you. Her face goes a bit pale, then hardens. Strong girl, you think.

“What about you?” She asks.

“I will hold them off and meet you back at the jet.” You explain, removing the ear piece from your ear and pressing it into Kate’s. “Here. Yelena and Bucky are on the line, they’ll guide you back.”

The men are drawing closer. Kate heistates, before reluctantly turning and running in the direction of the jet. Turning, you face the group of men. You don’t know how many there were, but it doesn't phase you. You pull your handgun from your hip holster, casually checking if it’s loaded with a sigh.

The men watch you curiously with amusement as you roll your shoulders, preparing yourself for the second fight of the day.

Then, you get right to business.

By the time you find Kate, you are covered in blood. You had managed to take out most of the men with your gun, using fruit boxes as a cover. One final man had sprung out at you, surprising you. The two of you had tussled for a time, before you managed to stick a knife in his throat. His body had slumped on top of you as he choked and gagged, blood coating your neck and chest.

Kate was in a bit of trouble herself, struggling with two men in an alley. She had managed to take down one, but the other seemed to be a bit of trouble. The two of them had been so focused on the fight, they didn’t notice you watching. Not until you dug your knife into the throat of the man right in front of Kate.

“Are you alright?” You asked her. She looked worse than before, a cut on her forehead dripping blood down the side of her face. You reached out - uncharacteristic of you - and inspected it.

“I feel like I should be the one asking you that!” Kate laughed nervously, eyes scanning the slick blood that coated your suit. You groaned in annoyance. Right.

“Not my blood.” Is all you replied, withdrawing your hand from her chin and gazing past her down the alley. You could see why she had stopped running, a large mesh fence blocked off the alley, a trail of barbed wire across the top.

“You are so scary.” Kate continued to laugh, though her comment is genuine. You wondered if she was in shock or just hysterical. You roll your eyes at the comment, sizing the girl up.

“Only to people who piss me off. Those people hurt you, which pissed me off.” You grumbled, putting your foot in the mesh fence to test its strength. “Here, I’ll give you a leg up. Mind the barbed wire.”

Kate latched onto the fence, foot in your hand as you pushed her upwards and over the fence. Making a satisfied noise, she lands over the other side. You pick up the suitcase, tossing it over the fence with a mumbled ‘catch!’ before clambering over the fence yourself. Kate watches you expectantly as you swing your leg over, careful not to catch any of the barbed wire on your suit.

The rest of the walk to the jet is easy, thankfully no more attackers. By the time you have slipped out of the town and into the rural forests you are covered with a layer of sweat and grime. Kate nearly sobs in relief when you enter the jet and turn on the aircon.

“I am never complaining about the cold again!” She whined, collapsing into one of the seats. You chuckle at her, buckling yourself into the pilot's seat.

“Oh, you spend one winter in Russia and you will be singing a very different song!” You laugh at Kate, she only groans tiredly in response.

—

Despite your annoyance with the previous Moroccan heat, you had turned the shower to scalding the moment you stepped in. With a content sigh, you wash the dirt, blood and sweat from your skin. The water stung as you massaged shampoo into your hair, watching the suds roll over your scarred skin down the drain.

You felt bad taking so long, knowing that Bucky was sitting on your couch waiting. Another part of you was selfish, wanting to stand in the steaming water for as long as possible as the tension and stress was washed from your muscles. You had been covering how tense the mission had made you, something about Kate nearly being shot in the head unsettled you.

Bucky had been… off… since you had returned from the mission with Kate. Yelena had welcomed the girl back with open arms, meanwhile Bucky had stood back frowning. You rarely came to headquarters, mainly only to ferry to and from missions. A lot of the agents had gaped at your bloodied appearance. It was clear your livestreamed rampage from earlier had an audience.

Bucky had continued his silence in the med bay while Kate was patched up. You had sent him side long glances as you washed your hands, plucking the contacts from your eyes. He had crossed his arms over his chest, watching as you lounged in one of the office chairs during the debrief. It had been short, the others quickly picking up on Kate’s exhaustion and your disinterest. There were some plans to hunt down the buyers of the serum for a different mission, though it seemed Kate would be allowed to sit that one out. You doubted you would be dragged into it either.

“I’ll drive you home.” Is all Bucky had said to you as your group departed the meeting. It was the first time he had ever offered, usually that task was left to either you or Yelena. Your apartment was a 40 minute drive away, much to the complaint of everyone. You had liked the isolation at first, now the drive was becoming tedious. Yelena and Kate had arched their eyebrows at Bucky’s offer, a silent smirk shared between them. You bit your tongue and just nodded.

Even the drive home was strange. You could tell Bucky was stewing on something, unspoken thoughts clouding his conscience. His eyebrows furrowed, knuckles white on the gearstick. He had just nodded wordlessly when you had said you would shower. It didn’t seem like a simple drop-off situation, rather that he wanted to talk but wasn’t sure how to start.

“What is wrong?” You asked as you finally emerged from the shower. Your hair was still wet, hanging loose and leaving damp marks on the fresh shirt you wore. “You have been pouting like a child since Kate and I returned.”

Bucky eyes you with a guarded gaze, huffing through his nose as you take a seat next to him on the couch. Your apartment was fairly empty, mostly taken up by bookshelves and piles of mission files. The kitchen and bathroom were equally as small as each other, your bedroom basically bare of anything but a bed.

“You scared Kate today.” He spoke, voice quiet and rough. You tilt your head, fingers skimming over the fabric of the couch. It was second-hand, something you got when you first escaped. You had grown to love the mystery stains and marks.

“She’s not a child. She knows who I am, what I do. Same with Yelena.” You defend yourself, eyebrows furrowing. He seemed… upset. Angry? You couldn't understand why. Did he think you put Kate in some kind of danger? Did he think you were going to hurt Kate? Kate had been shaken during the mission, you had assumed it was because she had been kidnapped and attacked.

“You were acting like The Shadow today, not like you.”

You pause your movements, staring at him quizzically. The Shadow? Did he think you were two separate entities - the killer and the ‘real you’? Your hand that had been creeping towards his knee withdraws quickly, laying it in your lap with a sharp exhale.

“I am The Shadow. It is who I am. There is no separation between the two of us. Is that why you’re upset, because I killed those men?” You ask, trying to keep your tone neutral despite your annoyance.

“There is a separation between me - Bucky - and The Winter Soldier. I don’t go around killing for sport.” Bucky snips, you flinch back in shock. You knew he was only lashing out because he was upset. Even before the two of you had become friends, he had never used cruel words against you. You were tempted to snap back at him, to tear him down with your icy glare. But you don’t, you knew it was something deeper than being upset at you for killing some Moroccan gangsters.

“That is because you didn’t start as The Winter Soldier. First you were Bucky, then you were made into a weapon against your will. When you woke up, you were still Bucky. You weren’t the things you did. Do you understand how we are different? I am nobody, I wasn’t someone or something first, I was always The Shadow. Always a Widow. And I am okay with that, why aren’t you?” You explain, trying to keep your agitation to a minimum.

“Don’t say that.” He snaps back, his eyes won’t even meet yours. You scoff slightly, shaking your head. He was covering for something. You couldn't be angry at him because he was sometimes terrible at hiding his emotions. You compartmentalized your feelings, you lived your life numb. Bucky - he was so full of pain. He didn’t know what to do with it, except let it all leak out.

“You are angry. Why are you actually angry? I don’t believe you would be angry at me for killing the men who hurt Kate? I think you would’ve done the same.” You keep your tone calm, expression cool and collected.

Bucky’s breathing has turned rapid, you can feel the frustration rolling off him in waves. He was upset about something, he had built something up in his head. You had seen this before, his overthinking brain running him to the brink. You had seen him nearly cry in frustration, gears in his metal arm whirring. Even Sam couldn’t talk him down from his rages, only anticipate them and bunker down for the storm.

“You could’ve been hurt!” Bucky practically explodes. There it is, the loud anger. Burning passion, consuming your and everything in its path. It is so hot, boiling in comparison to your ice cold stares and analysis. You sigh through your nose, reaching for his hand gently.

“So you are not angry at me. You aren’t angry at all. You were worried for me.” You say, brushing your fingers over his knuckles. Your tone is soft, gentle as you take in his ragged breathing.

One thing you had learned about men was how they dealt with their emotions. Bucky had grown up in a time where being anything other than a big, scary man was considered weak. Men didn’t cry, or express emotions other than joy, anger, lust. Now he was overflowing, he didn’t know what to do with them all. Sam didn’t know either, he was just as lost in his own conflict. He couldn’t help Bucky, he couldn’t talk him down from a rage. You were a woman, taught to hide and suppress your emotions if you wanted to be taken seriously. Strong women weren’t hysterical. Deadly women didn’t cry. Women could be emotionally vulnerable, but they would be mocked for it. You had pushed it all down, until you didn’t know how to feel anything anymore. You and Bucky were two opposite ends of a scale. He was fire, you were ice.

“Yes, I was worried for you! Those men could have been super soldiers. ” Bucky confirms, he still shifted in his seat like he was agitated. His breathing was beginning to slow with each stroke of your fingers against his skin. He won’t meet your gaze, forehead creased with stress.

“Why didn’t you just say?” You ask, turning his hand over in your own. You trace the lines and creases in his palm. Bucky is silent for a long time, watching as you study every groove and callus. You don’t look up, not wanting to scare him off.

“Because I know you don’t like things like that.” He admits quietly. You smile to yourself softly with a chuckle before looking up at him. Maybe you did have empathy. Maybe you did feel things, how else could you have just talked Bucky Barnes from one of his meltdowns?

“You think I can’t take down a couple super soldiers?” You joke, hoping to lighten the tension. He rolls his tongue over his bottom lip, smiling a bit in return. “I worry about you, too. When you are on missions.” You add quietly, eyes breaking away from his heated gaze.

You don’t want to see how he reacts to that confession. That you care. There had always been a mutual understanding between you two that you didn’t get close to people. You thought it would make you weak, vulnerable. You waited to hear him mock you, to laugh at you for caring about Kate and Yelena, for caring about him. But he doesn’t.

The two of you sit in silence for a time, you studying the pads of his fingers, examining each swirl of his fingerprints. Eventually, he closes his fingers around yours, pulling your hand to his mouth as he presses a kiss to your knuckles. You are still, throat dry. Why did you… desire this? Desire more?

“Move in with me.” Bucky blurts out suddenly. You withdraw your hand with a surprised blink, a small smile forming over your lips. “You live so far away, Sam is always moaning about it. I have a spare room… you know?”

Your fingers drum on the fabric of the couch in thought. You already know the answer, but you don’t want to come across brash, excited. You wanted to keep that air of clarity and coolness. Your mind was anything but clear in that moment though. You could feel the ghost of his lips across your knuckles, the desire gripping your gut. Your body hummed, begged for more. You wanted to feel his skin against yours, allow him to consume you whole.

