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holylulusworld · 2 years

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Hole in the bucket (2) - The missing hours

Rating: Explicit

Summary: Bucky is a naughty roommate. You are no better.

Pairing: Fratboy!Bucky Barnes x fem!Reader

Characters: Fratboy! Steve Rogers, Fratboy! Sam Wilson

Warnings: naughty Bucky, mentions of misuse of a popcorn bucket, dirty talk, oral (fem!rec), fingering, smut (protected sex), creampie, possessive Bucky, cuddling & snuggling, fluff, 18+ only, dirty talk

A/N: Part 2/2

A/N: This is the first 2-parter to my Fratboy!Collection

<< Part 1

Fratboy collection

Divider by @firefly-graphics

Four hours before Sam and Steve return home, …

“I’m gonna eat this pretty pussy alive right fucking now…”

“Bucky, no…oh god, slow down,” you giggle and squeal, as Bucky tries to drag your sweatpants down your legs. He smirks at you as you kick his chest with your foot. “I didn’t say you can touch the goods right now.

“Doll, I gave this pretty pussy a promise and will fulfill it right now. Give me that cunt, Y/N,” Bucky almost growls. His hands shoot toward your panties to rip the fabric down your legs.

“What? Bucky! You can’t just do such a thing,” you chastise as he spreads your thighs with his hands. He’s running them up and down your legs, humming as you look down at Bucky settle between your legs.

“You know, a sweet pussy is much better than eating ice cream or candy,” Bucky purrs against your cunt. Your legs begin to tremble, and you hold your breath as he nuzzles his face into your pussy. “I love eating pussy.”

“Go ahead then,” he shakes his head before Bucky crawls up your body to press a soft kiss on your lips. He slips his tongue inside, swiping over your tongue. “B-ucky,” you whimper as he moves to your neck. “Please.”

“Patience, doll,” he smirks against your skin as his teeth sink into your neck. “You have no idea how often I imagined having you underneath me, begging for my cock.”

While Bucky kisses his way down to your chest to wrap his lips around one nipple, you fist his hair, making him growl against you.

“Fuck, I need your mouth on me. You better keep that promise you made,” you tug harder at his hair. “I won’t forgive if you can’t make me cum.”

He flicks your nipple with the tip of his tongue, causing you to shudder and moan.

“I’m going to eat this pussy until you are a begging mess, and then, I’ll fuck you good and deep with my cock,” he lifts his head to look at you. “From this moment on, you’ll only take my cock.”

“What? I-“ you cry out when he bites your nipple. “Bucky!”

“You’ll be my cock-drunk little slut,” he soothes your nipple with his tongue. “I’ll fuck you every day and night, and drive Sam and Stevie crazy. They’ll know it’s my cock drilling into your pussy.”

“Buck, less talking, more fucking me with your talented tongue,” you cup the back of his head to press him to your chest. “Be a good boy and give me some sugar. Maybe you’ll get permission to use your cock later…”

“That’s the lamest club I have ever been to,” Sam complains. “Why did we go here again? We could’ve stayed at home, have some popcorn, and watched a movie. Maybe swoon over our sexy roommate while imagining having our way with her.”

“Punk, gross,” Steve scrunches up his nose. “Y/N is hot, but we shouldn’t fantasize about her.” The blonde smirks. “But I bet she would look good underneath me, or on top.”

“Dude, gross,” it’s Sam’s turn to make a face. “…and just you know. Y/N would look even better on top of me.”

“Bucky,” you whine as he spreads your pussy lips to finally turn his attention toward your cunt. He enjoys feeling your wet and warm flesh against his tongue and lips. He kisses, licks, and gently sucks at your inner labia.

“Fuck,” whimpering you feel his tongue slip inside as deep as he can reach. “Buck, what are you doing?” you breathlessly ask as he slides his tongue in and out. He groans as he feels your walls around his tongue.

While he slowly moves his tongue up and down your clit and inner labia, you push your groin against his face over and over.

You are getting closer to your high, moaning as Bucky slips two fingers inside. You start breathing harder and push your face harder against his face.

“Fuck, I-“ he groans against you when you fist his hair harder the moment your body starts to tremble. “Bucky…”

“Fuck, you taste so good,” he lifts his head from your pussy to grin up at you. “So, what do we want to do next?” Bucky furrows his brows.

“Have a sn-“ you squeak as he jumps up, and grabs for you only to throw you down onto the plush carpet on the floor. Bucky spreads your legs wide apart, and groans as you are too shocked to even react.

“Fuck, that’s mine,” he hastily crawls toward his pants to fish a condom out of his back pocket. You watch Bucky with amusement as he fights to get the condom out. “Wait…lemme just wrap it, babe.”

“I’m waiting,” crooking your finger you smirk at Bucky. “Come here, Buck. My pussy is waiting for you…”

“Just a minute, Y/N,” you giggle and roll onto your belly to go on hands and knees. You wiggle your ass, waiting for Bucky to give you what you want. “Fuck, don’t do this to me.”

He grabs your shoulders from behind and whispers how sexy you are. “So, fucking wet and dirty for me,” he purrs as his tip prods at your hole. Bucky slowly eases his way inside your cunt, repeatedly cursing your name.

“B, that’s a lot,” you choke out as he slides every hard inch of his thick cock into your dripping core. “Fuck. How do you hide this monster in your pants?”

“You take me so well,” Bucky experimentally rolls his hips, slowly sliding in and out at first. He grunts, angling his hips as you already clench around his cock. “You will so cream my dick.”

He starts fucking you as hard as he can the moment you push back onto him. You dig your nails into the carpet and throw your head back. “Shit, harder.”

“Little slut wants it harder,” your tits are bouncing with every hard thrust. It’s a struggle to keep your upper body upright as Bucky hammers into you. “Fuck, that’s my cunt.”

Bucky is in and out of you at a steady fast pace and thrusts hard several times in between. He grips your hips pulling you down onto his cock, then push very hard when he hits bottom, trying to push deeper and deeper.

“B…I’m gonna cum,” his pace quickens, he’s fucking you faster and faster, making you cum all over him. “Fuck.”

“Shit, I got to take it out and-,” he pulls out to take the condom off. “I need to mark you.” He hurriedly strokes his cock, groaning your name as his cum hits your back, ass, and still quivering pussy.

You both fight to catch your breath and come down from your high. “I need to clean your cute ass up, though,” he sits on his heels to watch you drop to the carpet. “You look so pretty covered in my cum.”

“I must say, your idea with the popcorn bucket was the best thing you ever came up with,” you roll onto your back, stretching your limbs. “Your dick definitely can keep up with your cocky attitude.”

“Your pussy,” he looks at your crotch, already licking his lips again, “is the best I ever had, babe. I want to fuck it over and over again.”

“Just lemme catch my breath first, Barnes,” you cover your eyes with your arm. “Shit, we need to get the carpet clean. I just smeared your cum all over it.”

“Who cares?” he smirks. “Let’s make more things dirty after we had a rest…”

“No more-“ you fall onto your bed, groaning at the soreness in your core. “You’re like a beast, Bucky. What has gotten into you? How can you get it up more than twice?”

“I had to make sure you cannot walk anymore,” he grins as you roll to your side to look at him. “So…can we do it again?”

“No! I’m sore and tired, Buck. Keep your little Bucky in your pants,” you tut.

“I meant…uh-you know. Can we do this again another time,” while you snuggle in his chest, Bucky looks down at you. “Y/N?”

“Yeah…of course. Your dick is mine from now on. I ruined you anyways for any other girl…I don’t think you’ll get it up for some other chick.”

“What a waste of time and money,” Steve and Sam make their way back toward your shared apartment. “Do you think she killed Bucky?”

“Nah, I bet they made up and watch a movie or something…”

“Or something,” Steve nods as he unlocks the door. “We could join them.”

“Sure.”

Your roommates enter the apartment, unbeknownst of what happened over the last hours. They will never be the same after they found out…

Tags in reblog.

#Hole in the bucket (2) - The missing hours #bucky barnes #bucky barnes x reader #bucky barnes smut #bucky barnes fanfiction #fratboy!bucky barnes #fratboy au #Fratboy collection #bucky barnes x you #smut

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faeriecap · 2 years

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who needs a relationship when you have the literal line "womb to tomb sweetheart" in the lost letters of James Buchanan Barnes

#thinks about nec again #screams #i speak #bucket #stevebucky #marvel #mcu #captain america #captain america fanfic #stevebucky fanfic #stucky fanfic #not easily conquered #fanfic #fanfiction #womb to tomb sweetheart #bucky barnes #james buchanan barnes #steve rogers #stucky

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chxrryhansen · 2 months

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౨ৎ˚₊✩‧₊ Cherry’s Cevans One Shot Rec List

here you will find all of my favourite chris evans + characters fanfiction recommendations, i have many more to add and will continue to update this list. Please don’t forget to reblog these amazing writers fics as they deserve so much love!💘💘

Walk On The Wild Side - @hansensgirl

you just wanted to go for a stroll down the road—but he wants you to take a walk on the wild side. (Dark!Chris Evans)

You Better Not Pout, Better Not Cry - @hansensgirl

they know if you’ve been bad or good, so be good for goodness sake. (Dark!Multi character) - i would add every single one of her fics to this list if i could💘

Sinful Devotion - @evansbby

Lloyd promises to let you go, but he demands a depraved repayment. (In other words, Lloyd pops your cherry)- my favourite writer in the whole universe💘

Smothered With Bliss - @whereireid

Is it hard being married to the most influential man in America? You most certainly think it is. — Steve Rogers: Captain America, the heart of his nation, the soul of his country. After returning home from a particularly bad day at work, Steve finally snaps, deciding you need re-educating on how to be the perfect housewife.

The Night - @misshoneybee

Working as the Barber family's nanny is a piece of cake, but what happens when the dad you've been tip-toeing around all year comes home late one night to find you asleep in his bed, wearing his favorite sweater?

Little Miss Red - @anika-ann

Ransom’s looking for a good time tonight, when you walk through the door, he knows he’ll get it. And you? Oh you’ll get it too. He's going to make sure of it.

Unholy Errand - @buckets-and-trees

You're caught in the crosshairs when a hit goes out for your boss. (Dark!Lloyd Hansen + Dark! God The Bounty Hunter + Ransom Drysdale)

What A Shirt Can Tell - @justalonelyslytherin

5+2 times Colin asked 'Is that my shirt?' plus the one time he got asked it. Aka a look through the journey of Colin and his girl, each in which his shirts play an important role.

