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voiceoffenrisulfr · 3 days

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Love Thy Neighbour - Chapter 4 Silence is Safety

Hive has a nightmare and someone comes to call on Bucky.

Read this chapter on AO3 here.

Chapter 3

Fandom: Marvel Cinematic Universe Characters: James "Bucky" Barnes, Nonbinary OC, Steve Rogers Rating: T CW: Starvation, food and water deprivation as torture, captivity, threat to an animal, animal in pain, sick animal, animal death, attempted self-injury, nightmares, fear of being touched, bruises, hearing voices, voice of an abuser, implication of sexual assault Prompts filled: Seasonal Delights Types of Love: Skin care @seasonaldelightsbingo Fandom Free Bingo Frosty Edition: Nightmares, Dimpled Smile @fandom-free-bingo Fandom Free Bingo Wild Edition: “I need to talk to you.” Febuwhump: Day 19: “Please don’t” @febuwhump LGBTQ+: Vulnerability @lgbtqbingo Whumpuary: Day 5: Can't move | "Stay. Please." | kidnapped, Day 15: "You're safe" | aftermath | touch starved @whumpuary Eclipsing: Starvation @eclipsingbingo

Dividers by @unfortunate-beetle-and-friends

“Long as you won’t get out and leave me alone, you might as well set down.” John Steinbeck

They’d never liked pigs.

“Kill it.”

They didn’t move. Their hands clenched until their bones creaked.

“You can use your bare hands if you must, but I think you can be more humane than that.”

“I can’t.”

“Then you’ll be in here a long time. Only one of you is coming out and I don’t think Lunchmeat is as concerned with the ethics as you are when she’s hungry.”

He patted them on the shoulder and shut the door behind him. They knew it was locked without looking. There was no handle on the inside anyway.

No sooner had he left them standing and looking down at the large black and grey pig hunting in the corners for something of interest – food or a way out – than they were somehow on the floor. Pain and nausea waged war in their chest. They didn’t know how long it had been. The only thing that moved or changed in here was their companion. She had started screaming for food. Hive had tried to calm her but no soothing sounds or gentle touches could make a dent in their shared gnawing hunger. Then she had stopped screaming.

She lay, letting out little grunts of complaint or pleading. Hive got it. Their mouth was dry as sand. Their joints were seizing up. But Hive was probably the only one with a cramping bladder. Their cellmate’s concerns didn’t include the constant observers behind the glass and her toileting arrangements were responsible for the acrid choking atmosphere. She no longer bothered to stand, or maybe she couldn’t. Hive doubted they could stand now.

How long could a pig go without water? Without sleep? Food? How long had they been here? Hive felt the calculations spool through their mind like an itch in a long severed limb; their conclusions were too distant and Hive’s thinking too sluggish to follow them. They felt them run out. One by one, each of them was succumbing, going quiet. Lunc- their cellmate was breathing more rapidly, each rise of her ribs shallower than the last. Soon Hive would be all alone. But that wouldn’t last long. Three days – wasn’t that the longest anyone could go without water? They’d read that somewhere. Was it the same for pigs? They tugged their shirt up over their face and shuffled closer, joints screaming. They rested a hand on the pig’s head. One red eye rolled at them. The puddle around their rear end was dark with blood now. An itch of thought in the back of their mind said that meant her kidneys were shutting down. She shivered with every breath.

This was their fault… Days of pain and suffering because they wouldn’t do as they were told. Because they couldn’t…

Pigs ate flesh if given the chance – everyone knew that, even if they hadn’t been taunted with the fact just recently – so they would probably drink blood if there was no alternative, wouldn’t they? Hive was pretty sure humans would, if it was that or death, and humans were a picky species. And blood was mostly water, right? Sure. Most things were, when you came down to it. Hive held their wrist to the pig’s snout and… tried. Nothing happened. No spurt, no pool of bright, life-sustaining red. They turned their arm over and found only a sticky smear.

Then the door was slamming back and Hive was dragged up by the elbow. The room whirled around them. They stumbled and their bare foot came down on hot bristled skin, unresponsive, choked with fever. They didn’t hear the shot over the howling brightness and pain. Gore splattered up their leg.

“Damn. Hope everyone’s hungry. Ham sandwiches for lunch. Get them out of here.”

Hive was shoved into another set of hands and that shook them, wrenched at them…

It was instinctive for Bucky to sleep facing the end of the hall where Hive slept – after all, they were still very much a stranger, even if he found he needed to remind himself of that once or twice. They had been kind. He recalled the brief respite while they gently sponged his brow. The memory helped cool his prickling skin. But it would cede inevitably to the feeling of the vulnerable throat in his grip. A cold chuckle would curl in the back of his mind like a tensing snake and he would spend minute after minute straining his ears to make sure Hive was still breathing soundly. The easy, regular sound of their snoring, shorn of any awkwardness or self-consciousness, brought him something akin to peace. The sound soothed him back to sleep more than once, their trusting slumber lulling him back to his own rest. Until deep in the night.

Eventually he woke to the sound he had feared. In the deep gloom, Hive’s shape was trembling and he heard them struggle for breath. A sob broke through their gasps and he was out of his sleeping bag and crouched beside them.

“Hive? You okay?”

He brushed their shoulder and they curled up more tightly, crushing their lungs and constraining their breathing even further. Amidst their thin, halting gulps, a few words escaped. “Won’t... no... please... no...”

He was reluctant to touch while they were unconscious but he could not leave them suffocating and trapped in whatever was going on in their head. “Kid, ya gotta wake up,” he pleaded, putting his other hand on the knee clenched to their chest and attempting to uncurl them. He’d barely moved them more than an inch or so when their head snapped back, rebounding off the wall. They let out a small scream and jerked away from him and cringed into the corner. He yanked his hands away as though Hive’s body had suddenly become electrified.

“Sorry,” he muttered, jerking back with empty palms on display. The streetlights reflected off their wide open eyes but he wasn’t sure they were seeing him at all. “I - I’m not going to hurt you. And I’m - we’re the only ones here. You’re safe.”

Their brow knitted. The concept seemed to confuse them.

He shifted back a little further, sitting on his heels and lowering his hands slowly. He nodded. “Safe, okay? No one’s going to hurt you here, yeah?” The rapid, painful breathing was easing. Their muscles were relaxing. He took a gamble. “They’re not gonna find you. I’m not gonna let them.” He inched his right hand out and took theirs. They didn’t try to move away. Their fingers curled round his. He smiled, almost surprised to find his face remembered how. “There ya go.” He searched their face, wondering how to help. “Tell ya what – I'm gonna light a candle, yeah? Get us some light to see by?” He started to rise but their small hand tightened on his. “No? You don’t want a light?” He looked down and tried to decipher their expression. He could read the pleading clearly enough but not what they - “You... don’t want me to go?” They nodded, tugging on his hand again. He hesitated, the echoes of the voice – the one that taunted him with the danger they were putting themself in – resurging.

“Stay. Please.” They’d been louder while he was throttling them. If his eyes had been any less sharp, he couldn’t possibly have read the silent words on their lips. For a second, he tensed, worried their silence meant they’d detected someone else nearby, but the only sounds came from his breathing and Hive’s.

“I’ll stay.” He sank down on the floor and rubbed the back of their hand with his thumb. “It’s okay. I’m not going anywhere.” He stayed and didn’t move except to stroke their hand while they looked owlishly around them, recalling where they were, until he realised they were shivering. “Hey, you’re getting chilly. Let me go get your sleeping bag, yeah?” They frowned and shook their head, holding his hand tighter still. “Come on. You’re cold.” He wondered if he could snag it with a foot. Probably not. “Alright.” He hooked Hive's arm round his neck and dislodged their hand from his, wincing internally as he effortlessly unfastened their grip, then scooped his arms underneath them and lifted, the blanket still tucked around them. Apart from a squeak of surprise, they made no outward objection. They linked their hands in a loop round his neck and Bucky was sure they even relaxed a little as he carried them the short distance back to where he'd been sleeping. He shifted the hand from under their back and let them support some of their own weight while he spread out the sleeping bags. "Here." Their bag was warmer and softer than his so he set them down on top of it, leaning over them a little as he unwound their arms.

Less than six hours to get them in your bed... I suppose that practically counts as self-control for you. If you don’t count pinning them to the floor.

Bucky froze, the voice still crawling in his ears. "You'll be warmer here." He pushed their hands away from him and tossed his own sleeping bag on top of the blanket before retreating. "I'm... gonna do a check of the building. Just make sure everything's secure. Sleep." He couldn’t looked at the wide, lost eyes following him as he stood up and backed towards the door. He was almost in arm’s reach of the door, the voice crowing triumphantly in his ear.

Finally, a good decision, at least if you’re determined they should survive the night no more damaged than they already are. But I imagine fear rendering them silent would spoil the fun for you a bit. You always preferred it when they screamed, didn’t you? When they fought, and forced you to overpower them. Where’s the fun if they’re already broken? Seems someone beat you to this one.

He pulled up short, remembering pleading eyes, a grasping hand… Terror had looked at him out of hundreds of swollen eyes. So many lips twisted into prayers for safety, for mercy he hadn’t had to offer them. But… “Stay”… Had he ever been begged for that? He thought maybe Stevie, but, no. Steve had always been the bravest of them, even when the weakest bully in the world could have picked him up and wrung him out with one hand. Bucky had stayed with him plenty of times but Steve had never asked, let alone begged.

He couldn’t hear Hive breathing.

He spun around and saw that they had coiled up tight again, head ducked down and shoulders trembling slightly as they fought to keep quiet and still. He remembered. Remembered curling up and battling the burning need for oxygen. Hoping with every strangled fibre that searching eyes would pass right over him. Trying to wish himself out of existence. Fearing the touch of a considering gaze like a blade.

He was beside them again with no memory of moving, gathering them, covers and all, into his arms. “Sorry. I’m sorry. I’ll stay. I promise. I’m not going anywhere.”

He felt them burrow against his chest, fingers snaking out of the blankets to seize a fold of his shirt. He looked down at them, charmed, in spite of his own hammering heart and aching muscles. He was fighting a one-sided battle against himself, against impulses he’d tried to starve, against the voice and its taunts. He wasn’t a slave. Wasn’t their asset. Hive wasn’t an enemy or a target or a quarry. He wasn’t going to hurt them no matter what came out of the shadows in his head.

In the quiet, he became aware of the pain he’d been just managing to sleep through before Hive’s nightmare. Even after decades, his flesh and skeleton still fought the intruding architecture more doggedly than he’d ever fought the other things his masters had implanted. He tried to focus on the warm ball of person snuggled against his chest but shuddered when pain flared along the war-torn border between his living shoulder and his left arm. He shifted in the futile search for an angle that would settle the compound joint. Useless as ever. Hive’s hand released his shirt and he wondered if they were falling asleep. They weren’t. He flinched when they reached up to touch his shoulder. The word “stop” faltered in his mouth as their small fingers felt their way round the meeting of hot and cold, so lightly he could hardly feel them. A protest was cut off as he realised the fire was cooling a little. They moved by feel, massaging around his shoulder and down his side where the rebuilding had continued out of sight. How did they even- He couldn’t remember another time anything short of a handful of opiates had made any difference.

“Thank you,” he muttered. The hand returned, winding back into his shirt, and the bundle nodded. “Still can’t speak?” A little shake. “Okay, kid. That’s okay.”

He hadn’t meant to sleep. He’d promised no one would hurt them and he’d slacked on the job by dozing off at his post. But when Hive began to snore in his arms there was something too soothing about the soft bundle against his chest for him to resist. Between one breath and the next, he was out.

Apparently at least one of them woke enough to change their positions during the last few hours of darkness. He was no longer sitting up in the morning when light spilt down the hallway through the kitchen window. He lay on his own sleeping bag, Hive’s beside him along with the blanket. The dent where they had slept, where his arm now rested, was still faintly warm. The angle wasn’t a comfortable one. A sharp twinge ran through the seam at his shoulder, probably the same sensation as had woken him.