“Only if you buy more furniture.” You breathe with a smirk. Why did that small action, that small question leave you breathless? Why did your core burn for him?

“You say that, but you own, like, two things.” He replies with a laugh, completely oblivious. He had lit a fire inside of you, his sun, his passion was melting your icy composure. Your veins were alive, flowing for the first time in years, no, your entire life.

“Touché.” You exhale, your voice close to a whisper. “We’ll buy furniture with our dirty, government paychecks.”

His hand finds yours once more, fingers interlinking.

“Deal.”

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colorsunimaginable · 6 months

Text

the spare // chapter sixty-six // death eater ! tom hiddleston oc x plus size ofc - voldemort wins au

story summary:

While on a mission to avenge the death of her best friend, Ilvermorny graduate Melisa Alder finds herself in the middle of the fight to defeat Voldemort. Upon capture after the Dark Lord's triumph, she's being sold at an auction with other muggle borns and blood traitors. Her only hope is also her only bidder - the tall, dark, and handsome Thomus Malfoy, Lucius Malfoy's younger half-brother. Is he just another Death Eater or is he hiding more than just his face beneath the mask? Will she realize her true potential to be one of the resistance's greatest weapons?

*a Voldemort Wins AU with Tom Hiddleston cast as an OC x a plus size protagonist* *takes place in The Auction universe by Lovesbitca8*

words for this chapter: 4.1k warnings for this chapter: none, but Christmas??? if that triggers you at all

my lovely beta reader 💕 banner credit @cafekitsune

CHAPTER MASTERLIST

Chapter Sixty-Six:

Christmas day starts just like any other winter day here at the cottage. Thomus and I keep each other warm under the covers at night, so in the morning the first thing I do is start the fire in the living room. Then it’s over to the kitchen to make my family’s usual Christmas day breakfast of cinnamon rolls, although I have to make them from scratch because the Wizarding World has yet to discover the magic of canned dough. I put on a Christmas compilation record, hoping it’ll put me in the holiday mood.

Thomus gets up later than I do, and he finds me shoving cookies into little Christmas themed plastic gift bags I’d found in a drawer when I first tore through the kitchen. Cookies into one bag with the cherry pie bar in one of its own, both twist-tied together.

He pours himself some coffee and rubs the sleep out of his eyes as he studies my spread. “How many of those are you making?”

“What do you mean?” I ask.

“I only mean there’s not that many of us.”

I look down as I finish bag number 7. I’m only half way done. “Something tells me you’re forgetting the House Elves under your quote unquote ‘employ’,” I say. “I don’t want to leave them out.”

He sits down at the table, sliding his mug into the only available space. “You have a real knack for making me feel like a self-absorbed git.”

I shrug. “That, my friend, is empathy, probably laced with a bit of guilt, too.”

He snorts softly and shakes his head, raising his mug to his lips. “And a Happy Christmas to you, too.”

I give a tight-lipped smile, still not actually feeling very happy today - despite the music. “Happy Christmas.”

“Did you open your gift?” he asks, and that makes me pause.

“What gift?”

Thomus gets up from the table and brings back the box he’d placed next to the tree last night. As he hands it to me, I notice my name scribbled in a corner. I lift away the lid and pull back some tissue paper to reveal an Olympus OM-1 film camera. It’s bright and shiny, the body small in comparison to its lens.

I slowly run a finger over the silver plating and glance up at him shyly. He's patiently watching me, waiting for a response, and I'm anxious because I'm not quite sure how to respond. “I’m sorry I didn’t get you anything.”

“Don’t be,” he says quickly, seeming genuine. “There isn’t much you could give me.” He nabs my favorite cookie, popping it into his mouth, and groaning after a few chews. “Actually you should make me a batch of these.”

I can’t help but let out a small smile. “Yeah, I can do that.”

He stretches an arm to the island counter, where the cinnamon rolls are, and plucks one off the plate. “I got an owl from Astor this morning. He’s invited us to a gathering tomorrow.”

“A gathering?”

Thomus nods, taking a bite. “You know, for Christmas. A small one.”

I internally sigh. “I’m assuming he wants me to serve?”

“No, actually. According to his letter, you’re a regular guest.”

I raise my eyebrows in disbelief and my tone doesn’t betray any actual excitement. “How nice.”

~*~

When I get ready for Christmas dinner at the Manor, I make sure to cover the dark veiny lines around my eyes with foundation underneath my winged eyeliner. Thomus said he told Narcissa that I had my sight and voice again, but I’m not sure how much truth she actually has.

I dress in a burgundy blouse with an open black sweater and meet Thomus on the landing. He’s wearing a black suit jacket with a dark green sweater underneath. I don’t resist my urge to reach out and touch the fabric. It’s soft and feels so good on his chest, especially when I snake my arms under his jacket and press my cheek to it in a hug. His arms go around my shoulders and squeeze me against him. I breathe in his apt smell of pine and cedar.

I don’t feel so alone when I’m hugging him, listening to him breathe and his heartbeat steadily under my ear.

“Darling?” he murmurs after an admittedly very long moment.

“Hm?” I hum without moving an inch.

“Narcissa doesn’t easily forgive tardiness.”

I sigh, letting out the faintest whine before pulling away. “Okay.”

Before we leave, I dig through my backpack for my little bag of jewelry. It mostly holds my stretchy plastic chokers, but I pull out a silver locket. It’s small and oval with a floral design etched onto the front. Thomus doesn’t question me about it as he watches me put it on.

When we step into the Manor, I feel a little awkward with the basket full of Christmas treats. I’ve never been good at gift-giving. My anxiety tends to tell me that whatever gift I’ve thought of, won’t be good enough. But those thoughts vanish when we meet Narcissa in a small dining room. After a hug in greeting, her face lights up when I give her a bag of the baked goods.

“Thank you, dear,” she gushes. “You baked these yourself? They look delicious.”

I pull another out and set it on the table for Hermione. “I’m going to visit the kitchen.” I don’t look at either of them and book it out the door before Thomus can protest. I find the elves hard at work, busy completing the finishing touches for our dinner.

“Miss!” Mippy says, bouncing over to me in the doorway. “Happy Christmas, Miss!”

I smile down at her and hold up the basket. “Happy Christmas to you, too, Mippy. I baked for you guys.”

Mippy lets out a delirious squeal and her voice shakes like she’s going to cry. “M-miss b-aked for M-mippy? And Remmy? And -”

“Yes,” I blush, a bit flustered by such a reaction as I place the basket on their table. “There’s a bag for everyone.”

Murmurs of excitement burst around the room and Mippy’s the loudest of them all. “Miss is so kind and generous and thoughtful -”

“I hope you enjoy them,” I say quickly, and send a smile to the room without making too much eye contact. “See y’all later.”

Hermione's arrived when I return to the dining room and we pull each other into a big hug.

Dinner is an almost somber affair. Thomus and I sit next to each other, while Hermione is across from me and Narcissa is at the end of the table. Not for the first time, I can tell Narcissa’s putting on a smile for us and as I eye her, I notice her clothes fit a little looser than they had the last time I saw her.

“Have you heard from Draco at all?” I ask her, hoping it’s not too sensitive of a topic. Immediately her face saddens and I regret ever speaking.

She answers me anyway. “The last correspondence I received from him personally was to inform me he wouldn’t be home for Christmas. The Dark Lord anticipates an attack on Zurich in the new year, so he and a select few have been asked to remain on guard.”

“I’m sorry he can’t be here,” I say. “It must be really hard without both of them.”

“I do miss them terribly,” she says, a tear beading in her eye. “However -” She reaches over and grabs my hand from my lap and covers Hermione’s on her other side. “I’m grateful to have all of you here.”

I squeeze her hand in return, nodding. “It’s a nice little… distraction,” I say, and speaking of… “Thomus told me you’re planning a New Year’s Eve party?”

This new topic launches both her and Thomus into a tangent, the kind that feels as if I’ve just popped in during the middle of a conversation. There’s something about a particular pureblood seamstress being booked up, or the elves having trouble procuring ingredients for certain dishes that before the war would have been readily available. Then there’s the matter of security - of which Thomus is taking the lead. Apparently with so many Death Eaters and their ‘elite’ society in one place, guests have expressed concerns about being vulnerable to an attack. Hermione and I sit in silence, absorbing all of this information.

“Thankfully we don’t have to secure the perimeter for the Lots,” Thomus comments. “I don’t even want to think about the logistics for that feat. We only have you two to worry about that night.”

I nearly choke on my apple cider. “I’m going?” Then I look at Hermione and gesture between us. “We’re going?”

When I bring my eyes to Thomus, he looks hesitant. “Granger is yes,” he says. “We believe it best to have her out in plain view where we can keep an eye on her.”

I nod. “Okay, yeah, sure, but what does that have to do with me?”

“On that particular issue, Thomus and I disagree,” Narcissa says, giving him a stern look. “But the issue is tabled for now, especially on Christmas.”

“If it makes a difference, I don’t think I’d like to go,” I say with an apology on my face. “I’m sure it’s going to be very grand, but if I have the option…” I shake my head.

Narcissa smiles at me and lifts her gaze to Thomus. “I believe you have your answer.”

My eyes turn to Thomus as well, curious. He meets them briefly before dropping them down to his dinner plate. His mouth is turned down in a sour expression before a muscle in his jaw ticks and the look is gone. Why does he want me to go?

I take another sip of my drink, desperately wishing it was spiked with something.

“That’s a beautiful necklace,” Narcissa says and my eyes bounce up to Hermione before I realize she’s talking to me. “Is it a locket?”

Reflexively my fingers go up to the locket, feeling the texture of the design. I give a soft smile and nod. “A friend of mine gave it to me a few years back.” My other hand comes up to pry it open, careful not to touch the tiny portraits inside. “It’s a picture of that friend and my family.”

“That’s lovely,” Narcissa murmurs when I press it closed with a little snap.

My throat feels tight and I try to swallow around the lump in it. “Yeah,” I croak, my breaths suddenly shaky and loud. I speak softly to hide the emotion in my voice. “Sorry.”

“Oh, you have nothing to apologize for, dear,” she says. “It’s been a while since you’ve seen them, I take it?”

I nod and sniffle. “Yeah, about… three years, I think.” I force myself to take a steady deep breath and plaster a smile on my face. “But it’s fine. I’m fine. You know how it is.”

She nods, looking ready to ask more, but I interject with, “Is there still a lot to do for the party?”

If she can tell I purposefully changed the subject, she doesn’t show it. Narcissa launches into a whole list of tasks she and Thomus have left. I try to focus on what she says, but if I’m being honest, it just goes in one ear and out the other.

While she speaks, Thomus slides his hand over to the one in my lap. His hand is a bit cold and I turn my palm up to clasp his fingers between mine.