Start Again - @wkemeup

A chemical spill, uncontrollable desires rushed to the surface, an unbridled need, and the consequences in the aftermath (Steve Rogers)

Daddy’s Little Pet - @sinner-as-saint

You and Steve are the epitome of ‘opposites attract’. He is the American hero, a super soldier who is known for his bravery, and righteousness and for being the one leading the Avengers. You, on the other hand, are a well-known fashion designer in the city. Creator and owner of your own brand, and elite boutique. At first glance, it doesn’t seem like you and Steve would be compatible. But you surprisingly are. And behind closed doors, in secrecy – you two are each other’s solace, each other’s definition of home. He’s your strong, loving and caring man. And you, his lovely, little pet whom he adores more than life itself.

Good Girls And Skype Calls - @youre-deadangel

chris gives you a treat for behaving.

Afternoon Delight - @christowhore

you're steve's live-in housekeeper and find your boss and his friends having a bbq on a heatwave stricken afternoon. they invite you to join them and show you all the pleasurable ways to cool down from the sun. (SoftDark!Steve Rogers + Sam Wilson + Bucky Barnes)

Got You - @hispeculiartreasure

The two of you had grown close over the last year; first as teammates, then as friends. You had been distant at the start, just as he had. Slowly, agonizingly - blood, sweat, and tears were definitely involved - walls were dismantled. A current of trust ran between you, one which caught Steve by surprise. As dense as he could be about matters of the heart, suspicions of his blossoming romantic feelings being mutual had proven true with a simple kiss. (Sex Pollen, Steve Rogers)

Golden Boy - @bucksfucks

you’ve always called steve the golden boy, but he snaps one night and decides to show you he’s anything but. (Roommate!Steve Rogers)

It Must Be That Old Evil Spirit - @vonalyn

There’s something unsettling about his demeanor but you can’t quite put your finger on it. As if there’s something hiding beneath the surface just waiting to pry its way out of the tight shirt across his broad frame and tear your throat out. Maybe it’s your general unease around others when you’re traveling alone, or maybe it’s just him. (Jack-O-Lantern!Ari Levinson)

Stupid Kitty - @onsunnyside

Your father wrongfully entrusted Lloyd to care for you—it’s too bad he’ll never get you back. (Lloyd Hansen x Cat-Hybrid!Reader)

Manners- Or Lack Of Them - @rogerswifesblog

Ransom wants you, the sweet girl at the bar…but you’re not what he expected you to be. (Sub!Ransom Drysdale + Mommy!Reader)

Shadow Boxer - @mypoisonedvine

you’re stuck in the same destructive cycle with ransom, but maybe you don’t want to get out of it. (Angst + Smut, Ransom Drysdale)

It’s Not A Challenge - @gagmebucky

His jaw ticks. “It’s not a challenge, doll,” he bites out. “It’s a warning. If I tried to get inside you, I’d split you in half in the process.” His eyes flicker down, and your nipples are pebbles against the thin, easily-rippable fabric—you’re testing him, and he’s failing. “Goddamn it,” he hisses underneath his breath. “That - that shouldn’t turn you on.” Bristling, he drops his hand and pedals backward—he’s on his last thread, and it’s his sole chance to make a clear-headed decision. (Boxer!Steve Rogers)

Pretty Princess - @frostironfudge

Andy Barber gets jealous when he presumes you shared a room with one of his associates.

Over And Over - @frostironfudge

Ari Levinson is a possessive man, he'll punish you till you apologise.

Such A Good Boy - @lilacevans

You and Ari attend a business meeting, and at the beginning the other boss you're meeting with just assumes that Ari is the one in charge; however, that's not the case. While you look dainty, angelic, like you couldn't even hurt a fly, you're the one who runs the family and will not hesitate to fuck up anyone who stands in your way. (Puppy!Ari Levinson) - one of my favourite fics EVER.💘

Breathe - @buckyownsmylife

The one where the new co-star is obsessed with the idea of making Chris hers, but he makes sure to show her you’re the only one for him.

Justified - @dbnightingale24

Ransom has always been the center of your world you’ve always been the center of his. However, when he can’t change his ways and you’re tired of the heartbreak, is it really so bad if you think it’s best to walk away? Ransom thinks so. - one of the sweetest most talented writers i have ever met💘

My, My, My - @1800jjbarnes

Stevie couldn't help it. Every time he saw you, he felt himself grow heavy in his slacks. You were everything he needed. And he needed you now.

All The Time - @geminixevans-stan

He is one of the most powerful men on earth but there’s more worse than him (Dark!Lloyd Hansen + Dark!Nick Fowler)

Snack - @katherineswritingsblog

he just wants his snack- which is you.

Watchful Eyes - @espinosaurusrexex

When your best friend gets you a new job, cleaning the apartment of the most successful man in New York City, you don't hesitate to accept. The pay is more than good, and the man himself is better than any eye candy you have ever seen. Unbeknownst to you, you've caught his attention just as much. Steve can't keep his mind off you, so much so, that he drives everyone around him insane with his grumpiness when you aren't around. It seems like he has to take matters into his own hands when he realizes, you're too shy to take things further yourself. (CEO!Steve Rogers)

Cherry On Top - @dcllbows

you’ve found your favorite way to help your daddy with his grownup work. (Ddlg, Daddy!Andy Barber)

Voracious - @arilevinsons

The first time he set eyes on you; you were his sudden infatuation. (DarkProfessor!Ari Levinson)

Best Friend’s Dad - @imyourbratzdoll

you've been pining over your best friend's dad and decide to take your chance, knowing he's out and your best friend is asleep, you be a little bit naughty and touch yourself on his bed, not knowing he's coming home early.

The Breeding Ground - @fl0werfae

To others, Ari’s house was a breeding ground for him and his omega, but to him it was just fulfilling her purpose of carrying his pups. (Alpha!Ari Levinson)

My Sweet Pea - @mavsstar

Mr. Levinson lives right next door to you, the sweet, innocent college girl. Little do you know that you're Mr. Levinson's favorite neighbor. He's there every chance you need the slightest of help, maybe a little too much. (Trailer Park Au)

Like A Movie Scene In The Sweetest Dream - @worksby-d

Johnny’s always been on your “no” list, but you've finally agreed to work with him. (Pornstar!Johnny Storm)

Easy As Pie - @navybrat817

You bake pies for Andy, but you're still his favorite treat.

#chris evans #chris evans x reader #chris evans fanfic #chxrrys fic recs #fic recs #chris evans fic recs #steve rogers fic recs #steve rogers #ransom drysdale #chris evans smut #andy barber #lloyd hansen #ari levinson #johnny storm #steve rogers smut #ari levinson smut

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queen-of-elves · 1 year

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Under the moon

Steven grant x fem!reader

Soulmate AU

Epilogue

Summary: You always thought you were alone, without a soulmate, but the universe loves surprises.

Word count: almost 3K

Warnings: sweet but very angsty? I tried lol, some swearing etc.

A/N: Y/S - soulmark of your choosing, I didn’t want to choose a soulmark that represents Y/N. :) btw the timeline is way off and apparently I don’t care about it so

P.S.: to this day I am still thinking about Soulmate AU w Bucky Barnes (read it at least 5 years ago) where reader is only soulmate of Winter Soldier, so this is sort of inspired, and for the love of me I can’t find the fanfiction, therefore if someone would be so lovely and let me know if you recognize it from my poor summary.

Since you were born, you were one of the unlucky few, without a soulmate, without your second half. It was not that bad actually, not that bad as everyone tends to imagine. You can’t really miss something you don’t have, what you actually never had, can you?

Where everyone's wrist was decorated by a mark of their soulmate, something that represented them on a personal level, you had a blank space. Where your wrist was meant to be grazed by ink and color, there was absolutely nothing. It never really bothered you, you had your little quiet life and that was enough for you. Living in a world full of superheroes and aliens kinda does that to you.

However, from time to time the realization of your situation overwhelms you, hits you really low, just like now. One of your friends, Marcy, invited you for a celebration party of them finding their soulmate. It happened like in those romantic movies, or that’s what she tells everyone. One look and they knew, didn’t even have to check their soulmarks.

Lucky.

Marcy and Tom were adorable; you couldn’t deny it, all heart-eyes and little kisses. And yes, there was joy in your heart for them but the sting of jealousy every time you saw them was apparent. Heavy on your chest was the sadness you were meant to carry alone for the rest of your life.

The thought of soulmates started to consume your mind more often then you have anticipated after the announcement from Marcy. You expected to think about it from time to time, sure, the whole world was obsessed with them after all, but you? Not so much. However, Marcy constantly posted and talked about her amazing relationship with Tom even though they met just two weeks ago. And it just pissed you off. Never ever have you felt like this, even in middle school where kids happily showed each other their soulmate marks, leaving you feeling bad about the blank skin, or in college when everyone started to meet their soulmates.

This party is going to be a nightmare. Fuck.

***

The party was worse than a nightmare, even though you love Marcy to death, she was insufferable. Clinging to Tom the whole time and everytime the conversation wasn’t about them she would gladly navigate it back. You suppose that’s how everyone with a newly discovered soulmate acts, they are their world afterall.

You have spent the rest of the party hiding away from her, because you could handle talking about soulmates only to some degree, and drinking, happily and heavily drinking! Alcohol often makes you warm and fuzzy so why not now, you had needed that to cheer you up.

And at the end of the long night Marcy couldn’t let you leave, probably after seeing you mix gin and tonic into a big bowl and then putting a colorful straw into it. Sometimes you were not really proud of your drinking habits...

So after everyone left, Marcy told you to go sleep on her couch, draped a blanket over you and put a bucket next to your lying form. It sort of reminded you of one of those sleepovers you used to have when you were both in middle school.

This would have been a magnificent last thought before closing your eyes and going to sleep if it weren’t for the annoying tingling sensation on your skin.

If she has bed bugs on her couch, I will kill her. You thought, opening your eyes and vigorously scratching your arm while you sat up. And when the haze dissolved and you could finally turn your focus on your wrist. You couldn't believe your eyes.

Soulmark, your own soulmark. One second there was nothing and now a crescendant shape was adoring your wrist in a black outline. The waxing crescent staring at you in its hollow beauty, insolent mark of universe on your life.

“No-,” you stared unmovingly down at your arm, whispering softly as if saying it louder would erase it,”-way.” You felt like breaking down, now of all times you have a soulmate? Were they born now? Or did they lose their soulmate and the universe assigned you together? So many questions and even the internet could answer only a few, plus Marcy’s wifi was shit so it took a horrendous amount of time to find anything.