Awareness was returning more slowly than usual and for a second his heart raced – only heavy sedation or the energy drain of recovery from serious injury usually made him so sluggish. The returning world gradually brought with it the fierce prickling down his right arm. Following the itching he pulled up his t-shirt and found the same rash spread over a strip of his stomach. Must’ve pulled up while he was climbing, or falling more likely. He winced at the recollection. Useless. Embarrassing. Shameful excuse for an a-

“We should give the red patches another clean. And I’ve got some ointment that might calm down the reaction a bit.”

Bucky dropped his shirt back into place, surprised at how seamlessly he’d accepted Hive’s presence as a known variable rather than a cause for alarm. They sat in the kitchen by his camping stove. As he watched they took the pan off the flame and added water to his mug. The scent of coffee filtered into the room. Their ‘care package’ was beside them. How heavily had he slept?

“Guess you needed the sleep.”

His eyes narrowed. Did mind-reading go hand in hand with that whole bleeding thing they’d mentioned?

“Not a mind-reader. Just observant.” They shrugged. “Selectively observant anyway. Oh, cool, this can be like one of those Sherlock Holmes scenes where he explains all his reasoning and everyone’s amazed and also baffled at how simple it was. Look amazed, okay? Firstly-”

The rapid stream of words caught him by surprise as it had the night before but this time the effect was innocent and rather lovely instead of sinister. He’d never known anyone’s brain move at such wildly different speeds.

“- and I figured you don’t generally get enough sleep ‘cause you’re kinda jumpy. Plus I’ve seen you going round the building at midnight a few times. Sleeping doesn’t seem too high in your priorities.” The shrugged again, their eyes sliding away from his as he’d already noticed they did when they became aware of their high-speed chatter. He’d missed the start of their explanation but-

“I’m not ‘jumpy’.”

Hive tipped their head on one side. “You… kind of are, though. Not in like a nervous way. Kind of like me except I totally am nervous, come to think of it. Just… like something you don’t want to see might be behind you any time. It’s not paranoia when they really are out to get you.”

Bucky stared. Then he laughed. It was an unexpected sound, warm in the cool morning sunlight, just a bit rusty with lack of use. A good sound. Free. And Hive laughed with him, their awkwardness dissolving. Their face creased up when they laughed, little crinkles at the corners of their eyes remembering other laughs, and they had a funny way of half-covering their mouth – whether to stifle the sound or hide a defect, he wasn’t sure. A genuine, carrying sound. It lasted a few seconds before they tried to contain it and the sound broke down into little snorts and irrepressible sniggers. His own laughter had subsided already, distracted by his observations. Their cheeks dimpled when they laughed.

“So, skin? Uh… coffee. Coffee was what I meant to offer you. Skin afterwards. Your skin. I mean, I can give you the ointment for your skin, which is irritated. Coffee. Here. Coffee.” They carried his mug over and handed it to him, eyeing the floorboards with reproach, presumably for failing to open up and swallow them upon desperate, silent request. He huffed in amusement and took the cup.

“Black, no sugar…” he noted after a sip.

“That’s right, isn’t it?” They shrugged. “Had a hunch. Aided by the total lack of milk and sugar around here.”

“Hell of a deduction,” he agreed sardonically.

A sweet, earthy aroma wafted from Hive’s mug. “Tea,” they answered his questioning look. “Star anise and cinnamon. I don’t get a lot of chance to splash cash around. I’m selective about my luxuries, okay?”

“Didn’t say a thing.”

They continued to drink in silence until he began scratching at his arm again, the rounded tips of his metal fingers singularly unsatisfying for the purpose however hard he chafed the darkening skin.

“Oi, stop it!” Hive’s mug went down with a clunk and they plunged back into the box, scrabbling in the contents like a small burrowing creature. He saw the design on their mug for the first time: a dark green dragon… thing with, emblazoned underneath, the words “I’m a little monster”. Another smile. It was ludicrous and childish and somehow perfect for them. He had just time to snap out of his contemplation and catch the tube thrown at his chest and prevent it landing in his coffee. “Use it. Don’t scratch. You’ll probably, fuck, I don’t know, push the fibres further in or something. Oh!” A packet, too large luckily to desecrate his coffee, bounced off his stomach and into his lap. “Wet wipes. Clean the skin first.”

“Yes, Sir.” He gave them a little salute, tube still in hand, and a heavy eye-roll, incredibly amused to realise they were blushing.

“I – look –”

He smirked to himself as he drained his coffee and set the mug aside. He started wiping his skin. When it came to the cream, he found a problem. Smoothing the stuff over his arm was apparently another thing that had been foolishly overlooked in the design of his metal fingers. He pushed it about in vain for a bit, swearing under his breath as the cream piled up between the metal plates. He heard Hive moving but didn’t think about it until they sat down cross legged in front of him.

“I swear, if you ask me if I need a hand…” he warned.

They snorted hard. “I kinda wish that had been what I was going to say. That would have been amazing. Actually I was just going to ask if I could help.” They held out their hands. “Can I?”

He glared for a moment then dropped the tube into their palm and held out his arm. Hive inspected it for a moment, turning his hand with theirs, examining the inflamed skin. Their brows knitted.

“Something wrong?”

They shook their head slowly.

“Disconcerting. What’s with the frown?”

“Just thinking. Wondering I could… well, if there was anything more helpful I could do about any fibres left in there.” They winced and shook their head as though to clear it. “I don’t think there is. I’m sure they’ll work their way out on their own in a day or so.”

He thought about the odd little tangent while they squeezed more cream onto their fingertips and started to massage it into his skin. What else were they thinking of doing? Going in with microscopic tweezers? His mind was too busy to contain a soft groan as Hive’s fingers worked into muscles that had gone God knows how long without fully relaxing. He flexed his hand, testing the unfamiliar comfort, and saw them flash an impish little grin. To his relief, they didn’t comment, just applied themself to their work in silence, making their way along his arm. He rolled his shoulder without thinking about it and narrowed his eyes minutely at the stiffness bound up on the left that he could do nothing about.

“How much does it hurt?” They hadn’t looked up.

“Huh?”

“Your shoulder. It’s bad, right?”

Bucky stared down at them. “Just stiff.” An unconvincing nod. “Aches sometimes, I guess. You lose the ability to speak much?” He regretted the deliberate subject shift when they froze for a moment. Their eyes had been turned to his right arm in any case but now he felt them studiously avoiding his face.

“Don’t know. Not usually anyone there for me to not talk to.” Their posture had become rigid. Bucky chewed the inside of his lip and watched them. He should probably talk about something else, but…

“Hope I didn’t scare ya last night. When I woke you up, I mean.” They jerked their head, an uncomfortable negative.

“No. You were fine. Thanks. For waking me up.”

He nodded. Wanted to say something about recognising a bad dream when he saw it. Wanted to ask what nightmare he’d pulled them out of. He opened his mouth still with no clear idea of what was going to come out but they beat him to it.

“Your eyes aren’t as red this morning. How do they feel?”

“Better, thanks. Sting a bit.”

“Rinse them out again later, okay? Not sure how much damage the fibres can do but eyes probably aren’t the place to fuck around with them.” Their hands reached one of their own bandages. “Gonna take this off if it’s okay with you? Don’t suppose you still need it.” They struggled with the knot until Bucky reached up and broke the fabric with his fingers. Hive arched an eyebrow. “Probably a good thing I wasn’t going to ask for that back, huh?” They examined his arm with careful attention, pulling it more towards the light, Bucky letting them move it as they wished. “Completely healed. Jesus. Looks a week old already.” Their fingertips traced over the pinkish line where the skin had torn.

As their head bent over his arm, Bucky realised what he was seeing – the bruise peeking from beneath their hair at their temple. His gaze travelled, lungs freezing, guts knotting as he glimpsed the other bruises ringing their throat.

“Fuck, are you okay?” He reached out to turn their chin then checked with a lurch, realising what he was doing. “Sorry, fuck, sorry. I just wanted to – I’m sorry. What can I -” His hand hovered in the space between them, dull sunlight gleaming off the Vibranium. He wanted to look at their face but couldn’t seem to look away from the bruises nestling in the shadows of their hoodie.

Who do you think you’re fooling, boy? Think your heart’s racing because you regret those marks? Look at your hand right now. I know what those marks really do to you. This trusting little stray may not realise you’re getting hard just looking at them, all marked up, by you, but I do.

No, no, that’s not – I just wanted…

I know exactly what you –

“Hey!” His hand was no longer hanging in the air because Hive’s fingers were wrapped around his, squeezing them. “You disappeared on me for a second there. I was trying to say it’s fine. I’m fine. You were really fucking strung out yesterday and I turned up in your place unannounced when you were already injured. Who the fuck wouldn’t have freaked out in your position? Honestly, I’m glad I didn’t do a hell of a lot worse to you when I woke up last night.”

“When I woke you up…”

“Yeah. Which, like I said, I’m grateful for. So you think maybe we call it even from here?” They didn’t release his hand until he nodded. “Cool. Good.” They smiled. “I’m about finished on your arm.” They recapped the tube and grabbed the clean discarded bandage to wipe first their own hands then his where their grip had left smudges. They glanced down at his t-shirt. “You can do the rest with your right hand?”

He nodded and took the cream back. “What is this stuff anyw-”

The clank on the fire escape made them both snap around to the window. Bucky snatched his pistol and rose silently, shifting out of sight and stepping closer. Hive had pushed themself back towards the door and he watched their eyes dart to the hall cupboard. Without thinking, he nodded to it and grimaced at the noise of their scramble out of sight and their scraping ascent through the wall. He trained his attention back onto the sound outside, keeping his distance from the wired sash, no intention of being taken out by his own booby trap. Until the climber paused just below the window and he heard their breathing. Then he shoved the gun in the back of his jeans and lunged for the window to unhook the wire before a hand nudged the window open and a blond head ducked inside.

“Hey Buck, you expecting a siege?”

“Fuck, Steve, you nearly got a grenade in the face. What are you doing here?”

He stood back and let the guy climb the rest of the way inside, reflecting that it had been a much better fit before the serum took over where puberty had given up and little Stevie shot up a couple of feet.

“Well, y’know, I did try to call first. You never heard of charging your phone? Come on, man, even I got the hang of that one.” While Bucky winced with guilt at the thought of his abandoned phone lying around here somewhere, Steve looked around, brushing off his jacket sleeves. “Place looks a little different than it used to, huh?”

Acutely aware of the extra sleeping bag and Hive’s mug sitting painfully on display, Buck stepped in front of him. “Yeah, it does… Why’re you here, Steve?”

The brusque question dampened Steve’s demeanour a little. He straightened up another inch and just a bit more Captain America showed through the casual friendliness. “I need to talk to you. Got a minute?”

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voiceoffenrisulfr · 4 days

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On the Tide - Chapter Eight

A familiar face is found in the back alleys of an Indonesian town, and Win's safety is compromised. Content Warnings; Discussions of finning and endangered animal trade. Implied drugging, implied kidnapping/ransom. Prompts used; - ‘Dancing Together’ – @fandom-free-bingo, Frosty Edition; - “No Good Deed Goes Unpunished”, “Violence for Violence is the Rule of Beasts”, “You Brought This on Yourself”, ‘Held for Ransom’, ‘Stalking’ – Fandom-Free Bingo, Flight Edition; - ‘Scalloped Hammerhead’, ‘Oceanic Whitetip Shark’, ‘Matakam Dolphin’, ‘Sand Tiger Shark’, ‘Atlantic Humpback Whale’, ‘Blue-Spotted Tree Monitor’ – Fandom-Free Bingo, Wild Edition; - ‘Items Being Moved Around’ – @halloweenhorrorbingo .