~*~

After dinner, we walk back out to the main hall. Thomus and Narcissa are discussing their immediate plans for the Gala while Hermione and I trail behind them. I loop my arm under hers and slow our pace.

“How’s your research been going?” I ask, my voice low.

Her brown eyes are alight with excitement. “I believe I’ve cracked it.”

I squeeze her arm, angling my body towards her. “Really? That’s awesome.”

“I’m ready to run tests, only…” she looks down, then up at Narcissa and Thomus, ensuring they’re paying us no attention, before leaning in to whisper, “Would you happen to have your wand?”

Regret rises from my belly and spreads all over my face. “No, I don’t.”

She sighs, disappointed. I am, too. “I saw you had your necklace, so I’d hoped -”

“I know,” I murmur. “I thought he’d go through my bag, so I left it in my vault. I didn’t think I’d need it.”

Hermione tilts her head. “Does he know your necklace is a…?”

I shake my head.

“So was it you or Thomus who broke the curse?”

“Well, technically it’s not broken,” I explain as we come to our destination. I keep her close and whisper. “Its effects are just being suppressed by my magic. The suppression potions don’t work on me anymore.”

Her eyes widen. “Really? That would -”

“Alder, let’s go,” Thomus calls from across the room. “We have one more stop to make.”

I sigh heavily and give him a look, he’s standing by the front door. “Really? On Christmas?”

“Especially,” he snaps. “Let’s go.”

I pull Hermione into a hug. “We’ll figure it out, okay?’

She nods and hugs me back before we let go. “Merry Christmas.”

“Merry Christmas.”

I rush through a goodbye to Narcissa, feeling pressured as Thomus stands with his hands in his pockets.

We get outside and I shiver, not prepared for the frigid air. “You couldn’t have told me we were going somewhere else? I don’t have a jacket.”

It’s dark out, so I don’t see him pull out his wand and summon his cloak. He settles it around my shoulders and I pause, knowing he’s going to expect to fasten the clasp himself as he usually does.

“It’s like I have you trained,” he remarks once he finishes and pulls the hood over my head.

“Well, what can I say? You’re getting predictable,” I tease.

Thomus chuckles as his palms encase my cheeks, holding me still as his mouth descends on mine. His quick kiss tastes of the coffee he had with our pumpkin pie dessert.

~*~

Thomus Apparates us to a secluded woodsy spot behind a playground. It’s snowing here and there’s already a blanket of it covering the ground. With the snow and street lamps, it’s not quite as dark as the Manor. Thomus takes my hand and guides me down a residential street that branches off with rows and rows of identical townhomes. When I think of searching for a street name, in an attempt to discern where we are, the only one I see is Privet Drive - which tells me nothing.

He pauses under a street lamp with a bus stop and a phone booth. It’s not the classic London version, but a more modern design with unpainted metal and long window panes.

“I assume you know how to operate one of these,” he says, his hand disappearing into his pocket. He pulls out a small leather pouch and places it in my hand.

“The bus stop?” I ask incredulously.

His hand comes up to the back of my elbow as he steers me towards the booth. “No, the telephone.”

My heart begins to race. “W-what? Why?”

He reaches for the handle of the collapsible door and pushes it aside. “To call home.”

I turn to face him, nearly panting with shock. “What?”

“Consider it a Christmas gift,” he says. I feel his hand at my back, urging me inside, but I plant my feet.

“Just like that?” I ask. “No conditions?”

“I assume you know the obvious one.” He gives me a stern look, meeting eyes. “Don’t give any hints or clues about your… reality.”

I press my lips together and nod, trying not to panic about what I’m even going to say.

I step inside the booth and Thomus closes the door, leaving it open a few inches as he leans against the frame, hands tucked into his pockets.

With shaking fingers, I start pulling out the No-Maj coins from the pouch he handed me. Calls to the US are expensive, so I put in every single one. I pick up the handset and press the cold plastic to my ear, listening to the slightly deeper dial tone. I’ve only had to do this once, when I first arrived and my phone didn’t work.

With a deep breath, I punch in the numbers and wait.

It rings and rings. My eyes wander around the booth, taking in the area code poster and emergency numbers, some call for a good time markings up the metal frame. I should’ve known they won’t pick up the phone for a number they don’t recognize.

But then there’s a click and I hear my mother’s voice. “Melisa?”

My throat is tight again and I force myself to breathe out. “Hi, Mom.”

“I wondered who else could be calling today - already had a chat with your Aunt Susan, and with grandma passing away last year - as soon as it said Surrey, I knew,” she says. Fat tears spring to my eyes just listening to her talk, hearing her voice. I put my hand over the receiver as I fight for control over my sobs. “Haven’t heard from you in a while, honey.”

I sniffle and force deep breaths, making sure my voice won’t shake before I pull my hand away. “Yeah, I know, I’m sorry. My phone shattered and no one I’m around uses them and I just haven’t gotten around to replacing it. I’m calling from a payphone near my apartment. What time is it there? I’m not calling too late, am I?”

“Oh no, it’s only about 7 o’clock here. Your brother and I have just been watching the new Doctor Who season - “

“Is that Melisa?” I hear my dad say in the background.

“Yes, dear. Your dad wants to talk to you, Melisa.”

“Okay,” I say. I hear her attempt to pass the phone, but my dad mumbles something about putting the phone on speaker.

“Hey, Melisa! How are ya'?” he says and my heart squeezes hearing the excitement in his voice. “It’s been a while.”

“Yeah, I know, I’m sorry,” I say, repeating the same spiel.

“That newspaper must be working you like a dog if you can’t find time to call your dear old Dad,” he says and I manage to chuckle.

“Yeah, I’m crazy busy, but I love it.”

“Well that’s good. They paying you enough? They should, for all that hard work you’re doin’.”

“Yes, Dad, I’m doing just fine,” I say. “How’ve you been? How’s Ben?”

“I’m doin’ alright,” he says. He starts listing various projects he’s had to work on about the house and the latest issue with my mom’s truck, something about the transmission. I use the time to focus on calming my shaking breaths.

I hear Ben’s voice give a faint “Hi, Melisa”.

“He’s almost saved enough for that down payment on the house he’s been looking at,” my dad says for him.

“Oh, yeah?” I ask. “What kind of house?”

My brother definitely responds, but he’s talked over by an electronic voice announcing I have one minute left.

“I have to go,” I say, failing to keep the sadness out of my voice. “I used all my coins.”

“Well, Merry Christmas, honey,” Mom says.

“And we miss you,” my dad chimes in. “You need to call us more.”

“I’ll try, but it might be a while,” I admit. “I love you.”

“Love you, too,” Mom says. “Talk to you lat -”

The call ends and slowly I put the handset back in its place. Mentally I’d been transported back home - I could picture my parents sitting in their usual spots at the kitchen table, my brother on the couch in the family area. If you stand in the right spot, you can see down to the living room through the kitchen, the Christmas tree all aglow. I can see every detail in my mind’s eye and the overwhelming longing to be home brings a fresh round of tears. My hand comes up to cover my mouth as I let out a silent sob.

Once the emotion has been poured out of me, I feel raw, but… better. I use the sleeve of my sweater to dab at my eyes, knowing my makeup is probably ruined regardless. When I turn back to Thomus, I find him watching me with a wary expression.

“Okay!” I say brightly, pushing back the door. “We can go.”

Wordlessly, he grabs my hand and we Apparate on the spot.

~*~

We get back to the cottage and I immediately go to the kitchen, cranking on the record player. I'm finally in the mood for music and have just enough energy to make the batch of cookies Thomus asked for.

Thankfully, he doesn’t follow me and bombard me with a bunch of questions, which I honestly half-expected of him.

Singing along to every Christmas song that plays, I don’t pause until the last tray of cookies are in the oven and the dishes have been washed. When I pass through the living room, I spot Thomus on the couch, leaning against the back cushions with his eyes closed. I run upstairs to take off my pants and bra, getting ready to settle in for the night.

Just as I finish brushing my teeth, the timer goes off and I rush downstairs to pull out the last tray. Once they’re on the racks to cool, I shut off the music and return to the living room.

Thomus hasn’t moved. The fire is going and with the kitchen light off, the only other light is coming from the tree. Hesitantly I step closer to him, wondering if he might be asleep, but notice his face isn’t exactly relaxed.

Acting on pure impulse, I crawl onto his lap. He stirs when he feels my legs straddle his, eyes fluttering open in surprise to watch me. I support my weight with my hands on the back of the couch, gently lowering myself until my front is fully pressed against him. He lifts his head as I close my arms around his shoulders and smoosh my face against the side of his. I’m hyper aware of how much bigger I am than him, so I refrain from relaxing completely.

After a moment, his body softens beneath mine and he lets out a long sigh. His arms go around my waist and he hugs me tightly, hips flexing down enough so they’re nestled perfectly between my thighs. Slowly I relax, tension lifting from my body.

“I’m not too heavy, right?” I ask softly, almost shyly, in his ear.

His face moves side to side, nuzzling his nose by my ear. “No, this is…” He runs his hands down my back, smoothing around the curve of my hips down to my thighs before gliding them back up my sides, caressing my rolls. “I love this.”

His sincerity makes my heart soar. It makes me feel so whole, so completely accepted physically. My grip around him tightens, not wanting to let go. I can’t deny how well our bodies just… fit.

“Thank you for my Christmas presents,” I murmur. “This wasn’t… the worst Christmas I’ve ever had.”

“Hm,” he replies thoughtfully, his lips nestled against my neck. “Hasn’t been too bad for me either, come to think of it.” His hands travel to my undie-covered ass where he squeezes hard and gives it a little shake. “And look at you, a present already half-way unwrapped.”

One of his hands shoots to the underside of my foot, dancing his fingers along it. My leg jerks and I let out a sudden squeal, trying to push myself away from him. He’s quick though, one arm latches around my waist to keep me sealed against him even as I wiggle in his lap. I’m laughing, smiling so hard my cheeks already hurt.

I’m breathless and only manage to say his name like a plea. By the time I break free of his hold, he’s grinning too as I swing myself off of his lap to collapse on my back in the remaining space of the couch.

His hooded eyes are locked onto the space between my thighs and I only have a moment before he pounces. Thomus settles between my legs and spends the rest of Christmas slowly unwrapping me as if I really am his present.

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galaxywhump · 1 year

Note

Could you write an AU where Berkeley was never caught and he recaptured wren for revenge?