But in the end, even the palpation in your chest had yet to stop and tears kept on running down the slope of your cheeks, when the thought struck you. You had someone you were meant to be with, a SOULMATE.

***

The revelation of having a mark happened a few months ago and nothing has changed since, crescendant moon mark still on and slightly less mocking by now.

You had quite the thought about it and you decided that it was… fine, just fine. People have soulmates, it's a thing, so it's… FINE, right? Yeah, you were kinda panicking about it.

Why now of all the time?

Also was London always so cheerful? The stereotypical image of gloomy streets with a rainy haze contradicting the one you were rushing through. It was late afternoon and the streets were buzzing with people, the veins of the city working steadily, keeping the whole organism alive. Maybe your mood would be better if the weather was gloomy, if people were all irritated and nasty. Then it would make more sense for you to be annoyed with your life.

This one time the universe decided to listen to your wishes, a harass push sent you flying backwards, stumbling into the person standing behind you, both of you tumbling on the dirty pavement of the bus stop. The gravel scraped one of your palms but otherwise your fall was cushioned by the person behind you.

Universe just couldn’t give you a break, it seemed.

“Oh my, you alright? Let me just-,” hand extended to help you up with your tote bag already picked up and dusted off in the other.” help you up. There.” The sting in your palm distracted you from any further examination of the extended arm in front of you. And before you could blink again, you were at your feet with your silly little tote bag bestowed in your hand. Well almost-, your knight in shining armor noticed scraps of gravel entombed in your skin and a tenuous stream of blood trickling down, before he could hand it to you fully. “Oh my, that looks nasty.” If you haven’t realized before, now you have, his voice was the sweetest thing ever, like it was wrapping you in a blanket and shushing you to go back to sleep, that kind of sweet.

God, do I have a concussion? At this idea you jumped away from him, giving him quite the scare.

The realization hits you quite slowly, soulmark, your soulmark was grazing his tanned wrist and intertwined with Y/S. Oh, so there he was, your soulmate.

It took him just a few seconds to come to the same conclusion and now his eyes were bulging out of its sockets, staring bewildered at your mark, while his mark was peeking from under his coat’s sleeve.

This was it, wasn't it? The moment in which you absolutely knew that no matter what happens you can't get on without this feeling. You felt so warm and happy like never before, as if you had seen the sun for the first time. Was it the same for everyone or was it just you? Maybe it was a no-soulmate-before thing and to experience being in the presence of your soulmate was just too much for those like you. Your heart was beating very fast, sprinting miles to nowhere… was it also normal? All of this seemed so unusual. Perhaps you were dying, cardiac arrest is always on the table, isn’t it?

And then he smiled and all of it got more intense, more sunshine in your life, the warmth spreading through you now scorching your insides and you couldn’t get enough of it.

He stood slumped, the coat hanging on him, trying to hide his figure completely to unwanted attention, but still framing him in your adoring gaze as the most handsome man in the whole vast world.

“Please be real.” Whisper left your lips before you could register that your mouth opened. This seemed to brighten his mood even more, your comment not weirding him out at all. As if for him it was an acceptable norm, to doubt the existence of human beings standing in front of him.

************

“I don't understand it. So we got magically assigned together? Aren’t soulmates designed from birth?”

“I am just as stumped as you. Honestly, all of this is a bit bonkers!” He exhaled as if out of absolute relief, contradicting his words.

You and Steven were now sitting on an ugly painted park bench near the bus stop. And while the conversation was not smoothly pacing as you had anticipated and in your nervous state you kept peeling off the chipped green paint from the metal bench, Steven was very polite. He told you his name right after the two of you labeled each other as real people, not just a construct of your lonely minds (and lack of sleep in Steven’s case).

And now that you had time to fully look at him, you deemed your soulmate as the most handsome man in the whole world. Dark unruly hair falling into his eyes seemed too fluffy to your liking, maybe it was the need to touch it that made you lovingly hate it. You really loved to look at him, as if he was a piece of art even though his posture was never changing, clothes hanging on his frame as if trying to hide him and oftentimes it seemed as if his tongue was not adjusted to speak in such a way.

He fits perfectly in your life but in his, in some odd way he seemed to struggle to adjust.

So, from your first interaction with your soulmate you have gathered only a little information, obviously his name, the fact that he works in a gift shop in the National Art Gallery and his undying love for Egyptian mythology. As the conversation moves on you have yet to check off any of the boxes in your red flag list, so far so good then. It also did not end up with just Steven talking about himself, he asked you a ton of questions (he later apologized for it ‘cause he felt like he was simply intruding) which not a lot of guys do, based on your narrow experience with blind dates and stuff like Tinder.

And as time flew by you realized Steven’s lovely brown irises never left you, not even for a split second did his attention shift, as if in his eyes you were the sun. Well he for sure was in yours, warm and light gifting sphere, from now on the center of your universe.

**************

It has been weeks since you have met him and so far everything was going great, more than great, Steven was nothing but sweetheart to you but still there was the milestone of spending a night at one’s place was still yet to be crossed. When this question first came, Steven seemed hesitant at the idea of spending the night at someone else’s place or maybe it was about you. Maybe he was hesitant about you spending the night as his?

You basically mutually decided that this part of dating could wait, there is no race to be won so why to rush it, right? This seemed to soothe the worry rising in both of you. And there were other bridges to be crossed so you both turned your attention to them.

Steven was a sweetheart since the start of you two, could you actually call it dating tho? Neither of you have spoken out about it, setting in the borders of the relationship. Yes, objectively speaking how you spend the time with your soulmate would be sorted into the category of dating but neither of you have called your meetings a date yet. It was nerve wracking, simply dancing around the topic in every conversation, you trying not to make him uncomfortable and Steven in the same position but on the opposite side.

You couldn’t take it anymore and you were done being anxious over something so silly. So you took the first step and texted him.

You thought that the giggling and kicking your legs in the air era was done by the time you turned 20 and apparently it was not. Keeping your excitement over him was too hard for you to contemplate over even attempting at it. Steven just made your heart buzz with a newfound energy.

It was impossible to imagine someone else as your soulmate, it was even more inimaginable to try to picture someone more perfect than the lovely museum gift shopist. ‘Cause Steven’s never ending politeness sometimes caught you off guard, he opened doors for you, bought you flowers and even sweet little pastries from the expensive bakery near his flat. You could not fathom how he could be insecure about himself, every single woman you knew would have died for Steven of their own.

You couldn’t imagine someone more perfect, maybe because Steven was just the definition of perfect.

**********************

You were in ecstasy, you finally sort of convinced Steven to spend the night at your place. Fully innocent idea of movie night with the hope of it turning into a some kind of sleepover. He didn’t seem so eager but movie night sounded too good to his ears for declination. And yes, you two had the deal and all, however it’s been almost three weeks and the impatience in both of you started to rise to the surface.

Everything was ready, finding the movie Steven talked about last week was the only and the biggest obstacle in your journey for a full night with Steven as a company but even that you have successfully conquered.

Nothing could have stopped you now, nothing could have ruined your excellent mood tonight. Well, there was one thing, this feeling that something terrible was on the horizon, a sort of hunch that something was not quite right. You tried to push it deep inside, to not think about it but the feeling persisted. So you kept busy, waiting at first patiently for Steven’s arrival and then very impatiently pacing the floor of your flat, still keeping the appearance of being busy. Checking if you had his favorite tea in the cupboard, enough popcorn or inspecting the cleanliness of the coffee table on which you have placed snacks for you two.

He was late, he always was a bit late, well, he was always late and usually it was not a bit. Waiting sort of became your strong suit after meeting Steven, so you sat down on the sofa checking your phone to see how late he was.

And then you saw it, a bad omen. This had to be a nightmare, was the universe playing a cruel trick on you? Has nothing of it been real? Had you only dreamed of him the whole time?

No, it was real. Your still dirty beige tote bag laying on the kitchen counter strengthened the conviction of your senses that the encounter with your soulmate, and he, himself, were real. However your wrist was now bare, disproving all of it again. You felt nothing though, no pain in your wrist, absolutely nothing that would indicate change.

You were positioned at the start again, fresh clean start insisting that nothing happened, so what if you imagined him and the soulmark the whole time. Nothing changed, you could never feel lost for something you never had, right?But you had him, he was yours and he was real.

Shivering from the sudden drops, cold like ice, rolling down the sides of your neck and staining your sleeping shirt, you realized how this thought process was wrong. All of it was wrong. You felt him, it had to be real, you shouldn’t doubt his existence.

You felt stuck. Skin petrified in the momentum where you could still doubt if the universe was having a laugh over you or if all of this was just a big misunderstanding, somehow.

And only the moon now stands to you as a companion, looking down at you from the dark night sky and casting every surface in gentle glow with the soft light passing through the room, reflecting on every metal.

So under the light of your only faithful companion you weep for your lost love. The universe for sure loved being cruel.

#steven grant x reader #steven grant x you #steven grant fanfiction #moon knight fanfic #mcu #marvel fanfiction #soulmate au #mcu fanfiction #oscar isaac x reader

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separatist-apologist · 2 years

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Can you please please please share what romance books have you actually enjoyed and you think are well written?

I had most of the books you critiqued on my TBR list (and I was too busy reading Elucien fanfiction to do it) but now I kind of don't want to read them anymore. I really trust your judgement considering that in my opinion you are the best fucking author on this earth.

Best fucking author almost made me delete tumblr (Jk) but the bar is in hell I see.

I have been ignoring these asks and I guess I should address that? I get like, me being negative about popular books makes people wonder what I DO like. And I split my time between three buckets:

Nonfiction- of which I read a fair amount of. If you ever want to see a picture of my bookshelves, you'll find four shelves that are only non-fiction. I had a phase where that was all I was reading, which is maybe why ACOTAR hit so hard for me? But I still read a lot of it because I run the bookclub at work where we tackle different topics around social justice, oppression, violence etc. This upcoming month we're doing Rest As Resistance, and I'm going to Barnes and Noble tonight to buy it.

I also have a spread sheet of EVERY Star Wars book written in the order in which it fits into canon. It was my goal last year to read them all LOL I did not come close. But my next biggest time suck of books is Star Wars related. When I was like tee hee all, I like Star Wars I think maybe I didn't admit how like, dedicated I am to Star Wars.

And so when it comes to romance, like everyone else, I too rely on reviews of other people because I'm new. What's good, I ask into the void? And too often I get suggested the popular garbage, of which I then offer up my time and I think that's partly why I get so upset when it turns out to be bullshit. Consistently, when I think about what I've enjoyed, it's been Ruby Dixon's Aspect and Anchor series (KU) (I have all the books on my shelf and I cherish them).