Check it out below, or on AO3 here! Boards at the bottom, divider by yours truly <3

By the time we decked in port, my heart rate had settled somewhat – though my knees were still trembling as I helped tie off the lines. I stood for a moment, gazing at our small vessel, taking in the smattering of bullet holes along the hull as my own wound ached.

It may not look like much… But it’s home now.

Even my muscles knew that I didn’t belong on land anymore, tensing automatically to correct me against movement that didn’t exist.

Captain Tyne came up beside me, barely hesitating before linking his fingers with mine. “Have you ever been to Indonesia?” he inquired absently, his thumb skimming over the back of my hand as we moved forward, passing from the relative uniformity of the small port and into the uneven alleys lined with crates and boxes, the smell of animal waste making my stomach curl.

“It doesn’t seem like I’ve missed anything,” I muttered, glancing about myself, and he smiled.

“Most of it is beautiful – but we dock here for a reason.”

I raised an inquisitive eyebrow, but he said nothing more, just led the way into a crowded market full of bustle and vendors shouting in a multitude of languages.

“What reason is that?” I prompted softly as we slipped between customer and seller bargaining in rapid Thai.

He pulled me closer to the nearest stall, using the pressing crowds as a convenient excuse to hold me flush against his side, inclining his head toward the merchandise. “Intel.”

I followed his indication, bile rising in my throat at the sight before me. I might not know Indonesian, rendering the signs useless in aiding my understanding – but I had done enough research before joining the crew to recognise the macabre butchery before me.

Scalloped Hammerhead.

Oceanic Whitetip.

Mahakam.

Sand Tiger.

“These are all endangered,” I muttered under my breath, fury sparking in my veins at the spectacle, tracing my finger mournfully across the detached fin of an Atlantic Humpback as Greg nodded stiffly, leaning forward and testing several languages before settling on Malay, speaking with quiet, rapid urgency. The merchant opened his mouth furiously, but the Lieutenant simply spoke faster, one hand subtly slipping between them. The seller’s face cleared, then paled, and he nodded once, muttering back and inching away uncertainly. My Captain nodded over his shoulder, and two of my crewmates descended from the crowd, hurriedly tipping the contents of several of the merchant’s half-crates into their sacks. The man simply inclined his head in begrudging gratitude, and Greg steered me quickly away as his crewmen dissolved wordlessly back into the masses.

“What just happened?” I pressed under my breath, and he shot me a half grin.

“Our notoriety proceeds us,” he offered as we left the bustling market behind, fingers finding mine once. “Sellers are often willing to rat out their suppliers and give up their wares with a little… Persuasion.” He raised his other hand, revealing a flip-style badge emblazoned with the words ‘Shark Defence Initiative’. “We won’t have them making their money on the slaughter, but they get to trade their freedom for information.”

“Won’t they just go back to trafficking the moment we leave?” I asked, frowning, and he shrugged.

“We have a network. Folks that check in on the sellers we’ve interacted with, gather intel of their own…” Glancing at me, he shot me a smirk. “You’d be surprised by how infrequently those sellers go back to trafficking. I think the fear of being arrested is pretty motivating.”

I nodded slowly, impressed – and somewhat daunted – by the level of organisation and consideration that the SDI had put into their actions. They were often reported to be chaotic, poorly-planned – but here was the evidence to the contrary.

Is it possible that they cultivate this image of chaos as a deception? A ruse, to lull their enemies into a false sense of security?

I considered my Captain once more, his pace slowing as we returned once more to paved streets lined with stores. “… How long have you been with the Initiative?”

“Two years,” he replied easily, entirely at ease in the foreign maze.

“It’s only been active for three, right?” I clarified, and he waggled a hand thoughtfully.

“In an official capacity – yes,” he smiled, “but the folks who founded it were playing pirate long before that. They just made it a little more… Structured.”

“Has it changed much? Since you joined?”

He hummed under his breath, lips skimming my temple. “Yes… And no. We’ve gone from one ship to four, and we have a much broader web of informants… But the fundamentals haven’t changed at all. To protect, at any cost.”

I smiled wryly, inclining my head with curiosity. “When I first met you… It seemed you hated this life.”

Shaking his head quickly, he began to guide me down a side street, silent as he considered his answer.

“I love this life,” he replied eventually, lips still quirked down in a thoughtful frown. “I love making a difference – giving life instead of taking it. I love being back on the ocean and travelling the world…” He cut himself off to sigh heavily, scrubbing a hand over his jaw. “But I hate that this job comes with seeing the very worst and most cruel of humanity on a daily basis. I hate that 80% of our new recruits can’t hack it and we have to go through the process all over again. I hate that I have to put my crew in danger – that their very lives are at risk – every time we try to do the right thing. And I despise that it’s necessary at all. I love this job, Win. I just hate that it needs to exist.”

I nodded slowly, offering his fingers a squeeze, and he shot me a weak smile. “Come on. We’re only ashore for a few days – let’s go find some good food, good drinks, and good beds.”

The night was winding down by the time he nervously leant closer, the smell of fruity juices on his breath making me smile. When I told him I didn’t drink anymore – after a rough few years while I grappled with my trauma – he’d immediately rescinded his original order of beer, despite my protests that I had no objection to his consumption.

“I… I can get you your own, if you like,” he murmured, and I blinked in surprise at the light flush colouring his cheeks.

“I’m… Good? I’m still nursing this one,” I offered uncertainly, pointedly raising my half-full glass, and watching with amusement as the unanticipated blush grew deeper.

“A room, I meant,” he clarified quietly, the tips of his ears flushing beetroot when I laughed in shock. “O-Or you can have my cabin, or-”

I silenced him with a quick kiss, squeezing his fingers. “I want to stay with you,” I reassured him softly, feeling a gentle blush colour my cheeks, eyes lowered shyly.

He brought my hand to his face, lips skimming over my knuckles tenderly. “I’d be honoured,” he whispered, gaze finding mine as his smooth, suave confidence returned. The track overhead changed to something somewhat slower, but with a pulsing beat that made my bones tremble, and he grinned. “May I have this dance, Snowflake?”

I felt my flush deepen as I nodded, letting him lead me through to the makeshift dance floor – a space simply cleared of seating, where a number of couples were already moving together. I knew how to dance, but not to this; my life was limited to a box step and slow-dancing, picked up over the years. He raised an eyebrow at my hesitation, using his grip on my fingers to pull me flush against his chest. “Don’t you worry, baby boy… I’ve got you.”

With a soft purr, I rested my cheek gently on his chest for a moment before letting him guide me into a quick eight-beat, his hands on my hips easing me into a gyrating, sensual movement. I gasped in surprise as he turned me quickly, fingertips digging into my flesh lightly as we moved in unison. It was until his lips found my throat and I moaned under my breath, the sound causing a subtle, unconscious twitch in his hips, that I became around of his arousal pressing against my ass, making my face heat once more.

But despite my shyness, my uncertainty, I reached back to tangle a hand in his hair, earning a sharp gasp when I shifted firmly against him, his grip hardening automatically. “You don’t have to do that,” he breathed, sending goosebumps along my neck with his breath.

“I know,” I whispered softly, grinding a little harder, head falling back against his shoulder.

I want to.

I felt… Powerful, knowing that this man – this beautiful, strong, charismatic man – was aroused by me, even if it was strictly in terms of physical stimulation rather than actual attraction.

But from the way his muscles flexed, hands hard on my skin, I found myself believing that attraction really did play a part.

It wasn’t just want.

He wanted me.

He stiffened minutely, and I turned my head to follow his gaze as she looked away, brow furrowed. “What is it?” I pressed softly, and he frowned, nodding towards a pair of men in the corner a few feet away, talking in quick, hushed words that I could not comprehend. I cocked my head in confusion, and he flicked his eyes to me, his hearing still fully concentrated on the conversation. “My Bugis is patchy… But they’re discussing a trade. Reptiles. Lizards, I think.” His eyes widened, and he paled. “Blue-spotted tree monitors. Infants. Live ones,” he added at a growl, eyes flashing. I felt his fingers curl in anger against my sides and kissed his cheek gently as the pair headed toward the door. “Go,” I breathed, digits lacing with his to squeeze reassuringly. He hesitated, and I nodded encouragingly. “Go. I’ll be fine. I’ll wait here, okay? Go and be… You, Lieutenant Tyne.”

He smiled and kissed me quickly, eyes already shifting to the exist as he backed away. “Thank you, Snowflake.”

My heart fluttered a little in my chest, and I offered him a tender smile as he began to back from view.

“Stay safe, Captain.”

I sat nursing my soda, simply enjoying the passage of time in the bustling space, absently watching patrons go about their business and their lives with a sense of content satisfaction. I could see what Greg had meant when he spoke of the job – the fact that it was needed it was horrible, but it was one I was proud to do.

Every now and then, I glanced around, the hair on the back of my neck prickling with the unexplainable sensation of being observed, but I never found eyes on me, and eventually I stopped looking, shrugging as I decided it was simply an effect of being around so many people against after so long at sea with the same small handful.

I was on my third drink when someone approached, boots pausing at the edge of my eyeline from where I gazed, unfocused, at the table. Glancing up, I found a man stood beside me, no older than twenty, with an unreadable expression on his face.

“Can I help you?” I prompted, polite but nervous, and his lips quirked at the edges.

“You’re one of them, aren’t you? The SDI?” he murmured shyly, scuffing his feet, a hint of a French accent in the words that made me smile.

Someone else far from home.

I nodded, offering him a reassuring grin. “I am… Why do you ask?”

His face lit up, and he blushed with enthusiastic excitement. “Can I buy you a drink? I’d love to hear more about it!”

With a laugh, I extended a hand to my Captain’s vacated chair. “You’d be very welcome.”

“Didn’t someone once say ‘violence for violence is the rule of beasts’?”

I chuckled wryly, leaning back in my seat to assess the youth – Frank, he’d informed me when prompted, a seventeen year old runaway. “Sometimes violence is the only answer. Folks have tried the nice approach for decade; it’s helped, for sure, but it hasn’t been enough. Populations are still falling – and for what? So some rich asshole half a world away can have his soup with a side of ego?” I shook my head with a sigh. “It’s just so… Asinine. It can’t be allowed to continue – and that’s what the SDI is all about.”

A soft smile graced my lips as I noted distantly that the speech was startlingly similar to the one Neri had given to me. Only a few months ago, I realised abruptly, tipping my head back to drain the last of my glass.

It feels like a lifetime.

“Another?” he pressed, and I laughed.

“You still have questions?”

“Tons,” he replied immediately, grinning, and I shook my head fondly.

“I need to run to the bathroom – again,” I snorted, rolling my eyes. “Guess I’m not used to free access to liquids anymore!”

Even after all the time – and being built as I now was – I still got a flutter of anxiety in public restrooms, glancing over my shoulder for any sign that I should be concerned. The feeling of being watched was still there, burning a hole in the back of my head, but I couldn’t see anyone, no matter how many times I looked around.

Nudging my way into the bathroom, I curled my lip at the smell of alcohol and urine, shaking my head.

No matter where you go in the world, one thing is always the same… The gents on a Friday night.

The space was empty as I went to wash my hands, and the sound of the door banging made me jump, gaze shooting up to the mirror before me to lock eyes with a man over my shoulder. His presence behind me made me nervous, but I met the dark gaze steadily and offered a silent, polite smile. He simply stared back evenly until I looked away, heat prickling up the back of my neck at his intensity.

Hands clean, I went to brush past him, jerking away as he leant closer, his breath hot on my face. It wasn’t until I’d pushed by in a panic, desperate to get away from the sudden, startling proximity, that the fact that he’d spoken began to register in my mind.

“No good deed goes unpunished.”

I was still shaken by the time I returned to my seat, thoughts leaping between trains of thought, and I frowned as I reached absently for the strap of my holdall.

“I moved it out of the way. Here – I got you another drink,” Frank added quickly, sliding a glass across the table toward me. Any questions were pushed from my mind as I glanced over shoulder, watching as the man from the bathroom disappeared into the crowd.