[SV-240 masterlist]

contents: recapture, defiant whumpee, tied to a table, death threats, torture, knives, carved mark, non-graphic fingore/amputation.

~~~

"Rise and shine, sweetheart."

Wren flinches, blinking slowly but not seeing much, still groggy after… whatever happened between him being out and about and waking up here, wherever here is.

A firm slap to the face sobers him up. He wishes it hadn’t.

He’s tied up again - or rather tied down, lying on his back on something, probably a table, his wrists and ankles held in place by coarse rope. He’s shirtless, vulnerable, and the air is cold against his skin. Pulling at the restraints achieves nothing, and he starts panicking, struggling to breathe, because this was supposed to be over, he was free, and now he’s been kidnapped again by-

“Daniel taught me how to tie a good knot, so don’t bother. I’m sure he’d send his regards if he could.”

Daniel. Sweetheart. Whoever this is knows, must have known his tormentor, and when Wren turns his head to face the source of the familiar voice, his breath catches in his throat, his eyes go wide and his blood runs cold.

Berkeley.

He looks different - his hair has been shoddily cut short and dyed brown, he’s wearing colored contacts to hide the blue of his irises, and his freckles are concealed, but Wren still recognizes him immediately. Just like the last time he saw him there’s fury in his eyes, but no more hysteria or fear; only something dark and resigned.

“My disguise is no good, is it?” he snorts. “Is it my voice? Or is my face just burned into your mind? Or is it because I’m the only other person who knows what Daniel used to call you?”

This can’t be happening.

“You know you won’t get away with this,” Wren says, trying to mask the trembling in his voice.

“Is that really the best you can do?” Berkeley rolls his eyes. “Fuck, you’re pathetic.”

“This isn’t like that.” Wren shakes his head, but his heart stutters for a moment when Berkeley swears, as if that, not the kidnapping, not the restraints, not the unnerving expression, was proof that something was wrong. “People know I’m not dead. They’ll find me and finally lock your cowardly ass up.”

“They haven’t found me yet, though, have they? So I’d say we have some time for ourselves.” Berkeley shrugs and approaches slowly, step by step - and once he’s right by the table again, in a blink of an eye he wraps his hands around Wren’s throat and presses down, making him gasp.

“I could kill you.” He tightens his grip, and Wren’s hands twitch as the restraints stop him from instinctively reaching up to grab his attacker. “That would be it, Daniel would be avenged, yada yada. But I don’t give a shit about Daniel.” The corners of his lips rise slightly, a half-hearted remnant of his usual smirk, as he takes in Wren’s panic, wide eyes, frantic gasps. “I told him buying you was insane, but he convinced me. Then I told him he was too lenient with you, letting you wander around like you were free just because he wanted to play house. Of course I was right, and now he’s dead, and I’d just call it karma if you hadn’t ruined my life too. Everyone I worked with has been locked up. I’m being hunted.” His voice wavers a little bit. “And it’s all thanks to you, Rackham.”

His grip gets even tighter, and Wren’s eyes glaze over with tears. He’s still struggling, but he doesn’t control it; it’s pure instinct trying to save him from something he can’t be saved from.

Berkeley lets go, takes a step back and watches as Wren starts coughing, turning his head to the side to avoid choking. He’s still panting, his chest rising and falling rapidly, when he glares at Berkeley and asks, in as defiant a tone as he can muster:

“So what do you want from me?”

Berkeley laughs - his laughter is different, not genuine like it used to be, not hysterical like during the call, but completely dry; the laughter of someone completely disillusioned, with nothing to lose.

“I want to make you suffer. I want to see you cry and beg, because that’s all you’re good for, isn’t it? And Daniel’s not here to stop me from hurting his precious little sweetheart too much.” He lays his hands on the edge of the table, close to Wren’s side, and leans over him. “I don’t know how long I want to draw it out yet. I feel like no matter how much you’ll scream and cry and beg it will never be enough to make up for what you’ve done, but when I feel like the time is right… that’s when I’ll finally kill you.” He can’t help but smile at that, and a shiver of excitement runs up his spine.

No. Wren has to press his lips together to stay quiet, avoid protesting out loud, but his heartbeat is painful and deafening. If the air in the room was cold before, now it’s downright freezing. No, no, no, not again, I was safe, I survived, I can’t die now, I can’t die like this.

“Hey, don’t worry, Rackham,” Wren flinches, still staring at Berkeley in horror, when he pats his cheek, smiling. “Like I said, I won’t kill you until I’m through with you, and I haven’t even started. So, what should we do first…?” He runs his finger down Wren’s chest, making him shiver, and cocks his head to the side, thinking. “I guess I should warn you that Daniel is- was,” he lets out a dry chuckle, “better at this than I am, so there’s a chance I’ll kill you by accident, or something. I want to start with something safe, though, so we can have more fun later.”

Wren is more than familiar with the meaning of the look in Berkeley’s eyes, together with his smirk - the gleam of an idea he’s not going to like at all.

“There’s this word you don’t like, right?” Berkeley walks over to a counter lined with various tools he’d found in the hideout. “Daniel told me to stop using it after my first visit.”

He picks up a knife and lifts it up to let his helpless captive take a good look at it; he inspects it with narrowed eyes, humming to himself before deciding that it’s the right tool for the job. He takes a rag and some antiseptic as well and turns around, delighted to see terror in Wren’s eyes, obvious despite his attempts to hide it behind a glare.

“I think it’s fitting, though.” Berkeley returns to the table and sets the knife aside for the time being. “After what you’ve done.”

“You’ve always liked the sound of your own voice,” Wren says, eyeing the knife anxiously, knowing exactly what Berkeley’s talking about but not wanting to accept it.

“Maybe.” Berkeley smiles; it's easier to smile now, when he can escape from his bleak reality back into the thrill of being fully in control. “But that doesn’t mean I don’t want to hear your voice, and by that I mean your screams. Feel free to do that as much as you like. No one’s gonna hear you here.”

The good news is that Wren is fairly sure he won't give Berkeley the satisfaction of hearing him scream; Daniel - whom Wren hasn't thought about this much in weeks, but he has more pressing matters to worry about right now - had cut him so many times that it had become part of the routine, such mundane torture. He’d be terrified if Berkeley plunged the knife into his abdomen with full intention of finishing what Daniel had started, but apparently the plan is to keep him alive.

For now.

The bad news, of course, is that he’s been kidnapped, brought somewhere no one can hear him scream, and he’s going to be tortured all over again.

I’m on Earth this time. Everyone knows I’m alive. They’re going to save me.

He closes his eyes.

Before it’s too late.

He flinches when Berkeley wipes down his chest with the rag, which he must have dipped in the antiseptic. When he notices his captive’s frown, he shrugs.

“Just to be safe. I can’t exactly take you to a hospital if something goes wrong, can I?”

"Why not? I'm sure everyone would be happy to see both of us," Wren says, fixing his eyes on the ceiling. "You could still do a good deed and not be charged with murder on top of everything else."

“So you think this is going to be my first murder,” Berkeley snorts, and Wren’s eyes snap to him in shock.

“You-”

“Maybe it is, maybe it isn’t.” He shrugs, amused. “It’s just funny you assumed that. Anyway, Rackham,” he says as he grabs the knife and grins, “let’s get started.”

It doesn’t matter how much Wren had gone through with Daniel. It doesn’t matter that this shouldn’t affect him. He starts shivering, and he decides to blame it on the cold. He doesn’t want to close his eyes and show his torturer how scared he is, so he goes back to staring at the ceiling; the downside of that is that he can see Berkeley lowering the knife in his peripheral vision.

The sensation of the knife cutting into him is familiar, but so much time has passed that it still comes as a shock. It’s just a short line, the knife is dragged downwards and then raised, all but confirming Wren’s suspicions.

It’s just a word. A stupid word. Soon to be carved into him, sure, but he is going to be found soon, and surely the cuts will be healable then, they will be gone without trace and that will be it.

He still has to blink away tears when the knife returns. A line, a semicircle, then another, separate line.

D. I.

“So,” he says through gritted teeth, “now it’s your turn to leave your signature on me, huh?”

Berkeley rolls his eyes, but can’t hide a smile.

“Very funny, Rackham.”

“Thanks.”

O, cut out agonizingly slowly - and yet Wren doesn’t scream, barely even whimpers. It’s his tiny victory, not giving Berkeley the satisfaction he was hoping for. No matter what he does, it won’t be worse than what Daniel used to do.

“How about I make a pun? I’m disappointed you’re not delivering.” He grits his teeth when the knife pierces his skin once more to carve the final letter, and he has to stifle a groan. “Alright, I got it: Your lack of appreciation for my jokes cuts me deep?”

Berkeley snorts at that and shakes his head. “Alright. I do appreciate them, for the record, cause I know what you’re hiding behind your idiotic humor.”

Wren frowns, but it’s not like he can argue with that. As the last line is added, he has to blink away new tears.

Idiot.

Berkeley takes a step back to take a critical look at his work - even bloody letters on Wren’s chest, where he’ll have no choice but to see them, impossible to ignore unlike the brand on his back.

“Smile for the camera, idiot!” He snaps a few pictures, making sure to capture Wren’s expression, so desperately blank, but tense with pain and emotion, until he’s happy with the result. “Perfect. I can add these to all the damn photos Daniel had sent me. Maybe I’ll show you someday, take a trip down memory lane, hm?”

“I’ll pass,” Wren spits, glaring at Berkeley as he leans against the side of the table.

“You should still see this one, though,” he says, holding up his communicator - found in the hideout too, modified to be impossible to track down - with one of the photos displayed.

Just like when his mouth was stitched shut for the second time, it’s seeing the effects of the torture in a picture that finally hits. It’s not a picture of a survivor - it’s a picture of a hopeless, powerless captive at his captor’s mercy.

It was supposed to be over. I was supposed to be free. I won, and it doesn’t mean shit.

“This is what your body will look like when they find it,” Berkeley says in the tone of casual small talk. “I mean, I’ll probably make a couple more modifications, but this” -he runs his finger around the carved letters, careful not to touch them- “is the first thing they’re going to see. A completely normal word for them. They’ll probably wonder why I’d choose something so mundane and… tame, but it doesn’t matter, does it? We know why, and that’s enough.”

Trying not to dwell on the promise of more modifications, Wren follows Berkeley with his eyes as he pushes himself upright and starts pacing to and fro: three steps, heel turn, three steps, lost in thought.

“You know, you disappointed me, Rackham,” he sighs.

“I’m so sorry,” Wren says, trying to sound unbothered, yet his heartbeat picks up the pace. It was supposed to be over. What else does he want?

“I wanted to hear you scream, remember? And you didn’t deliver at all.”

Wren swallows when Berkeley stops to pick up the knife and twirl it in his fingers.

“I should've expected that, honestly. It’s not your first time, and Daniel had cut you more times than you can count, hm?”

“It’s kinda what you signed up for when you sold me to a sadist.”

“Guess so,” Berkeley laughs, looking at Wren with narrowed eyes. “In that case I think I should try to come up with something Daniel never did to you, to really keep you on your toes.”

Then he smirks, and Wren knows he’s doomed.

His thoughts are racing when he follows Berkeley with his gaze as he circles the table, gently tapping the tip of the knife with his finger. Something he’s never experienced - or at least Berkeley thinks so, because he can’t know about everything Wren went through on SV-240. Even though the last thing he wants is to recall Daniel’s voice, Wren desperately tries to remember any torture methods Daniel had told him about, lamenting not having the means to try them out, but his mind draws a blank. He doesn’t have much time to try and predict what’s going to happen to him anyway; when Berkeley finally stops by Wren’s side, his movements are so fast that Wren barely has a chance to process what’s happening.

Berkeley takes his right hand.

Cut my hand?

Straightens out his fingers.

But it’s nothing new.

Grabs his pinky.

Wait-

Holds the knife right above the joint connecting the finger to the palm.

No, no, he can’t-

“You were complaining about the lack of puns.” Berkeley smiles down at Wren, who stares back at him with wide eyes. “So here’s one: keep your fingers crossed that the cut is clean.”

“No-”

It takes a second or two for Wren to get past the initial shock of having his pinky cut clean off, and when he does, the pain catches up to him, new and nauseating.

This time, much to his captor's delight, he does scream.