My in real life best friend who isn't LB also suggested the Emperium Trilogy. I have all three books- I read the first one and really liked it. I need to finish the other two, actually (And I swear I will one of these days).

When I'm and B&N I'm gonna pick a few things up and try them, too. So who knows, maybe in a month we can come back and I'll have some more recommendations.

#im trying i swear #but you gotta ask: do i want mb to read more books #or keeping writing unhinged nonsense

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jomilitum · 2 months

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Wow, for you @code-rage ... I will do this text post thing. Because I do still bounce around on here once every few months. And I ALSO think back to the advent (the descent!?) of those k project days :') And of course the FE of it all :')

Last Song: Like all of living society, Beyonce's "Texas Hold 'Em."

Favorite Color: Teal!

Last movie/TV show: Last TV show I finished was Season 4 of True Detective (I feel like I got duped by that), currently watching Monarch which is mostly just enjoyable for the dual Russell of it all sprinkled with monsters. Also perpetually rewatching Parks and Recreation. Last movie was "Next Goal Wins" because I needed a break from these best picture nominee bummers.

Sweet/savoury/spicy: Sweet! But also savory :) Like a savory crepe? With melted cheese!? Yes.

Last thing I googled: The last non-sad googled things I have are "new york times connections," "rotten tomatoes," "dune popcorn bucket," "in what context does blue mean noble"

Current obsession: Playing through Overcooked with my forever friend/de-facto life partner Sara. Otherwise I feel as though I'm a little between obsessions at the moment! But all the things I've ever had my life consumed by still live in my heart - Bucky Barnes has been ruining my life since like 2007 or whenever I first read Winter Soldier.

Last book: Currently reading "Universal Harvester" and "Above Ground," before that "Red at the Bone" and the second murderbot book!

Last fic: Probably one of the biggest gifts of the last year or so was recovering an iconic South Park fanfiction that I had loved in high school but was then lost to time (aka the author removed it from the internet), but I randomly googled it and found someone else had recovered it and so got to re-read it! And it was just as gut punching, if not more so, as I remembered it being from high school. More recently, I've read one or two pretty excellent Leverage and Good Omens fics on the recommendation of another excellent friend so thank you Kate.

Looking forward to: Many things! A new bakery has just opened up nearby that I'm excited to try. Seasons 2 of Andor and Severance. Big hopeful Europe trip in May. New Decemberists album this year! Seeing some dear family friends that are visiting next month.

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the-kestrels-feather · 3 months

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Get To Know Me Tag Game

I was tagged by the lovely @gyokujyn, thank you friendo!!

1. How did you get your nickname (or url)?

There's nothing especially deep to it tbh, my name is Kestrel and my go-to username is kestrelfeather (yes I know its a Warrior Cats name it haunts me every day) but it was taken already

2. What's the last thing that made you cry?

Not to trauma dump on this here Tumblr post but tbh I need to get better at actually feeling my feelings, because I don't remember the last time I cried, and it's not because I'm living my best life or anything it's because I bottle my feelings like a fine wine 😅🙃

3. What's your latest guilty pleasure?

I try not to feel guilty about things that being me joy but it is absolutely my shameless Self-insert OC created to date Bucky Barnes and is almost definitely the Nonbinary equivalent of a Mary Sue but they make me happy GOD DAMMIT Cringe culture is DEAD

4. What sports do you play/have you played?

So despite not being a sporty kid I've actually played a few! Itty bitty baby Kes played soccer, Tee Ball, and Softball at varying times, and did Ballet, jazz, and tap for like a year or two. But that all stopped when I turned 7 and FINALLY talked my parents into letting me take horseback riding lessons, and I did that for 11.5 years. I absolutely LOVED riding, and would ABSOLUTELY still be doing it, but unfortunately it's time and money I don't have so I just stare longingly.

5. What are your pet peeves?

People who don't chew with their mouth closed talk with their mouth full my mother even though she denies it, kids who come into the textbook distribution room I work in and go "I need a book" but when i ask them for a title, class, teacher, literally any information that woukd help me get them the correct book they just say "I don't know".

6. What is the first thing you notice about people?

Eyes. I suck at eye contact but if someone has pretty eyes I take notice

7. What is your eye color?

Great question tbh. Somewhere between blue and green, like a sort of teal-y color.

8. What super specific trope or genre is your kryptonite?

In non-fanciction settings: Gothic and Cosmic horror, action is fun, the fact that Librivox audiobooks of novels in the public domain are easy to find and extremely accessible, it's given me a strong love for classical literature, Picture of Dorian Gray is my favorite.

In Fanfiction settings: inject that Hurt/Comfort directly into my VEINS--. I'm also a big fan of any and all forms of Nonsexual intimacy.

9. What is your superpower?

As a Props Artisan I can make anything out of anything. I love making props from found objects, especially weapons. I was on a production of Romeo and Juliet and got to make all sorts of fun found object weapons because it was a post-apocalyptitc world

Some examples:

10. Which fictional world would you be happy to call home?

I know I would like. Instantly die. But I would love to live as a half-blood in the Percy Jackson world tbh.

11. What are your hobbies?

Listening to audiobooks and video essays, writing, learning to draw, video games, and crafting.

12. Do you have any pets?

I have one Dog, an 11 year old rat terrier mix named Peanut who owns my heart ❤️ I used to have pet land snails too, but unfortunately they have all passed on.

Bonus Peanut. Look at this little face how could you see this and NOT want to hand over all your worldly possessions to her:

13. What is your biggest toxic trait?

Oh jeez. I have a stubborn streak, but can also be really selfish.

14. Is there anything you're afraid you won't accomplish?

Oh BOY is there. My dream is to work Props for a Marvel movie and I worry I'll never get there. Also I'm just in general worried I'm never going to get a job in theatre/film which is my dream because it's the job I want, what I love, and what I went to school for and I'm scared I'll never get there.

15. What's number one on your bucket list?

The aforementioned dream of working on a Marvel movie!

Tags:

@bucky-bucky-bucky-bucky @navybrat817 @feraljazzpunk @buckybuckyboo and anyone else who wants to!

#thank you agaon for the tag!