“I… Yeah. Thanks.” My fingers found the glass, raising it instinctively to my mouth as my eyes continued to survey the throngs.

“It’s getting pretty loud in here, huh?”

Gaze flicking to Frank, I took him in once more, struggling to shift my focus back to the youth before me. My thoughts were disjointed and scattered, and I could only nod, scarcely registering that he’d spoken. “Shall we go someplace quieter so we can keep talking?”

Another nod, easily agreeable in my distraction, and I stood as he did, eyes slowly lowering as I followed him with utter compliance through the press of patrons, fractured thoughts straining to latch on to something solid.

There’s something I’m forgetting. I’m forgetting something important, I think… I just can’t find it…

I stumbled as he led me out of the door, narrower than I remembered, the street beyond darker, more enclosed, than I thought, littered with empty bottles and scraps of food ground into broken cobbles. Frank turned to face me, a frown creasing his expression as he weaved worryingly. “You okay, man? You’re not looking so hot.”

I nodded absently, metal palm meeting the wall with a dull thud when my feet reacted too slowly to catch me as I tried to step forward. “Fine, I…” Words died on my tongue as it turned to lead, and I could only grunt, sinking slowly to my knees, vision turning dark around the edges.

A hand found my shoulder heavily, and I fought against the increasing crush of gravity to raise my head, attempting to peer through the dense fog to follow the tanned arm attached to the vice-like grip on me – but before I could see anything beyond weather-worn skin and a multitude of scars, my sight failed me, eyes rolling back as I slumped hard to the ground.

“About time. Get him up. This’ll teach that anjing perek to stay out of our business.” Hands under my arms hoisted me upright, taking the entirety of my weight as my consciousness ebbed and my feet dragged uselessly behind me.

As I snatched distantly at the dregs of reality, the last thing I felt was warm breath on my cheek, the same man who’d issued orders whispering in my ear.

“You brought this on yourself.”

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voiceoffenrisulfr · 6 days

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Multitudes Chapter Two - ... And Her Retribution.

Check it out below, or on AO3 here! This snazzy divider comes from @firefly-graphics and I love it <3

<- Previous Chapter (1/72)

I was barely cognisant of my surroundings as my limp body was carried across the terrain, Clint’s attempts at cradling my injured frame somewhat impeded by the directness of his route – the ground underfoot became uneven within the forest, and I whimpered at every minuscule jolt, shockwaves coursing through my bones to settle in my steadily pulsating wrist.

“You’re gonna be ok, Nat. You’re… You’re just tired. A bit of a tumble, but you’ll be ok. We’ll get you back, have Tony – or probably Bruce, actually – take a look at you, and-”

I shook my head vehemently, finally beginning to struggle in his grasp, my exhausted body driven by fear. He had to pause then, wrangling with my flailing limbs, but despite his best efforts I managed to break free, stumbling to my feet and away from his outstretched hands. “Nat, we really need to get you back. You had a fall- Your wrist might be broken- Your heart rate was-”

I shook my head once more, narrowing my eyes toward him. Stop. Go away, I signed angrily, as best as the steadily increasing pain in my arm permitted, while he continued to stumble over his words as I stumbled over the roots beneath my feet. He hesitated, mouth closing with an audible click, his hands retracting.

I’m worried about you, he offered, a sad smile on his face. Not just the usual amount. I’m really worried about you.

There’s nothing to worry about, I countered stubbornly, flinching at the movement. He simply raised an eyebrow, his gaze flicking between the rapid swelling of my wrist, the still-beeping fitness tracker, and the free space in my leather suit.

Please, Nat, he replied, using his sign name for me – a combination of ‘spider’ and ‘love’ – and I knew then that I had lost, lowering myself to the dirt with a tired sob.

They’ll never take you back now.

My quivering body was once more in Clint’s arms as I entered the medical lab, the fingers of my pain-free hand wrapped tightly in his collar, the other cradled uselessly against my chest.

He propped me on the bed, and I reached up as I released him, delicately removing one hearing aid. He knew the drill – no words. An invasive motion for anyone but the two of us, but Clint had told me time and again that he loved it when I did it. He knew I understood just how exhausting it was sometimes to have to live in a hearing, verbal world, and he welcomed the reprieve as much as I did.

He removed the other on his own, eyes darting once more to my injured wrist with a sympathetic grimace. I simply curled onto my side, beaten and broken, awaiting my judgement – my damnation.

I must have dozed off, because my eyes snapped open to the silent, passionate exchange between the doctor and the archer.

-sick, Clint. She needs help. I can patch her up, but that won’t mend what’s broken, Bruce argued, a frown wrinkling his forehead.

Broken.

She’s not broken, Clint argued, and my heart twinged with gratitude. Bruce simply scowled, waving away the protest. You know my ASL isn’t perfect, and you know what I mean. She needs more than just physical care, and I can’t do that.

Clint met his gaze steadily, furiously, before jerking his thumbs away from his body in a solitary argument, leaving no room for disagreement. Try.

I waved my good hand to get their attention, both pairs of eyes turning on me, and I had to resist the urge to run. I don’t need help. I just need to get this wrist seen to.

Both aquamarine and mahogany turned sympathetic, each owner moving closer in their turn.

Nat-

‘Spider’ only; there was no love here.

-you’re dangerously underweight. I can tell you that without even putting you on a scale. I don’t doubt that your bloods are a mess, too. You passed out through overexertion – the injury is just a symptom. You’re pushing yourself too hard. The doctor lacked the fluidity Clint had when he signed, and I glanced at the archer, a teasing brow raising itself without my input, but he remained impassive.

I just got too hot, and I think I have a bug, or something. It’s fine. I’m fine, I argued after a moment, when my attempt to lighten the mood fell flat.

Another shared glance, and Clint sat by my feet, one hand finding my calf for a heartbeat. Nat, I don’t remember the last time I saw you eat a full meal. Neither does Bruce. And I bet if we asked the others-

I sat upright at that, shaking my head vehemently, and Bruce waved a hand in my direction. You see? That, right there, tells us everything we need to know. That fear – that’s an eating disorder.

Clint blinked at me dumbly for a moment, then reached out, the back of his fingers lightly grazing the soft fat of my jawline. “What are we supposed to do?” he asked quietly, his eyes searching mine. I simply stared in response – not once, ever, had Clint used words when I’d asked him not to.

Fucking traitor.

“She needs more than I can give her,” Bruce answered steadily, moving into my partner’s eyeline. “She needs examination and treatment by someone experienced in these things.”

Don’t you fucking dare.

“That can’t be you? You’re sure?” Clint clarified, his gaze still on mine. From the corner of my eye, I saw Bruce shrug helplessly.

“I guess I could do the initial assessment – see how bad things have gotten. But I won’t attempt care if I don’t think I can help. I won’t risk making her worse, Clint; you, of all people, should be able to understand that.”

He nodded once, still watching me closely.

What can I do to stop this? I pressed, tears threatening to spill from my eyes. What can I do to make you believe me? You’re my partner, Clint – you’re supposed to trust me. His own sign name – a pulled back bowstring, fingers pinched into the sign similar to ‘love’ – coupled with my emotional plea made him still.

I want to believe you. Of course I do. But we haven’t seen you eat in forever, and you’ve been running yourself into the ground.

I’ll eat, I countered quickly, seizing the opportunity, before wetting my dry lips with my tongue. “I’ll eat. You can even watch. I’ll prove it – there’s nothing to worry about.” The words felt like knives in my throat, in more ways than one, but it was worth it to see Clint and Bruce share a look, my partner nodding firmly.

“If she says she’s ok, she’s ok. I trust her.” I could see the uncertainty in the archer’s eyes, only his respect driving him onwards, and I’d never been so grateful.

Good work. They can’t stop you now – not when you’re so close. You’re nearly ready to go back, and they know it. They want to make you fat and soft so that the Red Room won’t want you, but we can’t let them.

I nodded internally, glowing on the inside. The Voice was right – they were acting concerned, but they just knew I was getting too good, too strong, too much to stay here for much longer, and all they wanted was to clip my wings and weigh me down.

Clint replaced his aids with a sigh, turning to look at me. “Bruce is going to fix your wrist up, and I’m going to make you dinner. And then I'm going to watch you eat it. You got that?” His voice was firm, leaving no room for negotiation, and I nodded quickly, elated.

The doctor was quiet as he scanned by wrist, pointing out the hairline fracture along the radius. “It’s a pretty common FOOSH injury – ‘falling onto an outstretched hand’,” he explained when I frowned. “It should heal easily, provided you don’t hurt it further. But I’m going to put it in a cast to prevent that from happening,” he added, and I rolled my eyes.

“It’s basically a sprain, Doc. I’ve fought off armies with worse. A cast won’t be necessary.”

“I’m not asking,” he replied tersely, a cold, hard edge to his voice that made me recoil.

Even Bruce can’t stand to be near you. Will he even be able to get a cast on that fat wrist? He’s probably mad that you’re making him waste the resources on the likes of you. Useless.

I winced and ducked my chin, suitably chagrined, and Bruce let out a sigh, scrubbing a hand over his face. “I’m sorry, Nat. I just… Want to make sure you’re okay. Barton might trust you, but…”

“But you don’t?” I countered, venom dripping from my voice. “You think my own partner doesn’t know me better than you?”

He sighed again, then raised his hands in defeat. “I’m putting the cast on. That’s it. I’m not going to try and force you to get help if you won’t accept it.” He turned away to gather the materials he needed, his voice dropping to almost indecipherable levels. “But Clint isn’t the only one who cares about you, Nat.”

I rolled my jaw, blood boiling, sitting in sullen silence until he stood before me once more, medical tray on the bed beside me.

“I’m going to need you to take your suit off,” he muttered, horrified revelation creeping into his words.

Bruce doesn’t want to see you with your clothes off? That’s a new low.

No, I noted thoughtfully, watching the red flush climb his neck and his refusal to meet my gaze. I’ve seduced enough men in my life to know what this is. This is innocence and inexperience. This… This is shyness.

And as easy an excuse as I could wish for.

“How about you get me a gown?” I offered, my voice as light and teasing as I could make it, fingers finding the zipper on my chest. Despite there being absolutely no chance I will be willingly stripping down in front of the doctor – no, I only want to make him blush.

Bruce glanced back at me uncertainly, throat bobbing as he nodded, an unmistakable green tinge to his flesh as he darted away, returning with a gown that would smother any hint of feminine curves and quell his appetite.

A shame. You could use a workout, and at least with him, you’re likely to be punished at the same time.

“You know, I’m not scared of you, Bruce. The green guy, either.” The words escaped me before I could register the thought, but I found myself steady and impassable as the zipper inched towards the curve of my chest.

The doctor’s jaw set, and he turned his head, averting his gaze through respect and fear. “I am.”

I slid to my feet noiselessly, trailing a hand across the tense shoulders hidden by a thick labcoat. “Maybe I could show you that there’s much more to life than fear.”

I heard him swallow dryly, the flesh under my fingertips swelling and expanding as his heart rate increased. “Natasha, stop…”

“I’m not afraid of either of you, Bruce. And if you’re worried about hurting me, don’t be. I can take-”

My words died in my throat as he turned, grasping my uninjured wrist firmly as it began to smooth across his chest. “Natasha. Stop.” There was no green glow to his face now, only a hard determination, and I stepped back with a playful grin, trying to keep the rejection from my face.

“It would be fun. That’s all I’m saying,” I offered with a shrug, fingers finding my own zipper once more – hesitating when he didn’t turn away. “… Are you going to watch?”

He smiled weakly, the motion not reaching his eyes. “It took me a second to figure it out. But then I thought to myself, ‘no, Natasha wouldn’t be that cruel’. But perhaps you could be that selfish.” I gazed wordlessly at him, jaw slack, before my shock turned to anger.

“Wanting to help you out – to give you satisfaction I’m sure you haven’t felt in a very long time, if ever – is cruel?” I laughed tersely, shaking my head. “Forgive me for wanting to be your friend, Bruce.”