~~~

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68 notes · View notes

fizzydrink698 · 2 years

Text

illicit | yuta

kinktober day 5: hair-pulling

pairing: nakamoto yuta x reader

word-count: 3.3k

genre: criminal au, rivals to lovers

warnings: swearing, sexual content (oral sex, reader receiving), references to violence and general criminal activity

summary:

You swallowed, banishing the thought. “Are you trying to seduce me into being a hostage?”

Yuta’s lips twitched. “Why not?”

“This is a fucking terrible idea,” you muttered under your breath, as you followed Yangyang and his little detour through the alleyways.

“Don’t blame me,” Yangyang said, with a shrug. He didn’t seem to share your caution, strolling through the dark as if he were walking through his own home and not literally enemy territory.

Technically. It was in warehouse districts like these that territory boundaries blurred the most. That was the reason you’d taken this route in the first place – two blocks of warehouses would belong to the Blood Gate, take a left and you were in Sannoh territory, wander too far to the north and you’d stumble into Oya. It was hard to defend borders as confused as these.

You persisted. “If they want to talk, fine. Why the fuck should it be in their territory? It should be on neutral ground.”

The location was some nondescript restaurant, not quite at the heart of Blood Gate territory but close enough, as far as you were concerned.

“To be fair, what part of this city is neutral ground?” Yangyang asked. “We’ve managed to carve up most of it between us.”

“Maybe you should blame Ten,” came a voice from the back of the group, just a little too loud for a man so low in the hierarchy. “He was the one who lost us that sector.”

“Shut the fuck up,” you and Yangyang snapped in unison.

Ten didn’t lose you anything. The Blood Gate was about to launch a full-scale assault, and Ten chose to save lives and profits by clearing out the restaurants and casinos and various other semi-legitimate ventures your organisation owned, and left the Blood Gate to ‘reclaim’ a bunch of empty buildings and some dingy alleys.

But because there was no big dramatic fight, or blood spilled or people to avenge, small-dicked little shits like that guy wanted to complain about it.

Still, you quickened your pace to reach Yangyang, falling into step beside him and lowering your voice. “Seriously, Yang, I’ve got a bad feeling about this.”

“It’s a risk, I’ll admit. But if anything happens to us, you know it’ll be grounds for a full-scale turf war. That’s why we’re being sent,” Yangyang pointed out, giving you a nudge with his elbow. “The almost un-expendables.”

You hated that he was right. The two of you were high-up in your organisation, valuable enough to keep close, valuable enough to avenge, valuable enough to justify war should you be attacked.

But not quite valuable enough to be protected at all costs. If you were killed, the organisation might suffer, but it would live to see another day when you would not.

One day, you were determined that would change. You would embed yourself within the company, make yourself essential, tie the survival of it to your existence and nothing else.

But until then, you had to grit your teeth and bear it.

Dinner was, amazingly, incredibly, miraculously, uneventful.

The subject of your talks was relatively simple. A new gang, barely shoved out of high school, so new that even their name hadn’t really been established yet, had managed to steal the docks out from under the Blood Gate’s noses. Your organisation had ties to shipping companies, and could get their hands on some impressive naval support.

In exchange for setting up a blockade around the docks to corner these upstarts while the Blood Gate made their move by land, your organisation would be given a whole bunch of stuff: money, weapons, a strip of new territory out by the commercial districts. Definitely nothing to sneeze at.

Your bosses gave the go-ahead over the phone, and you signed the deal. Simple.

Something very much not simple was the way that one of the Blood Gate members had been staring at you all night. You felt it constantly, his eyes trained on your every movement, the way you leaned forward in your seat when discussing blockade logistics, the way you traced the rim of your wine glass when you listened to anecdotes, the way you lifted your napkin to your mouth to dab away any errant smears of sauce.

You’d met him a handful of times before. Nakamoto Yuta. People mistook him for a thug and not much else, but there was a wicked intelligence behind his eyes. He knew how people worked, how they thought, where they would next strike.

At least, you’d thought so. Now, you wondered just how smart Yuta could be if he chose to stare at you so openly and so blatantly this whole time.

You’d made the mistake of glancing over and locking eyes with him twice over the course of dinner, and both times he’d smirked at you. Both times, you’d turned away.

You weren’t certain who had noticed. Yangyang might have, if he’d been paying attention, but the second the deal was signed, he’d been content to divert all of his focus on the pretty waitress assigned with pouring wine for the table. Yuta could have gotten out a switchblade and thrown it right at your face, and Yangyang would have needed a second to drag his eyes away from her legs before he could intervene.

After dessert, when the meal was winding down and settling into the ‘coffee-and-desserts’ stage, you excused yourself to the bathroom.

In there, you gave yourself a minute to decompress, to compose yourself as you tried to grapple with the evening’s events: smooth negotiations, no imminent threats of death, Nakamoto Yuta ogling you for two hours.

That wine had been nowhere near strong enough. You wondered if you could pull a server aside to ask the kitchen to slip a shot of whiskey into your americano. Maybe two.

You took some time to reapply your lipstick, and with one final deep breath, you unlocked the bathroom door and pulled it open.

To reveal Yuta, standing so close to the doorway that you almost ran face-first into his chest. In one quick motion, he pushed you back inside the room with a hand on your shoulder, and sneaked inside after you, locking the door behind him.

You raised your fists, stepping one foot back, assuming a defensive stance. “What the fuck is going on?”

Slowly, sharing exactly none of your urgency, Yuta turned away from the door to look at you. He shifted backwards, just slightly, leaning his back against the dark wood, hands in the pockets of his slacks.

He was tall, all lean muscle and long legs. Living up to the Blood Gate moniker, he was wearing a dark red suit, tailored perfectly, to match the rest of his delegation. Before tonight, you’d only ever seen him with his hair down, long and dark and so thick that it almost seemed shaggy, but now it was pulled back into a bun. Two pieces at the front fell loose on either side of his face, framing it perfectly.

“…You don’t seem pleased to see me.”

You blinked.

He didn’t budge, not even an inch.

Eventually, you rolled your eyes and dropped your hands, straightening up. “Figured that out all by yourself, did you?”

“I’m hurt.”

“I’m sure you are.”

He tilted his head, and you caught the subtlest flickers of curiosity in his eyes. “Does Yangyang know?”

“Know what?” You asked, lifting your chin, challenging him directly.

At this, Yuta grinned, his lips parting to reveal a set of perfect white teeth. Slowly, he took a step towards you.

“That you’ve fucked me…four times now? That’s a little concerning, isn’t it? Once, you could brush off as a fluke. But four times–”

“Three,” you interrupted, calmly, as collected as you could manage.

His brow furrowed just a touch. “Four. Shinjuku, Yokohama, Nagoya and Osaka.”

“Three. Osaka doesn’t count.”

“In Osaka, you rode my face until you cried, and you’re telling me that doesn’t count?”

“As fucking? No.”

He scoffed, and even as his grin dropped, he couldn’t hide his amusement. “Semantics.”

You folded your arms over your chest. “Is that why you followed me in here? Because if you’re hoping for another, you–”

“No,” Yuta said, simply, before adding in a slightly lighter tone. “Unfortunately.”

You narrowed your eyes at him, picking up on the subtlest of edges to his tone. You knew when Yuta was being insincere, and this wasn’t one of those times.

And then it hit you. “…No. No, you have got to be shitting me.”

“You signed the deal yourself,” Yuta pointed out. “Both sides are entitled to procuring leverage against the other, to ensure both follow through on their parts.”

“No,” you repeated, unmoved.

Yuta shrugged his shoulders, and you couldn’t quite tell if he was sympathetic or just amused. “I don’t think you have much of a say.”

“I say that all of you can go fuck yourselves if you think I’m just going to sign up for being a hostage.”

“‘Hostage’ is a strong word for it.”

You laughed. “Oh, really? Then, why don’t you come over and be our leverage?”

“Shotaro already volunteered,” Yuta sighed, as if his hands were tied.

“Well, Shotaro’s a moron.”

“Would it really be that bad? I can take the next few days off,” Yuta said, stepping forward again and closing the distance between the two of you. His hand drifted forward, the back of his knuckles coming into contact with your side. His gaze shifted from your face to follow the way his hand slid down. “I could finally fuck you in a real bed.”

Just as he probably intended, the image flashed into your brain of soft sheets, comfortable pillows, and Yuta’s hands gripping a bedframe so tightly that his knuckles whitened.

You swallowed, banishing the thought. “Are you trying to seduce me into being a hostage?”

Yuta’s lips twitched. “Why not? A little revenge for Shinjuku.”

You couldn’t help but smirk at the memory. You had sneaked away after your liaison with a USB drive Yuta had sworn to guard, and he continued to claim that the whole evening had been one big honeypot scheme. You pointed out how dumb he was to just drop the jacket in which the drive was pocketed onto the floor and forget about it, and that sneaking away with the drive had been an entirely unplanned happy accident.

As you reminisced, you must have fallen quiet long enough for Yuta to chance leaning in for a kiss. What a mistake on his part.

Your hand reached up and grabbed at his bun, pulling at his hair to jerk his head back. His breath caught, his long stretch of neck exposed. You could just barely make out the edges of his back tattoo, curling around the nape of his neck, peeking out of his jacket collar.

You smiled at him, raising an eyebrow. “Let’s negotiate. Give me your offer in full.”

“Do you always do business like this?” Yuta asked, and the angle in which you had him meant his eyes were almost obscured completely through his dark lashes. He gestured to the way your fist had wrapped itself in his hair.

You looked him in the eye, and let your grip relax slightly. After a moment’s hesitation, and with more than a little reluctance, Yuta went to pull his head away, and you snatched him back again, fingers twisting in the base of his bun. Already, it was starting to unravel.