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maggicktouched · 10 months

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@bokketo I have no good explanation for doing this instead of drafts. Too much fanfiction.

~~~

Beck lifted the wooden latch and gripped the cool, dew-encrusted edge of the barn door. She rolled one back, just enough to squeeze between, and walked on into the pitch blackness. It was funny that after all these years she still knew it well enough to walk its lofty halls completely blind. Her hand trailed along the walls on the freshly painted stalls. Every now and again the smooth wood was interrupted by a cool plate of brass. She’d—begrudgingly—replaced all of the old ones. All of the names on those tags belonged to horses that had died years ago.

Her father had been born into power and politics. He’d been widely loved and celebrated by not only his own people, but those from other clans as well. His heart was with their people, not his own ambitions, and it was with animals too. Horses in particular. He and her grandfather had built the stable with their own hands before she was ever born. At one time, there hadn’t been a single empty stall in the place. Over fifty horses had once called this place their home. Mustangs, mostly. But her father had taken in anything that he thought needed a home. Elderly horses that were discarded like trash, the frightened and abused, the blind or sickly. He trained the ones that he could and sent them off to good homes to open up more space, but there were a handful of permanent residents. Some favorites, and some that had been hurt so horribly that her father had said they deserved a kind place to rest and as much care as they’d accept.

That’s what this place was. A place to rest. It’s what she needed now: somewhere to settle her wounded heart.

“Steady now.” She whispered. One of the only occupied stalls in the stables now belonged to Sugar. Grani couldn’t tolerate being confined; he stayed out in the fields or the woodlands or shifted into his hawk form to come into the house with her. It would have been cruel to keep a horse isolated and in pitch darkness—but Sugar wasn’t a horse. Not really. He looked quite like one from a distance. Greater Dream Reavers were horse shaped. They had most of the parts that horses did, but the horns on their faces, the line of scales growing down their backs, their long lion-like tails, and their luminous crimson eyes gave away their true nature up close. Sugar was enormous, even for what he was. Tall and slender and filled to the brim with general disdain for nearly everything that lived.

He was kicking the wall to the stall, and intermittently letting out an ear piercing whinny that had been what had drawn her out of the house to come soothe him. It’d already woken up the children once.

“I don’t know why you don’t just let yourself out.” She sighed. “I know that you can.”

Sugar stopped his racket and stared at her. All she could see were his large, intelligent eyes glowing scarlet in the abyss. He snorted, shut those magnificent eyes, and she could hear his head bobbing up and down irritably. Beck undid the latch and let the stall door swing open. The hooves of the massive beast clattered on the stone aisleway as he stepped out. She dug into her pocket and produced a little tin with candied violets when he began to huff and snuffle at her hands.

“Find him for me tonight.” It was a useless request. Sugar had gone off looking for his master nearly every night since he’d gone missing. Every morning he returned sweaty and quiet and alone. She’d feed and groom him and leave him be. He had always liked her well enough—but she wasn’t who he wanted.

Maybe one night they would both be lucky.

When it was clear that he wouldn’t be getting anymore treats, Sugar snorted and trotted down the aisle and into the distance, disappearing before he even reached the doors of the barn and leaving her alone.

“I used to like being alone.” She whispered to herself. The urge to cry bubbled up in her chest, and she slumped down onto an overturned bucket by the stall.

After Draco had disappeared she had done her best. For a while she carried on every day at the Manor. She did everything that was expected of a woman of her status in the position she was in. She spoke to the Aurors who had investigated the scene, she kept up the house and managed its affairs, she took care of their little girl, and she laid in an empty bed each evening and cried cold, quiet tears until she fell asleep. As the weeks dragged on, it wore her down further and further. The Manor had become a crypt—everything inside it reminded her of Draco. Everything taunted her in her loneliness.

When the morning sickness started, she knew she couldn’t stay at the Manor anymore. If she had to raise a child and birth another alone, then she had to do it her way. She couldn’t waste time worrying about houses and appearances and in-laws and what Draco would want if he were there.

It’d been better since they moved to the ranch. Not easier. Not by a longshot. For the first month she had called in a favor with Karl of the Bear Clan and he had come with three of his sons to shield her from the vicious meltdown her brother had. He’d told her to come home in the wake of her husband’s disappearance, and it’d been tempting. After all, Fenris didn’t exactly live at the Tandy Estate, and she loved her grandmother, but staying there wasn’t much different than staying at the Manor. Too many eyes and opinions and people insisting she do this or judging her for doing that. Raising a mourning child and navigating a rocky pregnancy was enough stress.

Karl was a good man. Sometimes she regretted not taking up his offer to move into Winter’s Heart—and to marry into his family. The Bears had their own pitfalls, but they believed in community, and they wouldn’t have tried to tell her what she could or couldn’t do. They wouldn’t have looked down their nose or fear her for what she was. But she wasn’t a Bear. She wasn’t even just a Fox anymore. She was a Malfoy, and the father of her children was out there… somewhere.

She never whispered a word to Narcissa about the offer. The elder witch hadn’t been happy when she moved out, and she’d been even less so when she found out that she had four strange men living with her for the first month. But she wasn’t sure what she’d have done without Karl. Karl who had what felt like a million children and more patience than anyone she’d ever met. Karl with his endlessly affable personality that had made her daughter smile when everything seemed hopeless and Beck was too exhausted to try.

The main house on the property had been destroyed after her father died. Likely by her grandfather in a fit of grief before shipping her grandmother back to Finland and fucking off forever. Beck had been glad for it though. She couldn’t have stomached seeing her and Fen’s old room, or what few things were left of her own father—who she had lost around the same time that Rán lost hers.

Was it better that she’d lost her father quietly? In the span of a couple of days? Rán had not been made to sit in solemn, sterile rooms with dozens of healers that offered nothing but false hope and ways to preserve a dying man’s body. She hadn’t had to see her father reduced to a broken thing, hanging onto her for dear life.

No. It wasn’t any better. Because her father had fought to live for her and Rán’s had abandoned her. No amount of reassurance could convince her five year old brain otherwise.

In a month Karl had helped her fix up the old grist mill on the property into an actual home. He’d fussed at her endlessly for working in her “condition” (for all his strengths, he had some ideas about pregnant women she didn’t love), but between the five of them and her three best friends coming around to help out, they’d got it done in the blink of an eye. And it was stunning. A giant, ever-turning waterwheel at the back, mint-green on all sides except the one facing the water where they’d left the pale gray stone natural, white shutters on the windows and a royal blue dutch-style door. It wasn’t small like she’d wanted initially. The house came in two parts, one section was three floors, and the larger section of the house, counting the single room attic, was five. Even that had worked out, though. Nippy had come along with her and the extra room allowed the elf to have her own space. It left room for visitors, too, without being too grandiose.

She loved it. It was completely and utterly hers. Built how she wanted from the ground up, and surrounded by wilderness like she’d always dreamed. Rán still squealed every time they saw deer or wild horses on the ridge in the distance. The house gave her some much needed relief. Which was good, because her pregnancy had taken a turn in the second trimester that kept her inside for weeks.

Another thing she’d never told Narcissa about. Or Fenris. Or Karl. Or her mormor. No one could know how miserable she was. They’d have dragged her back to polite society by her hair and forced her into a heeler’s cot kicking and screaming. It was only Yrsa, Karl’s wife, that she trusted. And Nippy.

Her placenta had misplaced itself, leading to unbearable cramping and—to her absolute horror—bleeding. At first she thought she’d lost him. Nippy had found her on the floor in hysterics. The elf had probably been the only reason she hadn’t lost her sanity that night. She’d cleaned her up and helped her back into the bed and sought out the only person she trusted with such sensitive information. Yrsa had been able to help with the bleeding, but the pain had never stopped, and she’d told her the only option would be a c-section once the baby was old enough.

The preeclampsia had started soon after that. High blood pressure was not, as she initially thought, a compliment, but a horrible cosmic fate thrust upon her because the universe didn’t think she was having a hard enough time. It confined her to her bed nearly the whole last month of her pregnancy—which was already cut short.

Twenty nine weeks. They’d taken her baby boy out at twenty nine weeks. She’d been born early too. She prayed that this wasn’t some sign that her children were doomed to follow in her footsteps. Nippy had broken the news when Yrsa took her to the hospital for the surgery. First to her mormor, then to the Malfoys, and then finally to Fen.

By the time anyone got there, they’d already started cutting her open.

She’d been afraid of a lot of things in her life, but the terror of laying awake on the table, watching over a partition as someone grabs a knife that disappears behind the curtain to split you in two—split open your womb where your barely formed baby is, that fear was indescribable. It hadn’t been good for her blood pressure, either. When she felt the dull pressure of hands retreat from her body and didn’t immediately hear her son cry, the panic had taken over and the world had become a blur. Her heart stopped.

Literally.

Yrsa had got it going again. Her brother had to be physically restrained by the guards and dragged away from the viewing window.

The world swam before her eyes, and the first thing she saw was Yrsa’s deeply concentrated face and her outstretched wand. Over her shoulder, looking on in mortification, was her mormor—face stained with tears. Beside her was a very uncomfortable Lucius but Narcissa was… she could hear a baby crying. Blessedly, blessedly crying, and then Narcissa floated into her periphery like an angel with a squalling baby in her arms.

A miserable delivery… and it was somehow still one of the happiest moments of her life. Because her son was alive. Narcissa had handed him over the second Yrsa stepped away. They closed her up and took her to a room to recover, and Lucius took Draco’s old place by scolding her. Only he went on for so long the baby finished his first feeding and fell asleep. A hell of a first lullaby.

Nothing could trample the joy she felt. Not even the news that she’d be spending the next month of her life in a fucking hospital. Nothing except the fact that his father wasn’t here.

She had plenty of help, and plenty of people who just came around to nag. It came to the point where she told Narcissa she’d be forced to shut the portal between her home and the manor if Lucius came by one more fucking time to insist she throw a formal celebration of the new Malfoy heir.

Fuck Lucius Malfoy.

She wasn’t having a party. She was raising two children and trying to keep her guts from spilling back out of her abdomen. It’d healed well enough, and Yrsa’s creams were helping it from scarring too badly, but her body felt strange for a long time after that.

If raising a five year old on your own is hard, it’s nothing in comparison to raising a baby. Her friends helped, her family too, but it was her up at all hours of the night. Well, her and Nippy. She couldn’t count the number of nights the elf had left the quiet of her own rooms and come into the screaming madhouse where the baby wailed and child howled from being woken up and she cried because she felt like a complete and utter failure. On those nights, all they could do was divide and conquer. One would take the little girl, the other would take the baby, and once they’d settled the two they would both flop down on the couch, laughing from exhaustion.

Nothing was easy. Draco’s absence loomed over every part of her life. She wasn’t unhappy, not when there was enough company around or a task to set her teeth in. Her daughter was growing up rapidly, and growing up wild. No child had ever liked mud more than Rán, and every time she came stomping into the house covered in it, laughing like a fiend, a little part of her couldn’t help but think of the appalled face Draco would have made.

She refused to wear dresses. Sometimes she refused to wear anything. The only way to get her dressed was to let her choose every aspect of the outfit. To Narcissa’s utter horror, the child almost never matched.

“You dress her then.” She’d said on the morning of Rán’s sixth birthday. Narcissa had gotten there early as Beck was setting up for the party. The elder witch had swiftly handed her the baby back and walked off oh-so-proudly into Rán’s messy sanctuary. She had walked out much less proud, with a little girl in a pair of checkered shorts, green and purple rain boots, a birthday crown, and a shirt that she had ruined by sticken dozens of rubber ducks all over it the day that she’d learned her first sticking spell.

“She’s impossible.” Narcissa snapped, with a heavy tone of accusation.

Beck had only shrugged, tucked her baby boy into one arm, and continued levitating the birthday banner with her wand. “I’ve got bigger fish to fry meemaw.”

Narcissa had flinched and Beck knew she had won. Narcissa hated when she called her that. Which was good, because she only ever said it to rile the elder witch when Narcissa was being nasty to her.

It hadn’t been a good birthday. She’d bent over backward trying to force it to be one, trying as hard as she could to keep thoughts of Draco from her daughter’s mind. Rán had watched the door like a hawk all day. When they’d walked down the path to the temple for her ceremony, she’d looked all around, and when the time came for her to stand on the pedestal and make her first shift she had burst into tears and bolted.

Beck had kissed her head and rocked her and sang to her until she’d calmed down enough to try and talk.

“How come he didn’t come?” She had sniffled, shattering Beck’s heart.

“He can’t, my love. He can’t.” She whispered into her hair, stroking it lovingly, willing that to be the truth. “But I know he’s trying. If I know anything it��s that he’s out there trying every day.”

After a long, tearful silence she asked. “But how come he left me?”

He wasn’t there for her sixth birthday. He wasn’t there for their son’s first steps or his first words. He wasn’t there to see the shock and irritation on Lucius’ face when he picked up his grandson, and grinning like a wolf the little boy rambled “ahpapapa”---his best attempt at saying “pappaw”, which is what she called Lucius just to annoy him. He wasn’t there when Rán finally mastered her fear and jumped into the cool water of the lake to learn to swim. He wasn’t there for their first family vacation or when Rán came back to the inn with a niffler in her arms after begging her uncle Jari to buy it for her.

He wasn’t there… and god did she hate him for that. Almost as much as she missed him. Every sweet memory they made was soured by his absence.

“Where the hell are you, you bastard?” She whispered, looking into the endless darkness of the stable. “Please be alive. Please don’t be hurt… Please come back.”

She stood on her feet and went back to the house.

~~~

“A letter for you.” Tippy said, stepping over the threshold and out of the Malfoy Manor into her home. Tippy was always kind enough to intercept her mail, because she didn’t trust her in-laws not to dig their noses into it. Narcissa was more restrained than Lucius, but if it was about Draco, Beck wouldn’t put it past her. Normally the letter would have been delivered by owl, but the wilds around her home kept her hidden, and that kept her safe. She wasn’t even risking owls. There was only one way to get to the property, one single road, and it ended on the gates. Jari and Professor Flintwick—one of the only wizards she actually spoke to anymore—had helped her ground foreign brooms and make apparation nearly impossible beyond the gates too. The only way to the house was to hoof it. There were two doors in the house that led to other places, one to the Tandy Estate, and one to the Manor, but those were the only points of entry. And you had to be added by blood to the wards to access any of them.

“Do y’know what it says?” She asked, looking at the front of it. She had been trying very hard to get better at reading. It was slow progress, but it felt like a necessary thing to do for her children.

“No.” The elf replied, looking around. Probably for Nippy.

“I think she’s out with Drizzle.” Beck said, still trying to parse the words on the paper.

“Drizzle?”

“Oh. Lemon Drizzle. She’s-”

“Moooom!” Rán cried from outside the open window.

“If you want to talk to me, come in here! I’m not having a shouting match with the river!”