His emotionless smile didn’t waver – instead, he simply lent against the stool. “Either way, I’ve got a handle on it now. No helping needed.”

“I’m not letting you watch me undress if I don’t get anything out of it,” I snapped, fighting the panic rising in my chest. Without the cover of lust and a lack of control, his clinical eyes could not see me. I didn’t need The Voice to tell me that. He’d be disgusted and horrified, dressing it up as concern, pumping sugar water into my veins until I was too bloated to move – too fat to run away.

“Why?” he pressed, head tipped with mock curiosity. “You seemed to have no qualms until you thought I was uncomfortable, or that I was having to fight with the Hulk - and even after that. I’m telling you, unequivocally, that I’m fine. So why not?”

My mouth worked silently, a rolodex of excuses flicking through my mind. “Haven’t enough men looked at my body without my consent?” I offered eventually, allowing a hint of self-pity to creep into my voice. He tried to remain impassive, but it took less than a second for him to break, turning away with a muttered apology and a hanging head. I feel bad, sure, I noted as I hurriedly slid my arms into the gown, careful to cover the litany of scars coating my biceps, but it’s not like it’s a lie.

Another flash - being paraded, chained, before row after row of observers, pinching, pulling, poking and pushing – and my breath hiccupped in my chest, before I cleared my throat, instantly dragging back my careful reserve.

Weak. You’ll need to be punished for that later. Widows have no room for emotions.

Bruce half turned, driven by fear but restrained by respect. “It’s okay; you can look now.”

His eyes immediately scanned the available flesh of my forearms, tracing the line of my clavicle peering from under the loose neck of my gown, and I fought the urge to shudder, skin crawling under his gaze. “Okay. We’ll get this cast on, and then you can have dinner.”

Ugh, dinner. I’d forgotten about that.

It took a matter of minutes for the cast to be fit, but the fifteen minutes of silence while we waited for it to harden felt endless. I knew I should apologise – after all, hadn’t Bruce been exactly right? What I did was cruel and selfish – but I couldn’t bring myself to permit the words, or the inevitable questions that would follow.

By the time Clint returned, half-coated in various bits of food and looking for all the world like he’d been dragged through a garbage disposal, the tension was palpable, and I couldn’t wait to escape.

“Grub’s up?” he offered tentatively, gaze flicking between the doctor and I. I simply nodded in response, glancing at Bruce as I slid to my feet.

“I’ll have to change first,” I noted dryly, gesturing down at my half-dressed form, the gown still covering my upper body, while my legs were encased in their trademark leather. Bruce only nodded in response, muttering something about being mindful of my cast, but letting me go without complaint.

I dropped onto the bed with a heavy sigh, diligently keeping my cast away from the bedspread. Clint had tried to intercept me, asking if I’d need any assistance with the leather with only one hand, but I had merely shook my head, offering an insincere, grateful smile as I closed the door in his face.

I just needed space.

The burn in my flesh began before I even had chance to reflect, starting as something akin to an itch, deep under my skin and in need of being carved out.

Glancing at the door to ensure I’d slid the bolt across – archaic, but effective – I dragged myself upright, shuffling to the en-suite with a resigned slope to my shoulder.

I hated this.

I hated fucking up, and I hated the punishment that came with it.

And it was that hatred that would drive me to do better, until a time came when I was perfect, and there were no more whispered hushes of blade on flesh and muffled whimpers of knuckles stuffed into teeth.

My things were only simply hidden – tucked into a tampon box they never knew I didn’t need – and I pulled out the kit in silence, tenderly caressing every facet as I lay the items before me. There was, I had to admit, a beauty in it – in seeing my indiscretions tallied in flesh, each the same as the last, a uniform ladder of sin.

It was between these rungs that I now pressed a fresh scalpel, unmarred by rust or blood. If there was one significant benefit of life at the Avenger’s Compound, it was certainly the never-ending – and, crucially, unmonitored – flow of medical supplies.

One – for the food I consumed at lunch.

Two – for the half-finished run.

Three – for being caught failing.

Four – for inciting suspicion.

Five – for almost losing everything.

Six - for Clint.

Seven – for Bruce.

Eight, nine, ten, eleven, twelve, thirteen – for Bruce, for Bruce, for Bruce, for Bruce, for Bruce, for Bruce.

I did something I had never done.

One cut for each sin; that was the rule. Each as careful and precise as the next.

But this? This was not punishment, considered and reasonable.

This was vengeance against my cursed flesh and my cursed existence. There was no order, no scrutiny of depth and placement; there was only violence and vehemence.

Where is this rage coming from? I pondered, only a faint, distant alarm registering as I fought to stem the blood. I wasn’t naive enough to allow my heart rate to spike sharply – I’d made that mistake once, not longer after I moved into the compound, and now had Friday’s klaxon echoing in my mind as a stark warning against a repeat performance. It was for the same reason that my exercise within the compound building had to be intensified slowly – it was only careful negotiation on my part that had allowed me to have any degree of privacy, after all. The rooms were initially fitted to alert to a rise in heartrate of any speed, but I’d argued against that effectively enough, saying that we all had a nightmare or wanted to exercise from time to time, and shouldn’t have our personal lives broadcasted to the entire team. But the spike, they’d argued, could be deadly, and should be kept. I’d lost that one, but it was workable.

Because you’re useless, and selfish. Even your punishment is selfish, you fucking disappointment.

I nodded my agreement as I wrapped a scrap of bandage tightly around my arm, wincing as the fibres pressed into the holes gouged into my flesh. I’d gone too deep, I knew that – but there was no way I’d be hunting out Bruce for stitches. I’d healed from worse, and I’d heal again.

Bandaging wasn’t something I usually bothered with – infection only prolonged the pain, after all - but without my impermeable leather to hide the blood, I didn’t have another option. Instead, I permitted the coarse covering, scraping against my open flesh each time I moved to clean up the bathroom floor.

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voiceoffenrisulfr · 7 days

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Multitudes Chapter One - The Sins of a Spider...

Dead Dove: Do Not Eat. Please read the tags, and proceed with caution. Disclaimer - this work is a reflection of our own experiences with negative self-image, self-harm, eating disorders, and suicidal ideation. It is not a portrayal of any other individual's experiences and should not be taken as such. Natasha Romanoff was subjected to horrible things from others as a child. Natasha Romanoff was subjected to horrible things from others as an adult. And now, Natasha Romanoff is subjected to horrible things by her own mind. The mind is never quiet, and she may never escape. CW: unhealthy attitudes to food and exercise, negative internal voice, self-harm.

Check it out below, or on AO3 here! This snazzy divider comes from @firefly-graphics and I love it <3

Natasha Romanoff.

Renowned assassin.

Expatriate of Soviet Russia.

Fucking disaster.

I growled at my reflection, wholly dissatisfied with the person I saw in the mirror.

“How are you ever supposed to be of use?” I muttered under my breath, digging my fingernails into the bare, expansive flesh on the back of my arms, the edges falling into semi-permanent ruts formed through similar ministrations.

“Natasha? Nat, come on. We’re almost back at base.”

My partner’s knuckles rapped smartly on the pokey bathroom door, and I rolled my eyes, releasing my grasp on myself.

If I didn’t love Clint so much, I’d throw him from this goddamn jet.

The quinjet didn’t give much room for emotional breakdowns – particularly with my well-meaning, but overly invested, teammate aboard.

By the time I slipped from the bathroom, tight leather pressed firm to the gouges in the back of my arm – fat/disgusting/fat/notenough – the jet was already in its descent, the sprawling complex that constituted the Avenger’s Compound spread before us.

“Everything ok?” Clint pressed, knocking his knee with mine to draw my gaze. I nodded once, wordless, and he frowned with concern as I looked away once more.

What was I supposed to tell him? That he saved me all those years ago – but that I still thought of running back? That, every day, it got harder and harder to resist the call to the predictability, the safety, I knew was waiting for me?

No, I noted, an imperceptible shake of my head clearing the thought before it could fully form. Clint can understand many things… But he could never understand this.

He was, mercifully, the one most accepting of my silences – knowing without words that sometimes, I just needed the quiet, needed some time. He never pushed me into speaking, content to either leave me to my silence, or else communicate through sign language, when I was willing and able. He never asked, and I never offered, but I knew how he looked at me. How they all looked at me.

Fucking disaster.

It was in that way that I found myself sat at a table full of my rambunctious teammates, each speaking louder than the next. I couldn’t help the weak smile that tugged at my lips as I saw Clint reach up surreptitiously, turning off his hearing aids with a wince. The others rarely noticed this motion, but I found it impossible to miss – he had, in some ways, a superpower, and it was one I had found myself envious of on more than one occasion. I could speak, or not speak – but I couldn’t turn off all of the sound, too.

It was always quiet there.

That’s not true. Sometimes… Sometimes it was very not quiet.

I squeezed my eyes shut against the images flashing before my eyes – hands on soft thighs, whip lines on soft backs – my nails unconsciously seeking the backs of my arms, stopping just short as I remembered where I was.

When my lids parted once more, it was to the aquamarine of Clint’s gaze boring into mine.

What? I signed indignantly, irritated by the puppy-like concern on his face.

Are you okay? he asked, barely recoiling from my palpable annoyance. I nodded sharply, tired of his watching. It seemed more and more common these days – the closer and closer I got to fleeing. I pushed my chair back from the table, effectively silencing the din of the collected men.

“You good, Nat?” Tony asked, chopsticks paused halfway to his open mouth, the noodles sliding slowly in their own juices and making my stomach roil.

“Don’t feel well. Early night,” I muttered, inclining my head toward my own, mostly-full plate. “Help yourselves.”

The group of men – boys, really, if their bad manners were anything to go on – paused only as a courtesy, waiting for me to step away before falling upon my discarded meal. Only Clint stayed sat back, and I could feel his eyes on me as I left, scanning the soft curves of my body.

No doubt thinking that you could afford to miss a meal or two.

My wristwatch flashed in alarm, vibrating harshly – an alert, a warning, but it only pushed me to run harder, further, faster. I knew my body; weak as it was, it could handle a few minutes at a pulse rate in the two hundreds.

By the time I skidded to a halt, dirt spraying up around my feet, I was dripping with sweat, my hands shaking. I couldn’t help but glance once more at the watch, finding a sick, perverse pleasure it watching the numbers stutter and struggle to drop. They stayed raised longer each time, now – no doubt a testimony to how shitty I’d gotten, how poor I’d become at maintaining my training, but I couldn’t help but think of the extra calories burnt during that prolonged period of tachycardia.

1,343.

Not enough. Run faster. Run further.

I nodded obligingly to the duality in my head, an obedient servant, tongue stuck to the roof of my mouth through dehydration and mutism as I kicked the speed back up.

Sweat stuck the suit to my back, clinging the suffocating leather to my suffocating flesh, but I didn’t dare slow down. I’d been too lax for too long, and finally, finally, I had someone who could bring me back up to scratch. How could I even think about disobeying?

That’s right, you disgusting creature. You owe me everything. I’m the reason that they might not kill you when they get you back. Don’t be ungrateful.

I nodded again, spurring myself on to the backing track of insults. Who needs music when you have your own mind? I noted dryly, letting out a soft, strained chuckle.

I’d pushed too far before I had chance to realise it.

I should have known, really. I should have been able to tell by the lightness in my feet, my bones hollow as a bird's.

The highs were always the highest right before the fall. It was a lesson I’d been taught time and again, but still too stupid, it seemed, to actually learn anything.

It was in that way that I became distantly aware of my body crumbling, this useless sack of flabby flesh, soft and undisciplined, giving way beneath me as my mind was enveloped in impenetrable fog.

The gravel flew up to meet me, fingers barely splaying beneath my face in time to prevent a broken nose, and I rolled with the impact, finding myself sprawled on my back, vision dark around the edges as I panted.