This time, Yuta couldn’t help but grin. “You’re enjoying this.”

“Of course I am,” you said, with a shrug. “Now, talk.”

“Talk?” Yuta repeated, slowly, and you didn’t realise just how much filth one word could hold. “That’s not usually how I use my mouth when I want to persuade someone.”

Something deep inside your gut clenched. You managed a brief reply. “Oh, really?”

With just a wordless, charged look between the two of you, Yuta moved both of his hands to your hips before suddenly lifting you onto the counter beside the sink. Stepping closer, between your parted legs, Yuta went straight for the sensitive spot on your neck, right at the pulse point – a spot he discovered in Yokohama, after realising the ways in which the muscles of your body would tense to hide your reactions to anything that felt dangerously good.

You closed your eyes, arching into him slightly as you enjoyed the sensation, but the sudden memory of whereyou were gave you pause. Using your grip on his hair, you pushed his head downwards. “We don’t have much time.”

“You’re just impatient,” Yuta countered, rolling his eyes, but followed your directions. Slipping his hands under the hem of your dress, he pulled it upwards, exposing more and more of the soft skin underneath. You knew he’d glimpsed your underwear when he murmured. “Black? My favourite colour.”

“In Nagoya, you said it was blue,” you said, managing to keep your cool even as Yuta kisses just where the fabric ended and your thigh began.

“It changes,” Yuta mumbled into your skin, before turning his head and pressing open-mouthed kisses through the fabric of your underwear.

You felt the first gasp of breath leave you, felt the way your body began to relax.

Yuta was good – why else would you risk so much for this? He was experienced, and more importantly, he was intuitive. This was the fifth time the two of you had…connected in this sort of way, and he’d already figured out what speed you liked, what pressure. What your body thought it wanted, and how to give what it needed.

When you felt his tongue press against you, as if he were licking through the fabric, the hand gripping his hair began to slacken under the sweet relief.

Only for Yuta to pull away slightly, as he reached up with his hand to grab your wrist and very pointedly kept it pressed against his head. “Don’t stop.”

That was usually your line.

Intrigued, you went one step further, finding his hair tie and pulling it loose from his hair entirely. As it fell down around his head, you tossed the hair tie somewhere and instead grabbed a handful of his hair. You decided to test handling him a little more roughly, tightening your grip, and you were rewarded with a low noise from the depth of Yuta’s throat as his mouth was on you once more.

It developed into the perfect cycle. When Yuta made you feel good, your grip tightened in his hair, which seemed to only spur him on to do more. He didn’t even try to remove your underwear entirely, he just used to fingers to hook under the waistband and dragged them halfway down your thighs, just enough to give him the room he needed.

He seemed to like getting messy – or maybe it was just the enthusiasm he knew was essential in something like this. You couldn’t half-ass it and expect good results, you had to…

You cried out as his lips closed around your clit and he sucked, loud enough that you slapped your free hand over your mouth to stifle any other suspicious noises from reaching that kind of volume. But it was just getting so hard to remember why you had to, because all you could feel was Yuta’s mouth and all you could hear was his noises and yours and your hips were already rocking forwards and you were pretty sure that by this point you might even be dripping down his chin and you wanted–

“Is everything OK in there?”

Yangyang.

It took everything in you, every iota of self-restraint, not to groan in frustration at the sound of his voice. You couldn’t stop now, you wouldn’t, you were getting–

“You’ve been gone a while. Some people are moving to the balcony to smoke, and…is something wrong?”

Your hand shook as you slowly removed it from your mouth. Taking a deep breath, you tried to shout back. “No, I–”

Your voice cracked, breathing heavy, because Yuta chose that exact moment to run his tongue over your clit in the most infuriatingly perfect way. You looked down, trying to summon an expression of disapproval, and you were met with Yuta’s amused, utterly shameless eyes as he continued to eat you out with little to no regard for the consequences. You tried to pry him off by yanking on his hair, but he held on strong enough to stay within reachable distance, eyeing you the whole time.

Gulping, you steeled yourself to try again. You’d survived other kinds of torture before, and this was by far the nicest you’d ever experienced. You could do this.

“Sorry, Yang! I’ve…I’ve got stuff I’m trying to deal with,” you called out, proud of the stability of your voice. “I’ll be out in…uh, ten?”

Yuta murmured into the crook of your thigh. “You won’t last five.”

“Just go to the…” you cut yourself off again with a hiss, as Yuta returned to lavish his attention on your clit. “The balcony. I’ll meet you out there.”

To your intense – intense – relief, Yangyang seemed to take you at your word and left with a slightly awkward goodbye.

With him gone, you turned your focus back onto Yuta. “Fuck, you’re such…a dick.”

Yuta hummed in agreement, which was probably a calculated move, as the vibrations made you physically judder. Immediately, you clutched at him tighter, moving your hips more and more.

You needed it, you needed it, you needed the feeling it gave you, you needed the way it broke you just a little, the way it cracked open your shell, you needed Yuta’s face fucking ruined, you needed it, you needed…

“I…I’m…it’s…” you gasped, tears forming in your eyes. You were clutching Yuta’s hair so tightly that you were sure your nails were starting to dig into his scalp, but he didn’t seem to mind. Quite the opposite, honestly.

Your orgasm hit, white-hot and blinding, and your brain turned to mush. You couldn’t speak, you couldn’t think, you just gasped and shook with the after-effects. Like electrocution, intense, slow, violent.

Yuta let you ride out the last of it against his tongue, and eventually, you recovered. Your breathing began to slow, your body slumping with relief, your eyes fluttered to a close as you tried to come back down to reality.

Your grip finally loosened in Yuta’s hair completely, and you slowly began to card your fingers through it. It was so soft, almost reassuring in the same way stroking a beloved pet felt.

Yuta rested his forehead against your thigh, seemingly enjoying this softer treatment of his hair – nearly as much as he seemed to when you got a little rougher.

Your eyes were still closed when he finally spoke.

“We could have a week of this,” Yuta pointed out, slowly pulling your underwear back up your legs, putting them back into position. “Every single day. What’s stopping you?”

Maybe it was still the aftermath of that orgasm.

Maybe you were just tired of having to bottle everything up all the time.

You let out a deep breath.

“What happens after that week?” You asked. “It’s getting hard enough as it is, pretending like we hate each other.”

Yuta stilled. Something in the air changed, as if the very atmosphere between you two was surprised by the vulnerability that just escaped from you.

You felt the urge to take it back, pretend you’d never said it. But you were determined to never take a coward’s way out, so you bit your tongue, and decided Yuta would just have to deal with it.

You opened your eyes to find him staring at you, something in his eyes that you couldn’t identify between sadness and affection.

Without a word, he leaned in and pressed his lips to yours. These were the moments that always made it worse, the ones where you forget, just for a second, what lay just outside of those doors.

“We’ll figure it out,” Yuta declared, quietly, when he broke this kiss. “Just…please, say yes. Will you stay with me?”

You rested your forehead against his, exhaling slowly, and opened your mouth to answer.

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brw · 1 year

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[id; a banner of wanda maximoff from marvel comics surrounded by various avengers. they are all out of focus aside from wanda. she wears her classic costume & casts small wisps of magic with one hand, wearing a forlorn expression. in white font with a hard red shadow reads "comic scarlet witch week" with decorative white spirals. underneath in smaller, plainer text reads "aug 1st - aug 7th". artist is peter v nguyen. end id.]

Hello! I'm happy to announce I'm running #comicscarletwitchweek again, like last year from August 1st to August 7th. Unlike last year, the themes for every day are more loose, with very simple words for people to put any meaning they wish to. I will leave suggestions for what each day could represent, but these are only suggestions for anyone who might need a little inspiration or guide.

As always, this week is centered on Wanda's comic book appearances. MCU & MCU adjacent content is not what we're looking for & won't be reblogged. There is no expectation to participate in every day, this is merely a week to share your love for Wanda's comic book appearances!

Please tag your posts with #comicscarletwitchweek or #comicscarletwitchweek2023. You can also use my personal tracking tag #userbrieuc. If anything is missed, you can submit it or send an ask or a DM to let me know!

Like last year, all types of content are accepted, and you can make as many submissions as you like! What we don't accept is content depicting the MCU version of Wanda, & any content that is incestuous or pedophilic in nature. Content includes;

Fanfiction

Fanart

Graphics (edits, icons, headers etc)

Gifs

Playlists

Meta posts / headcanons

Cosplay

Fancams / AMVs

Anything else you can think of, this list is non conclusive!

Themes for each day under the cut.

Day 1, 1st of August, Tuesday - Solo

definition; done by one person alone; unaccompanied. You can take solo to refer to one of her solo comics, wherever that be her 4 issue limited from 1994, James Robinson's 2015 series, or Steve Orlando's upcoming series. You could also take it to refer to Wanda by herself, to reflect on who she is divorced from her other connections. Maybe you want to write about her delivering a sick guitar solo in a band au!

Day 2, 2nd of August, Wednesday - Identity

definition; the fact of being who or what a person or thing is. Wanda has many idenities accumilated over the year; sister, wife, mother, teacher, and many more. This day offers an opportunity to explore one or more of her identities in whatever way you want to or to focus on one particular aspect of her. Wherever you want to focus on Wanda's identity with motherhood, the way her identity with herself has changed & evolved over the years, or a headcanon for her being queer, all are welcomed & accepted!

Day 3, 3rd of August, Thursday - Fairytale

definition; a short story that belongs to the folklore genre. This could entail Wanda reading a bedtime story to her children, Wanda reimagined in a fairy-tale based alternate universe, expanding on the Wanda's depicted in the Marvel: Fairy Tales series, Wanda dealing with some fictional creature from folklore or something else.

Day 4, 4th of August, Friday - Teamwork

definition; the collaborative effort of a group to achieve a common goal or to complete a task. This could be interpreted as making something for Wanda & your preferred team with her, or Wanda teaming up with another character, etc.

Day 5, 5th of August, Saturday - Family

definition; a group of persons united by the ties of marriage, blood, or adoption. Wanda has grown an expansive family over the years, thanks in part to many retcons. Here, you can focus on her relationship with her brother, or the family she finds in the Avengers, or the family she & Vision build in Vision & the Scarlet Witch, or her various revolving door of parents.

Day 6, 6th of August, Sunday - Power

definition; ability to do or act; capability of doing or accomplishing something. This could apply to Wanda's physical powers & how those have changed over the years, her status as a Nexus Being, or the ways in which characters like Chthon have attempted to rob Wanda of her power & how she's grown for that, or an idea for an interesting application of her powers.

Day 7, 7th of August, Monday - Free Day

Do anything you want! Expand on a day, do something AU based, do a roleswap, just use it to do something general / nonthemed, anything goes!