“WHAT?!”

“I said-” The timer to the oven began to ring and she huffed, tossing the letter on the table. She looked at Tippy and held up a finger, heading back to the kitchen to pull breakfast out of the oven. There was a boisterous bark and a scrambling of paws and suddenly a flash of fur was barreling toward the open door to the manor. The elf dove out of the way with a yelp.

“Finnigan! Bad do-”

“MOOOOOM!”

She stuck her head out of the window and gave her daughter a stern look. “What is it?”

“I found a big frog!”

“Put it back! It’s time for-Finnigan please!--It’s time for breakfast!” Beck called, waving her hand. “Tell Nippy!”

The dog would not stop barking, and Beck turned around just in time to see why the rugged collie was losing its mind.

“Don’t let the niffler out!” She called, rushing toward the wide-eyed critter that was making a break for the shining surfaces of the Malfoy Manor. Finn hopped one way, the elf hopped the other, she nearly fell on her face, but she grabbed the little blighter’s foot just in time. It yelled in protest, but who wasn’t yelling at this point? Beck pulled the door shut firmly just as the other door swung open in the mud room.

Nippy came in first, with her son holding onto her little hand. Even though he’d only seen her twenty minutes before, the boy squealed with glee and toddled over to her. Beck scooped him up and kissed his head. Nippy was removing a sun hat.

“We had a lovely ride in the cart, we did. Lemon Drizzle is a very good girl.” The elf said cheerily. “And Eri smiled the whole way. Told me what the goat says, he did.”

“Did you? What's that then? What does the goat say?" She cooed. Her son hmmed, kicked his feet, and let out a loud bleat that made her laugh.

"Bravo! There’s my sweet boy.” She sat Eirdanus in a highchair and handed him a sippy cup and some small bits of cut up fruit to keep him occupied while the eggs cooled.

“The letter, miss.” Tippy reminded her.

“Oh right–where is Rán?” As if she’d summoned her, a blur zipped through the door at breakneck speed.

“Rán! Not in the house!” The girl squealed and tried to pull the broom up, Finnigan took off after her, barking and trying to herd her back to her mother, and Nippy snapped her fingers. The little girl was roughly dumped into the couch cushions, and the dog leaped onto her seconds later, licking her face as she laughed. Beck was not nearly as happy as she took the training broom in her hand.

“I have half a mind to snap this in two, young lady.” She scolded, bringing an abrupt end to the laughter.

“It was a gift from grandfather!” The girl argued.

“I don’t care if it was a gift from the Minister for Magic, or the Pope, or the Queen of England, I told you not in the house and never when I’m not watching. It’s dangerous.”

“Grandmother enchanted my robes though!”

“Rán.” She said sternly, and the little girl pouted but muttered an apology. Beck sighed. “...But those were some impressive turns. If Nippy hadn’t gotten you, you’d have flown circles around the table.”

“I’m getting better!” She exclaimed, and Beck rolled her eyes.

“Sink. Table. Breakfast. Double time.” She chuckled. Then her eyes fell on the dog. “And you need to go running before you drive me barmy. Go on then. And take the niffler with you!”

“His name is Nirmal!” Rán exclaimed over the sound of running water. “I’m gonna make him my familiar.”

“Ancestors help us all.” Beck laughed, finally heading back to the table to look at the letter as she doled food out onto plates.

“Are you staying for breakfast, Tippy?” She asked absentmindedly. Beck wasn’t sure how they did things at the Manor, but here they usually ate together. It must not have been the norm for him, because he hesitated before Nippy coaxed him into a chair.

Frustrated, she finally handed the letter over to Angrboda, who had been watching the regularly scheduled morning fiasco with great amusement from her perch atop the fridge. It floated in front of the feline’s face for a few seconds then back to her hand.

“It’s from Granger.” The cat said, but Beck was the only one that could hear her. Rán was getting better, but it’d be a while before her daughter could hear her familiar.

“Hermione Granger?” She was pouring glasses of milk.

Angrboda didn’t answer that, and Beck honestly didn’t expect her to. Boda loathed to repeat herself or answer silly questions.

“Says she wants to speak with you privately. About Draco. Urgent news.”

Her heart skipped a beat. She’d been just about to sit down to eat herself, but stood right back to her feet.

“Do me a favor and tell mormor I need her to come to the zoo for a bit.” She told the cat, sending her off in the direction of the door. “And don’t let the niffler out!”

“We’re going to the zoo?!” Rán said, bouncing up and down.

“You are the zoo. Be good for mormor.” Beck ruffled her hair. “Nippy, can you watch them until my grandmother gets here?”