It was here that Clint found me, his brow creased with concern and he lent over my body, sweat pouring from my forehead, fitness tracker beeping with alarm.

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voiceoffenrisulfr · 10 days

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Calendar Events: May

No Deadline. No word account min.

There is also another event inside for May

You can use the prompts in any fandoms you want.

@thebigbangblogproject

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voiceoffenrisulfr · 10 days

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SEASONAL DELIGHTS BINGO - SUMMER EDITION🐚

For this year's summer season, we ended up settling on 'under the deep blue sea' as our theme.

🐚 -

TYPES OF PROMPTS

under the sea prompts - prompts that have to do with the world under the sea, or simply set under the sea.

summer prompts - summer themed prompts. (you can pick out the prompts that you prefer for this theme!)

general prompts - the prompts which were used for all of our other bingo's along with a couple of other extra's that were added through out the last couple of months.

🐚 -

Every participant is able to request up to two cards.

The tags that we ask that you use for us to be able to re-blog your posts are; #seasonaldelightsbingo, #undertheseabingo (don't forget to tag @seasonaldelightsbingo too!) once again re-blogs might end up being slow but hopefully we will re-blog your post's before the event comes to an end.

🐚 Posting period starts on june 1, 2024 till september 30, 2024.

🐚 The sign up form is only available till may 12, 2024.

'under the sea' bingo sign up form.

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voiceoffenrisulfr · 11 days

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It was an absolute pleasure. ♥️♥️♥️♥️

Language of Flowers Bingo Cards (Spring)

We have finally sent out all of our spring cards! Due to how long it took for me to send out the cards, this event will be ending in august 1, 2024 instead of june 30, 2024.

I'm really thankful to @voiceoffenrisulfr for helping me during the past couple of months while i wasn't in a good place, and helping with both creating and delivering most of the cards. ❤

There were couple of participants who had signed up, but we were unable to contact, so if you have yet to get your card from us please contact us as soon as possible.

💕

Total Cards Sent Out: 99

Delivered in February: 21 - Otter-Love-ASL, sadbi_hours, Ella, Tomo, lillyrosenight, Losha, Willow, cywscross, rowbjection, LyriaBlackFrost, Bug & Friends, Lupi, seles(1), seles(2), sweetpeapod(1), sweetpeapod(2), aspen | blackwood4stucky, prettysophist, Sivan325, 42donotpanic(1), 42donotpanic(2)

Delivered by @voiceoffenrisulfr ❤: 49 - solacium, Hadrian, wildcaffeine(1), wildcaffeine(2), foxywrites(1), foxywrites(2), Star, Howtodrawyourdragon, evilwriter37, BraveLittleNippa, Aerica_Menai(1), nicoline1998enilocin, veronyxk84, Winchesterek, Bookworm39, Thee-lionheart, QuoteMyFoot, Maureen, Chaos, Alessia, rainbow_salt, Feste, Ziggy, Mona, badassbutterfly1987, nottoolateforthegame; Lavender, 5soshow, Chickenix, svgurl, Tea, Slyth, Macabray (Dreamer), akaparalian, Lesti C, SubukuNoJess, Torchic, ScarletHeroTears, Elanor, WICKEDMONSTRESS, Melacka, Annie, Pip, miss_minnelli, SociallyAwkwardFox, Nep, Mogar, isapirata, cywscross

Sent Out on 15/04 by @voiceoffenrisulfr ❤: 09 - endlesstwanted,Vienna, Alina F., atadoddinnit, Lorifragolina, angelus2hot, Rat, advanced_fanatic, ten-cent-sleuth

Sent Out on 17/04: 20 - rookthorne(1), Smutconnoisseur, rookthorne, librarymoth, Aquagirl, Aquagirl1978, hibi(1), hibi(2), autisticidiot, Aerica_Menai(2), Alina Fuentes, Morgana, finalsouls, Noise, MidnightInk_theMusical, TheMadcapLaughs, Domi, ray, Ladybird, justapepperonishipper

#fandom event #fandom bingo #fandom prompts #art event #fandom challenge #fanfic event #art prompts #fanfic prompts #seasonal delights bingo #language of flowers bingo #languageofflowersbingo #seasonaldelighstbingo #writing bingo #seasonal events #bingo event

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voiceoffenrisulfr · 14 days

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Love Thy Neighbour - Chapter 3 Unbidden Guest

Bucky's uninvited housemate makes themself known.

Read this chapter on AO3 here.

Chapter 2

Fandom: Marvel Cinematic Universe Characters: James "Bucky" Barnes, Nonbinary OC Rating: T CW: Violence, choking, threatening with a gun, bleeding, hearing voices, hearing the voice of an abuser, references to murder, torture, suicide, violence, sexual assault Prompts filled: Fandom Free Bingo Frosty Edition: Stay a while @fandom-free-bingo Fluffbruary: Day 26: Care package, Day 28: Shelter @fluffbruary Winter Wonderland: Covering the other with a blanket @seasonaldelightsbingo Any Fandom Angst: Held at gunpoint @anyfandomangstbingo LGBTQ+: Non-binary!Character @lgbtqbingo

Dividers by @unfortunate-beetle-and-friends

“Don’t ask the name of anyone that asks you for shelter.” Victor Hugo

It had been some time since Bucky had wished so fiercely that he could just stop waking up, stop coming back to a reality that became more of a nightmare each time. Before he opened his eyes he pleaded with the darkness to tighten again, to choke him back out of the world. A little longer, even if it couldn’t be forever, even if it could only be moments more before he had to open his eyes to-

A wet cloth on his skin, stroked down his cheek. For a handful of heartbeats, misery gave way to something almost like contentment. Complacency. Deadly. The horror burst through and propelled him into a rush of movement. He couldn’t go back. They wouldn’t take him back.

The body crouched over him was only a dark blur, hurled across the room and into a wall. It crumpled and he was upon it. His charge was clumsy but he didn’t need precision. His hand was around a throat. He’d need hardly a flick of a Vibranium wrist to snap their neck. The figure was smaller than him, pinned in his shadow, starting to tremble with the need for air. He had secured their arms beneath his knees without thinking about it, his shin across their legs to prevent them from kicking him. He was doing better. All that was left was the kill… It would be instant, almost entirely painless. He would not fail this time.

He froze. They weren’t struggling. They weren’t fighting him at all. There had been no raised alarm. No other movement in the room except the two of them. Bucky struggled to focus through blinding panic and burning eyes. He loosened his grip just enough to allow them a breath, and pushed the muzzle of his pistol beneath their chin. “Why shouldn’t I kill you right now?”

They looked up at him without terror, as though the ease with which he could end their life concerned them little. “Look at your hand.” Reluctantly, he allowed his eyes to flicker downwards – perhaps because the words had been more of a plea than a demand or a threat, or perhaps because defying the voice telling him to do what he was made for and kill was taking too much of his concentration. Even in the gloom, he could see the wet shine, and the scent of blood rose thickly from it. He’d felt no pain at all. “There’s no wound. It’ll stop in a few seconds. I – I could have put the bleed in your neck, or your brain. I didn’t. Please. I don’t want to do that. I don’t want to hurt you.” He stiffened. Their eyes widened and they spoke more quickly. “If I’d meant you any harm, I could have done something about it either of the times I’ve found you unconscious today. Right? I have no reason to hurt y-“ His hand pressed down again, choking off their words.

“Reckon I can squeeze a trigger faster than you can do your little magic trick.”

“Maybe.” They could do little more than shape the words but just enough of a hiss escaped for him to follow. “Don’t want to bet my life on it. Seen-” They shuddered, desperately sucking in a scrap of air. “Seen how fast you are.”

He growled and shook them by the throat. They pinched their eyes shut as if they expected death to follow. If they’d also started his brain bleeding, he couldn’t tell. “You’ve been spying on me. Sneaking round in my building. Now you’re fucking with me in my apartment. Why?” He shook them again. Their skull thudded heavily on the floor, long black hair escaping their ponytail. “Why? Tell me why I shouldn’t fucking kill you? You don’t want to hurt me? Then what do you want?”

They tried to reply but could only gurgle. He eased off their throat. “Help. Need help.” His hand lifted a little more, answering a deeper impulse than thought. With an effort, he overpowered the voice in his mind long enough to listen. Their eyes searched his as though watching the struggle. His hand tensed on their neck.

“Talk. Fast.”

They swallowed. He felt the fragile movement through his palm. “Shelter. Please. I don’t want to kill you. And,” Their dark eyes tracked his face again. “I may not be an expert on trained assassins but I don’t think you want to kill me either.” Had he imagined the emphasis? Had it been unintentional? Their voice was trembling. Short on breath, laden with pain. He couldn’t be sure.

“Someone wants you dead though. And personally, right? In more than the ‘all mutants are dangerous monsters’ way.”

“A lot of people. That’s why I need somewhere safe. I thought – I mean, you seemed like someone who’d be sympathetic.”

His lip pulled back in a snarl. “Because I’m a dangerous monster too?”

They didn’t flinch as they met his eyes. “Pretty much. You know what it’s like. Not to want to be someone else’s weapon. To not trust the good guys much more than the bad guys. Right?”

The adrenaline was wearing off. His head was starting to swim again. He should finish them fast, then he could sleep. Alone and safe. “So which do you think you are? A good guy or a bad guy?”

“Just a guy. I’m not much of a team player.” He felt a tremor as though they had tried to laugh. They swallowed again. He knew his face hadn’t given anything away, so they must have realised for themselves that apparent amusement was doing them no favours. “Look, there’s no one outside this room who has my back, or who I report to, or – I hope – who has any idea where I am. I just need somewhere to stay, where I can keep my head down.”

It was a terrible decision, really, not to kill them. He would be safer with them gone. He’d have his solitude back. This was his home. Perhaps he could have handled sharing it with Steve if he’d wanted to leave the compound, but not any random stranger who fancied moving in – especially not here, in his apartment.

“What were you doing in here?” The pistol pressed harder under their chin, forcing their head back a little more.

“I was worried about you. I heard you screaming earlier, and I found you in the basement all bashed up. I wanted to bring you back up here but I could only manage one flight of stairs. Vibranium’s heavy, I guess. Didn’t really know how I’d get you past the traps either – I unfastened some of trip wires but it seemed pretty obvious there’d be more inside. Didn't fancy killing either of us. I came to check on you later and you weren’t where I’d left you – figured you’d got back up here by yourself. I was going to just leave you to it but when I passed by the door there were weird noises. I knocked. You didn’t answer and the noises got weirder so I looked for another way in that you hadn’t rigged to blow up or eviscerate visitors.” Their eyes flicked towards the open closet, the one he’d been trying to block back up. “You were passed out again. You were breathing like shit and your skin and eyes were all red. I was worried.”

They tried to shrug. Their own breathing wasn’t so hot either. He eased off their throat just a little more. Their words had brought his discomfort into much clearer focus. Now he couldn’t help but notice how his breath was whistling and every inch of exposed flesh felt like it had been splashed with acid.

“You got down to the basement through there, right?” Another glance at the closet. “Not surprised you feel like shit. Insulation’s made of fibreglass. Not stuff you want to handle, much less breathe.” They frowned up at him. He could almost have believed they actually were as concerned for his welfare as for the ease with which he could end their life right now. Probably an ability to make someone bleed into their own brain with a thought was quite a confidence boost. If they could really do any such thing. What evidence did he have? His hand? Could have cut it on something and just not noticed. A quick enough thinker could take advantage of that, sure. After being thrown half way across the room and slammed into the floor. With a gun pressed to their head. Probably. And he had to concede that anyone who could do shit like that would definitely be a sought-after commodity for the worst people. Someone like that was definitely not the kind of unknown factor he wanted hanging around, right?

When was the last time anyone had sought him out to ask for help?

“Sit up. Slowly.” He released them and shifted away, gun still readied.