Please remember these are only suggestions, & do not have to be followed at all! You can make these themes as limiting or as broad as you want.

#comicscarletwitchweek #comicscarletwitchweek2023 #wanda maximoff #scarlet witch #wanda django maximoff #616 scarlet witch #comicedit #marvel #comics #thank u to people who helped me choose themes & gave me feedback last year!#please rb if you may consider participating or have followers who may consider participating!!!

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sjsmith56 · 2 months

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Short Fiction Masterlist - multi-part stories

Away Mission - 4 part story. Bucky cuts all ties with the Avengers and his OFC girlfriend, deliberately keeping them in the dark when he is asked by Nick Fury to undertake a dangerous undercover mission. Each part has alternate POV between gf and Bucky.

Chance Encounter - 3 part story (plus a small Drabble) of an act of courtesy leading to a major revelation for Bucky that will change his life.

Complicated - Three part story of Bucky giving a ride to a runaway bride that becomes complicated by who she was supposed to marry.

Customer Service - 2 part story. Bucky shows up at the store where his ex-girlfriend works to return something. When Sam asks for help in buying Bucky a suit she helps him out. Angst and fluff.

Dates - Three part story - A visit to his old apartment brings Bucky in contact with the new tenant. With Sam’s help, he asks her out for a first date, a double date with Steve, then ghosts her for the third date until Sam intervenes.

The Fae Elements - Six Seven part story. Bucky Barnes as a fae king in the modern world courting an environmental lawyer. The dark fae want her as well. Teaser link.

We Danced - Three part story of Bucky meeting a lawyer in Washington, then reconnecting with her in Paris and then New York, where they both realize they have something very special.

You Get What You Need - Two part story in Avengers AU where Bucky learns his former girlfriend had his baby, and is now dying of cancer. Her only hope is a medical treatment developed by Bruce Banner using Steve Rogers’ blood.

Tumblr Masterlist

#bucky barnes #bucky barnes fanfiction #buckybarnes original female character #Bucky Barnes short fiction #james buchanan barnes fanfiction #james buchanan barnes #james buchanan barnes au #bucky barnes au

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brooklynislandgirl · 5 months

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@rhodestoruin {{xx}}

So is hers, she doesn't point out. Of course as beautiful and gentrified, as homey as Bay Ridge could be, it still doesn't hold a candle to Manhattan and is vibrancy. She also has the decency to have fire-escapes all the way up to her roof terrace. None of these things matter in light of the ballet of emotions she watches glide across his face to the music of his own thoughts. But he also…didn't really answer her question, the tease and implication, though if she's being honest, she just enjoys playing with Rhodey. In some ways she is reminded of a more serious Sam, a less overbearing Andy, and yet there is something entirely unique she can't quite put her finger on. One who is completely ignoring the rest of the fresh brewed pot behind him. And the bag on the table that has the best breakfast in all five Burroughs, still steaming hot because of a little judicious use of elemental mana. The tip of her tongue sweeps from between her teeth to dampen her lower lip as she almost smiles full of empathy and warmth. It can't really be this easy, though she's going to lean into it, see how far that goes. "Nevah gonna know, are ya? Is gonna haunt ya, keep you awake at night. How she do it? Scale da wall wi' hand and toe? She bribe da doorman t' let her in? She use key you no remembah givin' her?" Each one slightly more worrisome than the last. Then she shrugs, all innocence and rainbows again."Or mebbe, jus' mebbe national hero War Machine is gonna have a seat an' eat his breakfast while it still hot because a certain someone knows ya haven't been takin' care of yaself like you should. Man can not live in tin can..really really fancy one…alone. Besides, I'm a very determined an' resourceful....nurse."

#rhodestoruin #tbd|James Rhodes #tbd|Rhodey and Beth #Blood Ties|Avengers Au #Brooklyn Stories|New York

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hopeworth · 1 year

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one line, any fic

tagged by @sunlitlemonade kissing u on the nose

pick any 10 of your fics, scroll somewhere to the mid point, pick a line, and share it! Then tag 10 people.

strong enough to carry him (dick & jason h/c)

“Go fffffff – fuck yourself,” Jason’s hands shot out wildly before it clung loosely to the material of Nightwing’s suit. Despite his words, he wasn’t letting go.

take my heart clean apart (dick & bruce h/c)

“You’re not ruined, Dick,” Bruce said, “You’re perfect.”

the myth of freewill (bruce & jason h/c, UTRH au)

Bruce’s hand slid down to Jason’s nape, holding him. He said, “I know, son.” Jason almost laughed. A little more than kin, he thought hysterically, and less than kind. He was no longer a son, not since he wasn’t avenged, not since he came back and saw his replacement, not since that day in the graveyard with Hush and Clayface.

it hungers (kyle, fridge horror)

You need to live—open the fridge door. You are nothing without the food inside. They die and you eat and they live on inside you, as you. Eat it. She will always be a part of you.

ugly organs (jason, post forever-evil)

How do you say – I don’t want winter to end because then spring will come without you. I step outside and my throat closes up because snow reminds me of the last trip we went on before I died. Birdsong reminds me of the one thing that ties us together other than our dad. We no longer buy Cheerios.

ship in a bottle (hal & kyle, on the parallax retcon)

You will never know that he did this one thing for you. No one will because as far as the universe is concerned, this is the truth. He has made sure of it.

missing robin (damian, post forever evil)

Damian didn’t understand. If he was meant to grieve his brother’s death, then why was the world not grieving with him? He didn’t understand.

chekhov's gun is jammed (dick whump, be mindful of the tags)

If he pulls the trigger, Bruce will never forgive him. But it’s okay, because he won’t have to live with the consequences. It’s easy like that.

offer me that deathless death (solo-levelling fic)

He stared at the suspended darkness only he could see and the abyss stared back. There were things in his head in his blood in his shadow invading every inch of his being scouring and violating each corner of his head like a demented inspector for the vessel of a god and how long could he hold out for with this feeling that the very force of his existence will rip him apart?

heavenly way to die (dickroy h/c)

“I think I’m in heaven,” Roy said and the lips being framed by that perfect face curled in distaste – or something else. “Because I see an angel.”

Dick – Nightwing said, “If you die, I will kill you.”

THANK YOU FOR TAGGING ME SUNNY MWAH, anyways if you want to play no pressure @jackhawksmoor @minnow-doodle-doo @audreycritter and anyone else!

#fic rec #tag game #fanfic #fanfiction #dc #dick grayson fic #jason todd fic #bruce wayne fic #kyle rayner fic #hal jordan fic #damian wayne fic #dickroy fic

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stuckybingo · 1 year

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Stucky Bingo Round-Up #20 (February 19th - 26th)

Don’t forget to fill out the submission form to be a part of the round-ups and to get your bingo badges!

How to (Try to) Lose a Guy in 10 Days by rohruh Square filled: G4 - Rom-com Ao3 rating: Explicit Warnings: No archive warnings apply Major tags: rom-com, lovers to enemies to lovers, modern au, Summary: “I like it,” Carol snaps her fingers and points in Bucky’s direction. “Let’s give it a deadline. How long do you think you’ll need to get someone to break up with you, Barnes? 10 days?” This actually sounds kind of fun. It’s been a while since Bucky has felt this kind of excitement towards any of his work assignments. “How to lose a guy in 10 days,” he says with a bit of wonder. “How to lose a guy in 10 days,” Carol agrees, sharing a wicked smile with him. “I won’t need all 10, though,” he tells her with certainty. “I’m sure I can scare him off way sooner than that.” Format: Part of a multichapter fic

the fae behind the mirror by SomeSortofItalianRoast Square filled: I4 - Mirrors Ao3 rating: Teen Warnings: No archive warnings apply Major tags: Fae & Fairies, Pre-Serum Steve Rogers, Winter Soldier Bucky Barnes, Literal Sleeping Together, Alternate Universe - Urban Fantasy, pre-steve/bucky Summary: A cracked mirror leads to a close encounter of the third (Fae)kind. Format: Medium oneshot (1000 - 5000 words)

My Heart Is Open (I'm Letting You In) by Metalbvcky Square filled: I5 - AU: Shrunkyclunks Ao3 rating: Teen Warnings: No archive warnings apply, Drunken Shenanigans Major tags: Post-Avengers (2012), Captain America Steve Rogers/Modern Bucky Barnes, Alternate Universe - Coffee Shops & Cafés, Crack Treated Seriously, Drunk Steve Summary: Bucky come home from work only to struggle to with a jammed lock, and his very drunk neighbor, Captain America, breaks his door down to help him inside. Format: Medium oneshot (1000 - 5000 words)

the history books forgot about us by maplefiasco Square filled: N4 - Art format: Limited Colour Palette Ao3 rating: Teen Warnings: No archive warnings apply, implied blood Major tags: angst, book quotes Summary: A series of gifs illustrating quotes from This is How You Lose the Time War set over book pages. Format: Gifs

Lit From Within by Winnie Square filled: G4 - Found Family Ao3 rating: General audiences Warnings: No archive warnings apply, very brief mention of past TWS trauma Major tags: domestif fluff, established relationship, canon divergence Summary: It's snowing in Brooklyn, and Steve and Bucky go out to the beach. They are ridiculously in love. That's it, that's all. Format: Medium oneshot (1000 - 5000 words)

Jailhouse Rock by Smutconnoisseur Square filled: I5 - Kink: Exhibitionism Ao3 rating: Explicit Warnings: No archive warnings apply, Explicit content, Prison, Exhibitionism, Confessional Sex, No Overall Religious Themes, Major tags: Prison, Exhibitionism, Confessional Sex, Undercover, Mentioned Accidental Voyeur Summary: ""I love you too."" Bucky swallows down the knot forming in his throat, meaning they must say goodbye soon. He reaches down, smoothing out the numbers on the back of Steve's jumpsuit. ""Inmate 25147."" Steve's mouth drops open, and Bucky is quick to the drawl. ""You're keeping the outfit, right?"" Format: Medium oneshot (1000 - 5000 words)

Hey, I Just Met You by hanitrash Square filled: G4 - wrong number/butt dial Ao3 rating: Explicit Warnings: No archive warnings apply, COVID-19, daddy kink Major tags: shrunkyclunks, wrong number, meet awkward, bratty bucky, daddy steve phone sex Summary: During the height of the Covid-19 lockdowns, Steve and the Avengers are helping to raise funds for first responders and other groups. Unfortunately for Steve, he mis-dials the phone just as he's put on a live stream. The young man who answers leaves Steve tongue-tied and thoroughly flustered, and he's thankful for the call to end. The last thing he expects is to meet that same man by chance eight months later - this time with far different results. Format: Medium oneshot (1000 - 5000 words)