The elf nodded, and she practically ran for the door.

~~~

She hadn’t seen Hermione Granger since the day she’d killed a man. The day the Death Eaters had descended on Hogwarts. She had still been covered in the blood of the Death Eater who had found her and her friends guarding some terrified first years out in the forest, and Granger had been—worse for wear. But alive. That was astounding, seeing as she was one of three people that Voldemort had wanted dead above all others.

That had been a decade ago.

“Mrs. Malfoy.” The Minister said, motioning with her hand to call Beck into her office. “Thank you for seeing me on such short notice. I don’t get a lot of time, but I thought, given the high profile nature of the case, that I should talk to you personally.”

So that’s why she was here and not down the hall with the Aurors. The Malfoys were still a highly influential family. She was still a prominent member of the Wizarding World, and she would be as long as she carried the Malfoy name. Though she was certain there had been plenty of speculation and rumor in the paper after she’d left. It was a miracle they’d never opened an investigation into her whereabouts with how abruptly she’d evacuated the Wizarding World.

“Would you like some tea? Water?” Granger was stalling.

Was she Granger anymore? Beck wondered idly. It’d been a year and a half since she’d fled to the wilderness. Sometimes Nippy read the newspaper, but she never asked, so the elf never offered up any information. But a lot could change in a year and a half.

The nameplate on the desk started with G.

“No, thank you. Look I don’t mean to be rude but I’ve got a six year old and a thirteen month old at the house with a niffler, a dog, and a training broom. If we spend too much time on pleasantries I might not have a house to come back to.”

“You had another kid?!”

Beck didn’t think she meant to say that, because after she did her eyes went wide. It made sense though. She’d still never brought the baby where the wizarding paparazzi could see him. Draco wasn’t around to insist. She didn’t have to. Maybe it’d come around to bite her in the ass one day, but she had too much on her plate to worry about it.

“I left because I was pregnant.” She said with a shrug. “Well, that and Lucius got the house back.”

“He—he kicked you out?” Granger asked incredulously.

“Oh no. I’d have definitely dragged what was left of his reputation through the mud if he had. But would you want to be pregnant in a house with Lucius Malfoy?”

“I wouldn’t want to be in a house with Lucius Malfoy.”

Beck snorted. “Exactly.”

Granger blinked a handful of times and then took a deep breath.

“You might want to sit down.”

Ice in her veins. Her stomach turned. No one ever told you to sit down for good news. Beck straightened her back and sank into a seat across from the Minister’s desk where Hermione was leaning.

“There’s no easy way to say this.” She started, and Beck focused on her breathing to try and keep from showing the rush of emotions she was experiencing. “It’s been a year and a half since Mal—Mr. Malfoy went missing. The case hasn’t had any new leads since it started and… And the Department of Magical Law Enforcement has decided to forego any further investigation and classify it as a cold case.”

Breathe. Breathe. In through the nose, out through the mouth. Don’t cry.

But her hands were shaking, and she could feel the sting of tears wet her eyes. They were going to stop looking. She was going to be sick. She was going to faint. Beck pressed a hand to her mouth and leaned forward to steady herself on her knees. They’d given up on him.

“I’m sorry, Beck.” She heard Granger said, and the pity in her tone broke the final bit of her resolve. Hot tears started to flow down her face. She hadn’t cried in months. She had shoved down the urge and forced herself to hope. Her breaths were ragged and the tears fell harder, refusing to stop now that she’d lost control of them.

They’d given up on him. And if they had given up on him, who was ever going to find him? She was never going to see him again. Her son would never see his father. Her daughter would always feel abandoned.

“Bastard.” She snarled, furiously wiping her face and trying to control herself.

“I’m sorry?” This time it wasn’t pity, but confusion.

“That miserable fucking bastard!” She snapped to no one in particular.

“Beck are you ok?”

“Am I ok?!” The laugh that tore from her throat was practically hysterical. “No I’m not fucking ok you twat.”

She would feel bad about that insult later, but right now she had lost all control of her tongue.

“Am I ok? She asks. No, Granger I’m not fucking ok. I haven’t been for nearly two goddamn years.” She stood to her feet, and saw Hermione rest a hand on the pocket where her wand was, but Beck went past her to pace the room.

“I did everything I was supposed to! I played my part. Maybe not perfectly, but I didn’t fight. I didn’t argue. Fen said marry him, and I married him. A man who had never even spoken to me before his hairbrained fucking scheme with my brother. A man who stood for nearly everything I didn’t. But I did as I was told! I tried to make nice with him. I was patient. I didn’t run—fuck, fuck!---I didn’t run. I could have! But no, I gave him everything. My kindness, my affection, my body, my fucking last chance at freedom, and what does he do?! What does he do to me?!” She rambled, still unable to stop herself from crying. “He runs off rub elbows with lowlives and to play with forces he barely fucking understands!”

She made it back to the chair and collapsed, covering her face and crying. “Miserable. Miserable bastard. How do I tell my daughter he’s never coming home?”

Granger’s hand found her shoulder, but she didn’t say anything.

It took another ten minutes for her to calm down, and another couple of hours wandering the streets of London for her to pluck up the courage and the emotional control to go home. She brushed off Nippy’s questions and her daughter’s curious eyes.

She couldn’t tell them. How could she ever tell them?

#;;my drabbles

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iamsherlockedondoctorwho · 4 years

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What’s your Stucky thing?

Hurt/Comfort?

Angst?

Misunderstandings?

Fake/Pretend Relationship?

Escort?

Modern Bucky?

Super Soldier Bucky?

Well have I got a Fic for you!

Trust Enough By: geneticallydead

it’s literally got ALL of that shit. In one wonderful fic

at the beginning it’s almost borderline porn with a side of plot, but then suddenly there’s so much plot and angst, and it’s wonderful.

Starts with Steve misunderstanding, and thinking Bucky is an escort. The hurt/comfort trope goes through the whole story. And the others are all mixed in.

Honestly it’s wonderfully written and you should read it right fucking now.

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bucky-bucket-barnes · 2 years

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Headcanon idea! Reader and Bucky getting ready in the morning. I feel like our soft boi would get all distracted just from watching you get dressed and put on makeup lol :)

morning bucky headcanon

sometimes you forget your boyfriend is from the 40s

then this fucker does shit like waking up at the crack of dawn and you very quickly remember

"rise and shine beautiful :)" / "what time is it?!?" / "7 a.m." / "what the fuck" / "i thought i'd let you sleep in :)" / "that's not sleeping in, buck" / ":("

okay, so adjusting to your sleep schedule was a little hard for him, but he eventually came around

you insisted he could wake up earlier and you'd join him, but he really liked getting ready with you so that was a no-go

he was still up a little earlier than you, though

he fucking loves that confused look you have on your face when you first wake up, eyes fluttering against the sunlight

then a soft smile spreading on your lips when you look up and see bucky

he can feel his stomach do backflips in his abdomen every time. he gets to wake up next to you every morning and he couldn't be more content

he'd always brush his teeth as you picked your outfit out for the day

"i can't pick, which one should i wear?" / *incoherent gargling noises* / "yes, of course, why didn't i think of that?"

he gets discracted. so. easily. by you

":0" / "you're staring with your mouth open again." / ":]" / "you don't even have your pants on." / "why are you staring?"

bucky really only has to worry about clothes in the morning, so sometimes he just goes ahead and makes breakfast while you finish

bucky can only cook one thing and that is scrambled eggs with toast, but damnit if he doesn't do his best

"i tried to make pancakes this morning." / "that sounds delicious, buck." / "it didn't go as planned." / "bucky?" / "yes, doll?" / "is that the smoke detector going off?" / "yeah :,)"

if you insist on making it that day, though, he sits and reads a book while you finish

by read i mean steal glances in your direction as you got ready in the morning, putting on your makeup or doing your hair

he is absolutely enamored with your morning ritual, studying the way you work

he happily assists in any help you need getting ready, from clasping necklaces to zipping up tricky dresses, he's there for it

"hey, buck, can you-" / "yes." / "i didn't even finish what i was saying." / "the answer is still yes."

this dork is also a hummer in the morning

walking around the kitchen? he's humming a soft song

you both are reading a books together? humming lowly to himself

as long as he's near you, this man always has a song in his heart

"you're very pretty" / "thank you, love" / "so pretty" / "you burnt something again, didn't you?" / "beautiful and smart" / ":)" / "but the answer is yes, i did." / "it's okay, honey :,)"

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faeriecap · 1 year

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hehehehehe….. i’m baaaaaack (still looking for active betas!!)

#WHAT???? me writing a chapter that’s like actually structured and not just some random unfinished blurb of smut that’s completely irrelevant #surprising !!!!#i cant believe i’m actually going to try and follow my outline in order too #at least i want to get chapter one done before i start jumping around the timeline i think #still looking #i speak #jays fanfics #jays dublin au #bucket #captain america fanfiction #captain america fanfic #bucky barnes

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dekudynamight · 5 years

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Title: Don’t Belong to No City, Don’t Belong to No Man

Rating: E

Pairing: Steve Rogers x Bucky Barnes

Word count: 6.5k

Summary: Thankfully, Bucky seemed to find Steve’s innocence endearing. “I mean don’t get me wrong, I’d fuck you for free if I could but... free doesn’t pay the bills.”

Steve’s cheeks were bright red, his palms getting sweaty, and all that he managed to get out was, “Yeah, yeah, no, that makes - yeah. Makes sense.”

“So whaddya say?” Bucky asked gently, inching closer by just a fraction. “I’ll make it worth your while, promise.”

—

AKA the Pre-IW Shrunkyclunks truck stop hooker!Bucky/nomad Steve AU nobody asked for :)

A/N: Thank you tons and tons and bunches and bunches to my wife @captainrogerrsbeard for not only the gorgeous moooooodboard but also for always helping me and talking through my ideas and reading everything and just being amazing 😭 hope you guys like this and lemme know if you wanna be tagged in future chapters! Tags in comments 😊

Read on AO3

#stucky #steve rogers #bucky barnes #steve rogers smut #bucky barnes smut #stucky smut #steve rogers fanfiction #bucky barnes fanfiction #stevebucky #steve x bucky #stove and bucket #bork and steeb #okay i’m stopping now #my fic

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dumbledores-a-bitch · 5 years

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Chapters: 1/1 Fandom: Marvel Cinematic Universe, Captain America (Movies) Rating: Teen And Up Audiences Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply Relationships: James "Bucky" Barnes/Steve Rogers, James "Bucky" Barnes & Steve Rogers Characters: James "Bucky" Barnes, Original Character Additional Tags: Bucky Barnes Goes to Therapy, Bucky Barnes Needs a Hug, Angst, Light Angst, More just like wanting to hug Bucky and wanting him to be okay, Bucky deals with his shit, Bucky Barnes Recovering, Steve isn't technically in this but like he is talked about so hence the tag, POV Bucky Barnes, Sort of canon-compliant?, Like canon-compliant if the movies after ca:tws weren't garbage, NOT endgame compliant, Bucky has a major potty-mouth Summary:

“How can people just sit around all the time go about their daily lives and just pretend that everything is normal!” Bucky promptly stops pacing around the room to sit down and look at Dr. Nolan.

“Is that what you think everyone is doing?” She pauses and fixes him with one of her classic ‘I’m an all-powerful therapist and I feel like you are talking about yourself even though you haven’t said that’ looks. “Pretending everything is normal?”

Bucky chokes back a groan. He really likes Dr. Nolan but sometimes he just wishes she would come right out and say what she is thinking instead of asking him these ‘open-ended questions’ or whatever to try and ‘prompt him to gain insight.’ Then again, she probably wishes he would come right out and say what he is thinking too. Huh.

...

Also known as, a one-shot of Bucky's therapy session as he tries to work through some of the shit keeping him from recovery.

Hi lovely humans! So I wrote a fic about Bucky being in therapy and working through some of his issues! A little angsty but with like a positive ending??? How can it not be angsty with Bucky thought, am I right? Enjoy :)

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pancakesfor2 · 6 years

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It’s like 3 am but I made this moodboard inspired by @whyisbuckyso ‘s fic Typos and I couldn’t wait to post it.

#typos fic #bucky barnes aesthetic #bucky x y/n #Bucky x reader #Todd and Patricia #sebastian Stan #fanfiction #Bucky barnes #bucket barnes #my moodboards

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stockholmdolly · 2 years

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EASY PREY (BEWARE OF THE LITTLE RED RIDING HOOD)

Summary: Imagine a helpless, pregnant girl who's just been yanked from the serenity of her home and shoved into a dirty van. Kidnapped. Alone. Terrified.

Now forget her ...

Picture instead a pregnant girl, manipulative prodigy. She is shoved into a dirty van and, from the first moment of her kidnapping, feels a calm desire for two things: to save her unborn son and to exact merciless revenge.

She is methodical, calculating, scientific in her plotting. A clinical sociopath? Leaving nothing to chance, secure in her timing and practice, she waits for the perfect moment to strike. This is what happens when the victim is just as cold as the captors.

The agents trying to find a kidnapped girl have their own frustrations and desires wrapped into this chilling drama. In the twists of intersecting stories, one is left to ponder. Who is the victim? Who is the aggressor?

Pairings: dark!Steve rogers x soft!dark?reader; dark!Natasha Romanoff x soft!dark?reader; eventual bucky barnes x reader

Warnings: I’m not sure yet if I’m going to include non-con, but there’s gonna be violence, torture, curse words.

Word count: 2,821.