They waited until he’d made some space between them before awkwardly levering themselves upright and raising both hands level with their shoulders in surrender. “I, uh, I’m not armed. I mean, not in any way you can confiscate without decapitating me, which I’d really rather you didn’t. But I guess, if searching me makes you feel any better about letting me stick around, you can…”

Bucky looked them over. The baggy hoodie, the same that had been used for a pillow earlier, and cargoes could have hidden any number of weapons, but they’d made a decent point – if they’d been planning to kill him it was a risk and a waste of time waiting until now. He shook his head. “Just don’t make me regret my trusting and forgiving nature.” They offered a casual salute and even a small grin. “What time is it?”

A shrug. “Don’t know, but probably after ten. Here. Drink. Pretty sure your throat’s still full of glass fibres.” They reached into a cardboard box beside them surrounded by a few scraps of rope and tossed a bottle over to him, then rolled their eyes dramatically when he didn’t reach for it. “Not that convinced I’m not trying to kill you, then? Here.” They grabbed another bottle, cracked the top, and took a long swig. He watched their throat working and found himself recalling that movement under his hand. They recapped the bottle and offered it to him. “Monkey see, monkey do.”

The smirk was infuriating but he found his lip curling in return as he took the bottle. “Don’t push it.” He drank, and kept drinking. The cool water was unbelievably soothing to his sore throat. He drained the bottle and grabbed the first one, downing half of it before freezing with it still at his lips.

“Relax, okay?” His eyes darted to their face, startled to find a sympathetic frown. “I promise, it’s as wholesome as water stolen from struggling communities by billionaires can be.” His narrowed eyes received a shrug. “What? Wouldn’t be fair to lie to you.” He grunted and finished the bottle.

“You’re really weird, you know that?”

“Mutants tend to be.”

Bucky sat and watched, rolling the empty bottle between his palms, while his… intruder? Visitor? Neighbour? Pulled over the box and rummaged inside it, ignoring or not seeing the way he tensed.

“What’s that?”

“Huh?” They glanced up, blinking. Was it possible that they’d actually forgotten he was there in the last twenty seconds? It sure seemed like it. He nodded at the box. “Oh, just kind of a care package I put together. Meant to leave it outside your door but then you sounded like you were dying so I figured a get well card and a blanket might not do the trick. ‘S not much. Food, meds such as I could find, blanket – but you’ve got that already. Getting it down that climb with my face covered to keep the fibres out was hard enough without packing it any heavier, but there’s some more stuff over in the other apartment.”

He looked over at where he’d been lying, and stared in surprise. They were still in his hallway where he had passed out. He remembered dimly the pounding at the door, amplified by fear and disorientation, which must have been their knocking. His sleeping bag hadn’t been here then. Nor had his pillow or the unfamiliar sleeping bag stacked underneath his own. And there was the blanket, lying where he must have thrown it off when he woke up… and attacked them, he reminded himself with an internal wince.

“You did all that?”

“Yeah. Would have put you in your bedroom, but ran into that whole ‘Vibranium is heavy’ issue again so I made you a bed out here instead. Won’t be offended if you want to move back. You can borrow my sleeping bag. Oh, and I redid the bandage on your arm but the bleeding had stopped already, even where you scratched it up. You knocked a few chunks out of yourself. I cleaned the wounds and tied them up. Some of them looked like they could use stitches but I’m thinking you don’t really bother with those and I don’t know how to do them. I could probably figure it out with a video tutorial though if, y’know, you want me to try.” They kept talking as they looked through the box, peering at things as though it had been so long since they’d seen them that they were almost unrecognisable. It was a curious sight. “Wasn’t sure if you’d be able to cook in here so most of this is about as edible cold…” They were chattering away as if he hadn’t been holding a gun to their head a minute earlier. The effect was almost soothing. Where was that accent from? Not pure American as far as he could tell. Maybe British with some American or Canadian layered on top? There was something else too – something that spoke to his memories of warmth and spiced air. He was only half taking in the words and it was his turn to realise late that he’d been spoken to.

“Uh… huh?”

They grinned. “Sandwiches. Just cheese. Nothing fancy. I don’t do cooking. Probably a good idea to eat something. Might cushion the little spiky glass bits.” They shrugged. “My mother always freaked out about me going anywhere near our fibreglass insulation. I always figured she was overreacting but you look like shit so maybe not.”

“You go all out with the compliments, don’t you?” He bit into a cheese sandwich. They were right – it was nothing fancy, but it was food and it started to help with his painful, feverish exhaustion at once.

“Pretty much,” they admitted with a shrug.

Bucky was about to reply when a fresh storm of coughs overtook him, filling the air with crumbs. They leant back out of the way, lowering their own sandwich, apparently no longer so keen on it.

“That’ll probably happen for a while. You got a pretty good lungful, I guess.”

“’M not supposed to get sick,” he growled.

“You’re not technically-”

“Or injured.”

“Unless whatever they did to you gave you lungs that can dissolve glass, I doubt being a super soldier’s gonna help much with this. Might even be worse. If you can’t get sick, I’m thinking it’s because your body attacks anything that invades it particularly quickly and effectively, so it’s probably throwing a fit about a billion little fibres getting where they shouldn’t and I’m probably not really helping, am I?”

“Your bedside manner really sucks,” he grumbled. The complaint was half-hearted, though. Something had happened to their expression while they were spinning their theory. The gentle coffee-dark eyes had sharpened. The detached enthusiasm had become… uncomfortable. He’d seen too many expressions like that before, usually smiling above him while he was strapped to a table, full of glee over their latest pages of results. His fist curled and he touched his pistol. The movement attracted no attention at all. They’d found a scrap of ancient wallpaper –but still not ancient enough for him to remember it – and started picking at it as though its presence offended them, nails digging fretfully under its edges.

“Planning on building a nest with that?”

They froze and looked vacant for a second. He got the impression they were replaying the last few seconds to work out what he was talking about. In spite of the way his previous observation had jacked up his heart rate, it was a challenge to be afraid of someone who seemed to have so much difficulty just keeping track of existence from one minute to the next. And they’d brought him food and a blanket, he reminded himself. His lips softened into a small smile.

“Uh, sorry, hope that wasn’t sentimental.” They licked a fingertip and attempted to damp the paper back down. “There was a texture.” The explanation ended there.

“A… texture?”

Their eyebrows rose as though his puzzlement was incomprehensible. “Things that should be smooth shouldn’t have textures.” They said it the way someone else might say “tumours”. They gave a little shrug and didn’t meet his eyes. “It’s harder to ignore – tolerate – them when I’m nervous. Really weird, like you said.” He thought he saw a tiny wince. “Sorry, I’ll go back to the other apartment. You should be resting, not suffering through a lecture on the ways my brain is wrong.”

They started to dust themself off and get up. This time the wince was unmistakable. They tried to disguise the awkward movement with a stretch but his eyes tracked the tenderness in their shoulder with ease. He recalled the sound of them colliding with the wall when he’d thrown them off and his stomach churned with a momentary surge of guilt.

“There are painkillers in the box. Oh, and antihistamine cream. If your skin’s too uncomfortable to sleep, it might… And try to rinse your skin again in the morning. Just keep washing the fibres off. Not sure what to do for the lungs but hopefully that’ll be better tomorrow too. If you need anything, I’ll be across the hall.” They offered an awkward smile and took a step towards the door.

“Wait.” He was surprised to hear the word come from his mouth. “Not sure I want you getting up to fuck knows what out of sight over there.” His grin turned out as awkward as their exit. “You can stay. Here.” He cut off their attempted protest. “I’d like you to stay. Y’know, tonight, at least.”

He started to set his gun down, then went to the window to scan the street. The streetlights were on now. The only passers-by seemed natural and uninterested enough. “Just how sure are you that no one’s going to come looking for you here?” He put his back to the window and tried to resist the urge to look again.

“Well, I guess I can’t be a hundred percent certain but I think if they had any idea where I am they’d have come for me before now.” They curled tighter into the corner and Bucky almost laughed when he saw them shoot the window a glance almost identical to his own.

In the moment of strange kinship, he was moved to voice something he’d been wondering about. “You know who I am. You didn’t just stumble onto a guy with a potential safe house.”

They paused, and shrugged. “Well, no, I was looking for you. Got pretty lucky finding you though. Not a lot of guys with metal arms around but there are a lot of people in this city. Then I found you and had to watch for a while to make sure my instincts were right about you. That you’d understand why I needed somewhere to go. That makes me sound like a total stalker… It’s not a weird creepy obsession or anything. I just… heard about you, y’know, and-”

“So you know who I am, the things I’ve done, and you still decided to throw yourself on my mercy?”

He’d expected them to fidget uncomfortably, maybe refuse to meet his eyes. In fact, their gaze locked onto his like a magnet.

“Someone who looked a lot like you did those things. Not you.”

He stiffened. “It was me. A… part of me.” He’d never admitted that, even to Stevie. Why was he doing it now? He wished he could bite the words back, but they seemed unfazed by his confession or his regret.

“Was that part of you given a choice?”

The words stuck on his tongue, tangled in themselves. “We… I could have died myself. Rather than hurt anyone else. Most people would say I should have done.”

Their snort chilled him and he narrowed his eyes. They were just as unmoved by the increased hostility. “Most people don’t choose to die. Not when they’re actually confronted with the choice. So “most people” can take a running jump with their opinions about what any of you should have done. They don’t know what they’re fucking talking about.” He spotted that their hand was knotted into their hoodie so tight that their knuckles showed up pale in the dim light. “And for my part, I doubt it was even an option. Unless you can honestly tell me Hydra didn’t make really damn sure they fucked up your head before they gave you the kind of freedom it takes to kill yourself.”

Bucky could only stare as the words went through him like a laser, leaving a searing path behind them. Something was ready to take advantage of the quiet. It crawled into the ringing silence in his head.

You’d just love to believe that, wouldn’t you, little boy? “Boohoo, poor me. The mean nasty men hurt my feelings and that’s why I tortured and raped and murdered all those people.” It’s a fairy tale, little boy. A pretty lie to manipulate you into letting them stay. We chose you for a reason, asset. We saw the monster in you and leashed it. We didn’t make the monster.

“James?” The name came as such a surprise that it momentarily shocked him out of the guilty hell he’d been descending into. “James… you okay?”

“Don’t.” He gradually got his words back under control and the hysterical note out of his voice. “I – don’t. Don’t call me that.” He forced something like a smile. “I only get ‘James’ when I’m in trouble. I guess you can call me Bucky.”

They nodded, their own smile much more genuine than he had managed. “Bucky, then.” He was fascinated by their ability to look at him so calmly, with no detectable fear or contempt, yet he found himself still wanting to escape their gaze. He felt too seen by those eyes. Like they understood even more than they’d described with such stark and cutting accuracy. He backed up and turned away from them, crouching to straighten his bedding.

“Guess we do have some stuff in common, after all… You know, don’t you?”

“I don’t. Not what they did to you. But I know something about the lengths people like that will go to, to design the sort of operatives they need. And after they put in all that time and effort, they don’t get careless enough to let valuable assets kill themselves.”

The word caused bile to rise in his throat and he whipped around. Could they know? Could they hear? But they’d turned back to their corner, rearranging their blanket and trying to make themself comfortable.

“You can take your sleeping bag back. I’ll be fine with my own.” They waved him off.

“Hang onto it tonight. It’ll help with my guilt. It’s my fault you got all paranoid and trap-happy.” He watched them lean their head on the wall.

He wanted to tell them to at least take the pillow or something, but he had a premonition of how much good that would do. He stood, thinking, for a moment. Then he scooped up the blanket and threw it over them. He crouched to tuck it in, meeting their look of protest with immovable steadiness. And somehow he found himself looking into soft brown eyes a little too long.

“Night,” he muttered, retreating.

No, the voice growled as he contemplated the stacked sleeping bags. Soft. Weak. He glanced back into the corner. Their eyes were closed but they had no talent for faking the rhythmic breath of true sleep. He toed off his boots and climbed into his bag. It was difficult to see them through the shadows but he heard their breathing resume a more natural tempo. When had he last shared his sleeping space voluntarily? He was tempted to think it had been more than eighty years ago, before he’d shipped out. Back when he’d imagined he’d have some control over the course of his life.