The Serum by singthebeginningofmoana Square filled: B4 - Project Rebirth Ao3 rating: General audiences Warnings: No archive warnings apply, watermelon Major tags: Angst, Fear, Canon Compliant, Parallels Summary: On opposite sides of the Atlantic Ocean and unbeknownst to each other, Steve and Bucky are both being given an experimental super soldier serum. Both are afraid and draw their strength from thinking of each other. Format: Short oneshot (300 - 1000 words)

Are there still beautiful things? by rya_204 Square filled: N1 - kink cock warming Ao3 rating: Explicit Warnings: No archive warnings apply, Tentacle sex, Cock warming, No Verbal Bucky Barnes Major tags: Post WS, H/C, Anal Sex, Angst Summary: «You shouldn't sleep in the walk-in closet, Buck.» He snorted. Steve was always ready to change the subject. Format: Medium oneshot (1000 - 5000 words)

Parallel, Space and Time by Cherriontop Square filled: N2 - Dysfunctional Relationship Ao3 rating: General audiences Warnings: No archive warnings apply, not steve friendly Major tags: canon compliant, emotionally hurt bucky, angry bucky, oblivious steve, post endgame Summary: Two years after Steve left Bucky for Peggy, Bucky has reached his breaking point with him. Format: Medium oneshot (1000 - 5000 words)

#stucky bingo #stucky bingo round 4 #round up 20 #weekly round up #don't forget to fill out the submission form

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geminigengar · 2 years

Text

Under the Open Umbrella

Part 2

1 | 2 | 3

bucky barnes x infected!reader

bucky barnes wants nothing more than to come home to his loving wife after seven weeks away. instead of being greeted with your smile he gets the worst news of his life. what's bucky to do when he's told youre sick with leas than 30 hours left to live?

au based on the new netflix resident evil series

warnings: angst, gore, torture, violence, cannibalism, zombies, major and minor character death, hallucinations, anxiety/panic attacks, suicidal ideation, nonconsenual drug use, dead dove do not eat,

word count: 1.8k

you shuddered; deciding to take your mind off what little memories, you had you went to open your phone but you stopped yourself.

it was hazy, fuzzy around the edges; muted and muffled but you remembered the flash drive you'd used on the mission.

exhausted as you were, you waved your arms at the camera in the corner of the room. "pretty sure you can hear me. i need my laptop. my tablet, anything i had on my desk. everything i had set up in the lab. i need it right now."

you kept waving hoping for some kind of sign they'd heard you, although you know you wouldn't get one.

you sighed, going back to your phone and opened the notes app, detailing everything you'd need to do once you had your equipment. you weren't sure if you'd forget again but even more if you didn't make it you needed the team to know how to fix this.

you tied your hair up, getting what you could out of your face to focus.

your hair was greasy, caked with sweat, grime, and blood. the medbay had washed you up as best they could on short notice but you hadn't been allowed a single shower in your three weeks with hydra, only washing yourself when you had the energy in the small sink inside your cell, which wasn't often. safe to say you were still filthy. you could only imagine how you smell. if only you could smell anything.

you cant smell anything.

phone in hand, you held your sweatshirt up to your face with the other inhaling deeply. nothing.

"shit."

you dropped your shirt, adding more notes as you remembered. you ignored the texts coming in back to back. tony's attempts at reassurance. you were scared to open them. he was doing his best, telling you he wouldn't stop until they found the facility you were held, until they found a cure. you knew he would find one. he was smart, one of the smartest people alive. but you were dying. there wasn't time for a cure. not for you. you didn't know how to face him. you were exhausted and terrified. you felt awful for dragging the avengers into this. your family.

you sighed again adding more notes.

first stage symptoms after exposure to the t-virus: swelling around the bite, redness, tenderness,

second stage: fever, paleness, exhaustion, loss of feeling, sensitivity to light and sound

third stage: hallucinations, paranoia, rage, violent outbursts,

fourth stage: loss of smell, then eyesight, increase in violent behaviour

fifth stage: complete transition, no longer responsive, fuelled by survival instincts to feed, bloodlust, cannibalism

you wiped your tired eyes as you typed. you honestly couldn't tell what stage you were at and that scared you more than anything.

the male doctor you had spoken to tapped on the window, drawing your attention from your phone. you stood up hastily texting this information to him while you remembered who he was. bruce banner was his name.

you made your way across the room to the window flinching at your reflection. you were unrecognisable. hair wild and matted in a bun; soaked in sweat, sticking to your face and neck. where your skin was normally tan skin was sickly and lacking colour except for the bruised areas. all in various stages: purple and red around your black eye and open cut on your eyebrow. red and pink around your split lip, yellow on your temples from the pressure of the electric chair. a blue ring around your throat in the shape of your cellmate's hands. all that underneath random remaining spots of blood both yours and his. sighed once again.

you looked like shit.

you looked up at the doctor tapping your phone to the window. waving it as he raised an eyebrow he pulled out his own phone. you watched his face drop and pale as he read your texts.

you stopped him before he could ask any questions. "i need a few syringes. blood samples. and where are we with my equipment?" your voice raspy, quiet. over the last month you had only opened your mouth to eat what little food you were allowed, otherwise it was to scream in agony at the hands of your torturers.

you blinked as bruce took a second to gather his thoughts "its uh, its being brought down right now. we wanted you to rest first but i actually came here to get a few samples myself, i can-"

"no. i'll do it myself." you tapped the slot on the door next to you. "drop some syringes, some swabs, urine cups. all of it i'll do myself. you can't let anyone in here."

it was silent for a few moments before you winced at the clank of the slot opening. covering your ears at the scraping of the tray sliding thru the it, you took a deep breath and gathered the materials.

you were never more thankful for both your field and clinic medical training than you were now. the tray had almost everything you'd need for a blood draw: an intravenous injector, vein infusion set, a tourniquet, syringes, and more all at your fingertips.

you thanked bruce and asked him to bring you some oral swabs, urine cups, weight scale and thermometer.

taking a seat in front of the door wanting to get this over with as sooner rather than later, you rolled up your left sleeve, wrapping the tourniquet around your upper arm as tight as possible with your right hand and teeth. it was probably too tight judging by the way your fingers twitched, but it didn't matter. you couldn't feel it anyway.

you rubbed the alcohol pad over the corner of your elbow and cleaned your hands with it the best you could. you grabbed the first syringe, twisting the needle onto the capsule before bringing it up to your arm. your hands were shaking, from what you're not sure. you closed your eyes and took a deep breathe just how bucky taught you.

in for seven. hold. out for eight.

you couldn't think of him right now. you quickly put the needle back accessing your vein and watching the blood poor out, quickly filling each tube. you finished swabbing your mouth and throat, locking the oral sponge in the container.

you finished quickly and rapped your knuckles twice on the door. the tray slot opened and you made to stand to return the tray.

your vision was blackening at the corners. you were lightheaded, feeling a million miles away from your body. you clutched the tray to your chest, stumbling into the wall adjacent to the door, learning your whole weight against it.

you were so tired. you tried to think what you were supposed to do right now. every thought in your head was out of your reach, nothing sense to you.

the tray in front of you sparked your memory. you couldn't hear the doctor tapping the window, asking if you were okay. everything sounds muffled, like you were underwater; your movements sluggish.

you placed the tray in the slot for him. for who again? you couldn't recall. maybe your handler? you hoped you did well, whatever it was, fearing the beating you would received if you failed her.

you slid down the wall, letting yourself fall to the floor, the tile cool underneath your cheek.

the bed across from you was different. all white, mostly clean, minimal blood. there was a blanket and pillow you knew you weren't permitted to have.

this wasn't your cell.

slowly but surely it came back to you in pieces.

the overturned hospital bed, the blood test, your phone. your phone had answers.

you pulled out your phone opening your the latest text. this one from tony but you saw multiple new notifications from names you didn't recognise and couldn't read. the words blurring together and doubling. you shook your head, scrolling back up in your conversation with tony. at least thought so. you only caught bits and pieces of text, but it was enough. it hit you all at once your last several hours in the compound. in your self imposed quarantine.

your head pounded as jumbled pieces of memories poured into your brain, each one more confusing than the last. you hissed as you closed your eyes, waiting as the pieces if the puzzle were coming together, events starting to make sense.

you sat up just as the door slot scraped open again. you grabbed the edges to pull yourself up, not trusting your body to carry you.

your laptop and tablet. along with the external accessories you normally worked with. you vaguely remembered the flash drive you needed to locate.

a water bottle sliding over next to the devices interrupted your thoughts. you were quick to grab it, greedily downing half the bottle in one sitting.

you mumbled a thanks and gathered the technology in your arms carefully making your way back to the bed. you slouched against the wall. you were lightheaded from the blood draw and couldn't remember the last time you ate. you chuckled to yourself. you couldn't remember much anyways.

your texts with tony- who you were close to tears that you had almost forgot him.

you shook your head opening the laptop and turning on the tablet, memories coming back properly, slotting together with the jagged fragments of events to fill in the gaps in your mind.

you had been working with tony on your latest pet project that was put to use on your last mission. you knew he could've put it together in minutes but he let you engineer it at your own pace, only offering guidance when you asked.

your project flash drive with mobile service. similar to the tablet beside you that had several bars without wifi. you couldn't count the amount of times a retrieval mission had gone sidewise and you came home empty handed. sure there were remote usb's already but this had a much father range. this way s.h.i.e.l.d could access any flash drive you connected overseas as quick as making a phone call.

you bit your nails again as you typed one-handed. you had no idea what had happened on that mission; the entirety of it pulled from you, locked somewhere in your mind just out of your reach. but you knew you had gone with this usb on in your pocket.

it was a long-shot. may have well as been a pipe dream. the chances of not only you having been able to insert it into one of hydra's computers but for any access to their systems to still be valid. it would take a miracle but creator had come through for you before, you prayed it'd happen again.

clicking 'enter' you waited for the programme to connect and run its course.

after several pain staking minutes your jaw dropped.

connection successful

you laughed, surprising yourself. you didn't think it would work but here it was right in front of you. your rubbed your eyes to check if you were hallucinating again.

connection successful

you grinned, needing to make sure you were file sharing with tony when you noticed the blood on your keyboard.

was that there when you opened it?

you gently touched your face, around your eyes, your nose, finally your mouth. it was then you pulled your hand back, fingers dark red and sticky.

leaning your head back against the wall as reality came crashing back down full force. you found no solace in the patterns in the popcorn ceiling above you.

one win couldn't save you.

you grabbed your phone again, scrolling your contacts.

a tap of the screen to the only one in your contacts with no name, only a ring, and you brought the phone to your ear

you'd left bucky nearly thirty messages while he was gone but that didn't stop you from trying again, from hoping he was alive and letting him know you love him one last time.

#i know one paragraphs repeats but i literally cannot get rid of it #bucky barnes x reader #bucky barnes imagines #avengers imagines #bucky barnes #netflix resident evil #resident evil au #zombie au #avengers zombie au #my own writing

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