Author’s note: Hello fanfiction world, it is me! Stockholm Dolly. This is based on one of my fav books, I’m destroying it a bit but the main plot still stays. The reader isn’t dark per se just really intelligent and have a really great survival instinct, there’s not damsels in distress or victims in this blog. Also I love Frank Grillo, so, in this world Rumlow is going to be a good guy. I’m not following any timeline everyone’s alive, just most of them are monsters hahaha

CHAPTER 1/26

4-5 DAYS IN CAPTIVITY

I lay there on the fourth day plotting their death, revenge is all that floods my mind. Compiling assets in a list in my mind: a loose floor board, a red knit blanket, a high window, exposed beams, a keyhole, my condition…

I remember my thoughts then, there he is outside the door AGAIN, I think, even tho it’s been 17 years. Perhaps those days will forever be my present because I survived so completely. And, I must say now, with no lack of pride, my result, my undeniable victory, was no less than a masterpiece.

On day 4, I was gathering the assets and trying to fit them together…How I can make them useful for my escape? Over and over while searching for more assets. Ah, yes, of course, the bucket. And yes, yes, the box spring is new, he didn’t remove the plastic. As I keep assigning number to my asset list, I hear the cracking of the floor outside my jail cell (a bedroom). He’s definitely out there, then the keyhole turned, and he burst in without the decency of announce himself (I’m a prisoner after all, I don’t have the right), he dropped a tray on my bed of food, no utensils (not so stupid)

- More water? He asked, in his abrupt, dull and deep, monotone.

- Yes, please

He was clever, but everyone has a weak spot, we aren’t perfect as much as we mastered our tasks or “jobs”, he just didn’t have crossed paths with someone more dangerous than him. He had a pattern, I figured on day 3, always asking if I wanted more water. Then he leaves and locks the door.

I had decided from Hour 2 of Day 1 that I’d try to feign a schoolgirl politeness, be thankful, for I soon discovered I could outwit my captor, a man in his forties. Must be forty-something, he looks the same age as my dad. I knew I had the wits to beat this horrible, disgusting thing, and I was just twenty.

I had not yet grown bored by Day 4. Some might think sitting alone in a locked room would cause a mind to give way to dementia or delusion. Not me, I’m used to be alone, I like to be alone, call it a pandemic consequence, right? Hahaha

- You don’t scream or cry or beg me like the others did,” he said, sounding like he’d grasped some epiphany he’d been struggling with for days.

I turned my head fast toward his voice, as though possessed, intending in my motion to un-nerve him. I’m not sure if I did, but I believe he shimmied backwards a fraction.

- Would that make you feel better?” I asked.

- Shut the fuck up, you crazy little bitch. I don’t give a shit what you fucking sluts do, he said loudly and fast, as though reminding himself of his position of control. From the high decibel of his agitation, I surmised we were alone, wherever we were. This can’t be good. He’s safe yelling here. We’re alone. Just the two of us.

My first visitor came on Day 3. Certainly medical, he had cold fingers. I labeled him “The Doctor.” My second visitor came on Day 4, accompanied by The Doctor, who announced, “She is doing well, considering.” In a hushed tone, the second visitor said, “So this is her?” I labeled her “Mrs. Obvious.”

When The Doctor and Mrs. Obvious left, The Doctor advised my jailer to keep me calm and to allow me tranquility. But nothing changed to afford me calm or tranquility until the end of Day 4 when I asked for Assets #14, 15, and 16.

With head to chest and in the most submissive, insipid voice I could tolerate, I said, “Excuse me. I can’t really sleep and I wonder…anyway, maybe if I watched TV, or listened to a radio, or read, or even drew, a pencil with some paper, would maybe…help?”

I braced myself for a brutal, verbal tirade and even physical violence for my insolence.

He stared me down, grunted, and left without acknowledging my request.

About forty-five minutes later, I heard the now familiar floorboards rattle. I figured he was back, as was the established routine, to collect my plate, mug, and cups. However, when he opened the door, resting on his wide chest, he carried an old nineteen-inch television, a yard-sale radio about twelve inches long, a pad of paper tucked under his left arm, and a rather long, plastic school-kid case. The case, pink with two horses on the side, was the kind you buy for the first day of school and lose in a week. I wondered if I was in a schoolhouse. Must be abandoned if I am.

“Don’t ask for any more shit,” he said, yanking my tray from the bed and causing the empty plate and cups to topple and clatter. On his departure, he slammed the door. Noises. Uncomfortable noises with him.

Tempering my expectations, I slid the zipper on the pink case, anticipating one dull and stubbed pencil.

No way. Not only two new pencils, but a twelve-inch ruler, and a pencil sharpener too. The black sharpener had the number “15” on the side. I took immediate stock of this valuable asset, which I labeled, Asset #15, specifically the razor within. Asset #15 presents with its own label. I smiled at the whimsical thought that the sharpener purposefully joined my plot, a faithful soldier reporting for duty, and determined “15” would form at least a portion of the name of my escape plan.

So as to make my captor feel appreciated for his effort, I plugged in Asset #14, the TV, and pretended to watch. Obviously, I didn’t really care about his precious ego, but these ruses we engineer to trick our enemies, lull and rock them safely in their weak insecurities, until the time comes to spring the trap, pull the cord, and strike with the swift hand of death. Well, maybe not so swift, perhaps a tinge prolonged. He needs to suffer, just a little bit. I unhinged the bucket and used the sharp ends of the handle as a screwdriver.

Not one creature in the house or in the fields beyond surpassed my consciousness that night. Even the moon shrunk to a sliver of dawn while I worked the whole of Night 4.

He did not notice the subtle difference in my jail cell upon delivering my breakfast on Day 5, again on the offensive china plate. At lunch, I fought back a giggle when he asked if I wanted more water.

“Yes, please.”

He had no idea what lay ahead for him, nor the lengths I would go to impose my brand of justice. Who would have thought? This...this “heroes” pretending being all mighty and mercy, dedicated to whatever the fuck are trying to do with my baby, shame, I was kind of warming to them, even admired them.

I don’t care what the news said at the time, I did not run away. Obviously. Why would I have run away? Sure, they were mad. They were furious, but they would support me. They were my parents, and I their only child.

“But you are an honor student? What are you going to do about school?” My father had asked.

They were even more baffled during the clinic visit when they learned I had hidden my condition for seven months.

“How can she be seven months pregnant?” Mother said to the obstetrician, even though her voice did not match the way her eyes accepted the undeniable sight of me.

In reality, I had not merely “gained some weight,” but had grown a perfectly round globe beneath my then swelling breasts. Embarrassed with her own self-delusion, Mother hung her head and sobbed. My father put a tenuous hand on her back, not sure what to do with the woman who rarely shed a tear. Dr. Banner looked at me and pursed his lips, kindly though, and he changed the subject to the near future. “We’ll need to see her again next week. I want to run some tests. Please stop at the receptionist for an appointment.”

If only I knew then what I know now, I would have been more perceptive and caught the clue in real time. Instead, I was too wrapped in my parents’ disappointment to realize the duplicity behind the “receptionist’s” glare or the chlorophyll fog surrounding her misplaced presence. But I remember now; I had subconsciously logged this information at the time. As we approached her, the red-haired, tight-bunned woman with green eyes and false pink cheeks addressed only my mother.

“When did the doctor say she should return?” the “receptionist” asked.

“He said next week,” my mother answered.

“How about next Tuesday at two? Oh, wait, she’ll be in school, right? Prospect High?”

Mother hates unnecessary dialogue. Normally, she would have ignored, even sneered, at the irrelevant question about my high school. Normally, she might answer such a superfluous question with her own biting query, “Does it really matter where she goes?” She is volatile and has no patience for stupidity or people wasting her time. Ill-tempered, highly efficient, particular, methodical, and full of disdain, these are her qualities: she is a trial lawyer. But on that day, she was just a distressed mother, and she hastily answered the question as she fumbled through her date book.

“Yes, yes, Prospect High. How about three-thirty?”

“Sure. Let’s put her at three-thirty, next Tuesday.”

“Thank you.” Mother was only barely listening at this point, and she quickly shuffled me and my father out of the clinic. The receptionist, however, continued to eye us, and I eyed her eyeing us. At the time, I thought she was collecting town gossip about an “unfortunate” pregnancy from a “prominent family.”

She had our address from my records, of course, meant she could correctly conclude that I walked to school, down a heavily wooded and rural country road. Like a wrapped gift, I presented as the perfect target for this scout. Behind her squinting eyes of cold calculation and her curled hooked nose, she must have set things in motion the second we left the clinic. Perhaps my memory betrays me and makes me imagine this, but in the pictures in my mind, I see her pick up a phone and cover her pink-stained lips to speak. In this picture, her green eyes never lose sight of my return stare....Natasha Romanoff, the Black Widow, I was too wrapped in my mother’s hidden disappointment to even recognize her, of fucking course I knew her, she frequented Tony’s lab from time to time, even talked to me a few times (now I know why she was so invested in me telling my parents about the pregnancy and how she said the internship program covered all my doctor appointments)

On the Monday following the appointment with Bruce, the day before my scheduled follow-up, I slipped into my lined, black raincoat and grabbed an umbrella before leaving for school. My backpack was stuffed with books, a pair of stretch pants, sports bra, socks, and change of underwear—all needed for an after-school yoga class I had not signed up for. It was a tiny detail remaining from my months of unintentional deception, one I had neglected to tell my parents, for I was taking yoga on advice from a maternity book I had stolen from the library. Bottom line, to anyone else who didn’t know, it appeared as though I’d left with a change of clothes.

At the end of the driveway, I had an equidistant choice of turning left or right: the back entrance of the school to my left and the front entrance to my right. I timed the distance once, going to the left took 3.5 minutes, and going right took 3.8 minutes, door to door. Really, the decision of going left or right landed upon my daily whim. My whim got it wrong on that Monday.

I turned right and continued under the canopy of my black umbrella in the direction of traffic. Fat raindrops pelted my cover and the ground around me, as though an airstrike began or the gunman had returned. Whenever I hear firing pounding like this, I think of first grade, so naturally, I thought of alarm bells and the blessed sight of policemen pig-piling a gunman. Distracted in this way and lost in macabre memory, I failed to notice the wet, hard, gray clay morning was a prelude, a herald of bad fortune.

Had I gone left, he would not have been able to pull the van alongside me to take me by surprise. He would have caused too much of a scene, for he had only about five seconds of roadway to haul me in, undetected. They had planned this out. Practiced, I believe. At first, I supposed they thought me worth their time. A healthy, young girl with a healthy baby boy in her belly. A girl with high honors, from a wealthy family, and the prospect of a startling career in science. I had received awards for my advanced experiments, demonstrations, models, and reports. Every summer since the age of six, I went to science internships at Stark Tower, my parents were close friends with Tony Stark, and all year I entered private contests. With the help of my parents, Tony Stark and Bruce Banner, I built a lab in the basement with state-of-the-art equipment. A store-bought microscope had no place in my world. My equipment came from the same catalogs used by major universities and international pharma corporations. I studied, I measured, I counted, I calculated, everything. Be it physics, chemistry, medicine, microbiology, I loved all pursuits requiring order and comparison, calculations, and provable theories. I was coddled in this hobby of science and indulged by busy parents with a surplus of money. MIT was a foregone conclusion. My baby and I are very valuable, I thought as the abduction occurred. To my great dismay, however, I soon learned a hard lesson: we were not wanted for brains or ransom.

About twenty steps into my morning commute, a white van appeared upon a whisper, masked by a clap of thunder. The side door slid open, and a blonde built man pulled me in from my left....I lift my gaze to him, Steve Rogers, America’s Golden Boy, I didn’t have a reason to be afraid, I even was going to say hello to him when, simple as that. Quick as that. He threw me on an armchair, which was bolted to the corrugated metal floor of the van. He jammed a gun so close to my face, the steel hit my teeth, tasting of an inadvertent bite of the fork, the one that lingers in your mouth. One car whooshed by, splashing the quick puddles on the pavement, oblivious to my plight. Instinctively, I crossed my belly with my arms. His eyes followed my action; he moved the barrel of the gun to my navel.

“You fucking move and I’ll put a bullet in that baby.”

Stunned to frozen stillness, I gasped and lost my breath. My heart even paused, despite the otherwise wild beating. I am not usually rocked so—only in times of serious shock might I be jolted, my heart set to race. For most of my confinement, I mastered this personal flaw. In the van, however, suffering the debilitation of a flash of emotion, I sat motionless as he pushed me forward, yanked the backpack from my shoulders, and threw it to the floor beside my open umbrella. He placed the gun on an olive-colored stove, held in place on the opposite wall of the van by a series of bungee cords. Then he ripped my arms from my stomach and wrapped duct tape around my wrists and the arms of the chair. For some inexplicable reason, which I have not quite figured out, he turned a green oil rag into a sloppy blindfold. But I’ve already seen your face bastard, you’re supposed to be a hero Mr. Self-righteous, Captain America.

I was taken that fast. I was taken for turning right. I was attacked from my left.

“Where are you taking me?” I yelled to him.

He said nothing.

“How much do you want? My parents will pay. Please let me go.”

“We don’t want your money, bitch. You’re going to deliver that baby for us, and I’m going to throw you in a quarry with the rest of you worthless girls. Now shut the fuck up or I swear I’ll fucking kill you right now. I don’t need any shit. Do you hear me?!”

I didn’t answer.

“Do you fucking hear me?!”

“Yes.”

And those were the facts. I put my foot on the backpack to prevent it from sliding away.

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