And what would you have made of your life on your own? Another groupie for the star-spangled government lapdog? I made you so much more. And this is how you show your gratitude.

The yawning darkness at Bucky’s back reached out for him. Its fingers caressed his spine. He felt himself shaking, his throat closing…

“Hey, Bucky?” The invisible fingers retracted a little way into the dark.

“What?”

“Thanks. For letting me stay.”

How sweet that your new little friend thinks they’re any safer in a room with you than literally anywhere else. Even after your opening pleasantries featured you practically crushing their throat. You must have seen the bruises. I can hear them struggling to breathe from here.

“Y’welcome.” It wasn’t much but for just a moment it interrupted the voice; he searched for more words, desperate to keep it at bay, and to stop himself straining at the quiet to measure their breathing. His eyes locked onto the vague shape on the other side of the hall. “I never asked your name.”

A moment’s thoughtful quiet then a shuffling of blanket. He caught a glint of streetlight reflected in their eyes as they turned their face towards him. “Hive. Call me Hive.”

Note: Our Hive has nothing to do with the Hive who appears in Agents of SHIELD, just a coincidence that they ended up with the same name.

Thanks for reading! Every like and reblog is appreciated and treasured. Feed my need for external validation!

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voiceoffenrisulfr · 14 days

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Language of Flowers Bingo Queue Update (14/04-16/04) - Seasonal Delights || Language of Flowers Bingo

(i am so sorry for the delay and hopefully will be sending out almost everyone's cards in the upcoming week if i can)

Finished Cards (14/03 - 16/03) : 00

Cards In Queue for (14/03 - 16/03): 20 rookthorne(1), Smutconnoisseur, rookthorne, librarymoth, Aquagirl, Aquagirl1978, hibi(1), hibi(2), autisticidiot, Aerica_Menai(2), Alina Fuentes, Morgana, finalsouls, Noise, MidnightInk_theMusical, TheMadcapLaughs, Domi, ray, Ladybird, justapepperonishipper

Total Sign-Up's: 99

💕

Total Cards Sent Out: 70

Delivered on February: 21 - Otter-Love-ASL, sadbi_hours, Ella, Tomo, lillyrosenight, Losha, Willow, cywscross, rowbjection, LyriaBlackFrost, Bug & Friends, Lupi, seles(1), seles(2), sweetpeapod(1), sweetpeapod(2), aspen | blackwood4stucky, prettysophist, Sivan325, 42donotpanic(1), 42donotpanic(2)

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voiceoffenrisulfr · 14 days

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Tumblr both inspires me to write and is one of the biggest barriers to me actually doing so. Make it make sense-

#doomscrolling #why am I like this #send help #/j #writers on tumblr #writeblr #*logs off to make words*#Win speaks

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voiceoffenrisulfr · 14 days

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I'd personally love it! Someone make a "complete works" for me please shdjdjjs

*this poll was submitted to us and we simply posted it so people could vote and discuss their opinions on the matter. if you’d like for us to ask the internet a question for you, feel free to drop the poll of your choice in our inbox and we’ll post them anonymously (for more info, please check our pinned post)

#win speaks #fanfic

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voiceoffenrisulfr · 16 days

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Silver & Gold - Chapter Nine

Lia gets frustrated while waiting to recover from her injury, so her Soldier tries to take her mind off it. CW: Pure Smut :) Prompts fulfilled; - ‘Ax-Crazy’ - Multifandom Flash (Beehive); - ‘Worship’ and ‘Shoulder Kisses’ – Fandom-Free (Frosty); - ‘Cock Warming’, ‘Multiple Orgasm’, ‘Sex Marathon’, ‘Squirting’ - Fandom-Free (Flight)

Check it out below, or on AO3 here! Boards at the bottom. Divider made by our own Swan!

I let out yet another quiet whine, shifting fitfully in my soldier’s arms as he trailed a hand comfortingly over my back.

“I’m fine,” I grumbled, flopping back in frustration. “It barely even hurts!”

Our eyes shifted in unison to the violent purple bruise creeping above the bandages wrapped supportively around my ankle, and he arched an eyebrow. “I find that somewhat hard to believe, sweetheart…”

“I’ve danced with broken toes plenty of times – a sprained ankle is nothing,” I muttered sullenly, guilt flaring in my chest when a subtle wince twitched at his face.

“True… But you’re not there anymore, Swan. You’re loved and safe, and you’re going to rest when you’re injured, do you hear me?” His voice was gentle but firm, and I let out a relenting sigh, sinking against him once more.

“Fiiiiiine,” I grumbled, nuzzling into his chest once more. “I’ve just got too much energy, though…” I peered up at him demurely, lashes fluttering with theatrical innocence. “Any ideas on how we can tire me out a little?”

He chuckled, then grinned when he realised I was serious, his hand stilling on my back. “Maybe one or two…”

I wriggled closer to trail kisses along his sharp jaw, purring softly. “Oh? Please, Silver… I’m just so frustrated…”

I pressed my body harder to his, delighted by the quiet hitch in his breathing and the increasingly noticeable evidence of his arousal. “Well, you have been a very good girl…” he murmured, fingers tangling absently in my hair to hold me close as my lips found his pulse. “I’m sure I can find some way to help you out…”

My knees slipped either side of his hips, and he stuttered out a quiet groan, twitching closer automatically at the contact. “I need you, Yoshitsune,” I whispered – letting out a giggle of surprise and delight when I quickly found myself beneath him, my wrists encircled in one strong hand.

“Is this what you want,Swan?” he breathed, trailing kisses lightly over my throat as I arched with delight.

“Yes…” I whimpered quietly, legs moving to knot around his waist.

“‘Yes’, what?” he prompted, and I felt his lips curl in amusement against the soft skin over my jugular.

“Yes, Captain MacCennedi,” I purred, fingers tightening against the back of his neck as he sighed in pleasure.

“You’re the only one who can turn me on by calling me that,” he admitted, a growl of hunger underpinning his words as his free hand found my waist, long, strong fingers wrapping around my slender body easily.

I put my lips to his ear, still wriggling needily beneath him, and my cheek brushed his as I whispered softly. “You’ve no idea how many times I’ve screamed your name like a curse and a prayer… Yoshitsune… Lyell… MacCennedi…”

I punctuated each word with a demonstrative, hitching gasp and a roll of my hips, and it was finally enough to shred his military composure. With a mutter and a snarl of instinctive, feral need, his mouth found mine, hand pressing up under my shirt with a sense of urgency that set my skin aflame. A groan was pressed to my lips as his fingers found the spot where the bottom of my bra should be, curling automatically against the bare skin he found there. “Well now… It seems someone woke up with bad intentions…”

I giggled softly, but the sound trailed off into a sharp gasp when his hand found my breast, the cool metal causing my nipples to stand at desperate attention. “Please,” I whispered, arching once more, feeling the wetness between my thighs beginning to soak into my panties as I rutted against him. “Please, Yoshitsune. I need you.”

His hand left my wrists as he slid slowly down my body, pushing up my shirt to skim his lips over my nipple with a quiet groan. “Don’t you worry about a thing, sweet girl… I’m going to make you feel so very good.” He shifted lower, making me shiver with anticipation as he kissed his way over my stomach, fingers dipping below my waistband to carefully shed my leggings; even now, in the hight of passion, he was constantly mindful of my injured ankle, even as he rested my calves on his shoulders. His fingertips brushed over the cotton concealing my pussy, and he let out a soft, satisfied sigh. “So wet already… It’s a wonder we’re able to keep you in panties…” he murmured, and I snorted, the noise dissolving quickly as the material snapped and shredded between his hands, sudden exposure leaving me mewling and squirming with need.

“Maybe if you, um… Didn’t keep… D-Destroying them…” I stammered haltingly, my eyes finding his as he looked up, offering me that crooked grin that made my heart ache with adoration.

“I was impatient,” he purred, lowering his searing silver gaze to take me in, his pupils expanding with lust. I sighed in relief as one chilled fingertip travelled the length of my slick folds, gentle and slow, almost torturous as he pressed against my waiting hole lightly.

“Yes,” I whispered, reaching out to tangle a hand in his hair desperately. “Yes, Yoshitsune, please…”

With a quiet, happy groan, he slid his digit inside me as his lips trailed reverently over my clit, making me mewl and press myself closer needily – until a mental hand spanned my abdomen, holding me fast to the sheets while I wriggled uselessly.

And there he kept me, trapped with my legs around his head, pinning me like a butterfly in a display case as he took his sweet, tormenting time with me. His hand moved patiently, tongue barely ghosting over me as he built me up with expert precision, his eyes never leaving my face as I panted and squirmed under the pressure building between my legs. “God, please, please, Yoshitsune… I can’t…. Fuck, please- Please, make me come, Captain MacCennedi.” My voice came out as a barely audible sob, broken and cracked, heart hammering with my need for release. The hand on my abdomen shifted at last, and I yelped in surprised delight as it gripped my thigh to drag me closer, a second digit joining the first inside me, his lips latching firmly around my clit to lap hungrily.

The slowly increasing pleasure ratcheted up in response to his encouraging ministrations, my fingers curling frantically in his hair as I ground against him. “Yes! Oh, God- fuck, Yoshi- just there, just like that- Fuck, I can’t, I-I-”

He groaned against me as I dangled over the precipice, the vibration against me sparking fireworks in my vision – but still his gaze never tore from mine as I cried out my pleasure, words becoming nonsense while he held me tighter, his own desperate enthusiasm sending me hurtling over the edge. He didn’t look away even as I convulsed around him and he drew his fingers away, lids fluttering in pleasure at the wetness that coated his chin, hand clenched on my thigh as he groaned in ecstasy at my satisfaction. His tongue still worked me as I came down, even as I jerked with every pass over my sensitive clit, his reluctance to stop evident in the fingertip bruises forming under his incensed grip.

“You’re better than any whisky I’ve ever drunk,” he muttered as he pulled away at last, pausing briefly to trail the tip of his tongue fully along the length of my dripping pussy. I blushed shyly, too busy catching my breath to respond, purring weakly as he kissed his way back up my body.

He took my shirt with him, and in the moment it was passing over my head, blinding me, he pressed inside me quickly, making me sob in pleasure as I stretched around his thick length. He tossed the shirt absently over his shoulder, fingers tangling in my hair as he pressed his forehead to mine rapturously, each thrust long and slow and earth-shatteringly deep. “You always feel so damn perfect, my sweet girl,” he breathed, kissing me softly, allowing me to lose myself once more in those magnetic, celestial eyes as he made exquisite love to me. Never had I felt so cherished, so worshipped, as I did with his gaze on me, forever reverent and adoring.

My legs wrapped around his waist, holding him closer to me, hands grasping desperately at the sculpted muscles of his back as he thrusted patiently into me. Tears of pleasure flowed freely down my cheeks, soft, sharp gasps falling between parted lips. His hand tangled in my hair to hold me closer to his chest as he groaned, grasping my hip to press into me more firmly. “God, my gorgeous, beautiful, amazing…” He trailed off as his lips met my throat, making my back arch and heels dig into his back as I frantically grasped him nearer.

“Please – Yoshitsune, please, I need you, I need to-” My words cut off with a high yelp as he slammed into my roughly, thumb finding my clit to caress me encouragingly.

“That’s it, Swan. All for me, sweetheart… Come for me, beautiful. Give me everything.”

His name fell as blasphemous cries as my body unravelled around him, legs quivering and clenching to pin him flush to me. I was distantly aware of him burying himself inside me with a guttural groan, the hand in my hair holding me just as desperately.

When he finally stopped shaking, he drew back to kiss me softly, eyes glimmering with pleasure and joy as his hips twitched once more, half-hard cock pressing his own come deeper into me. “Oh… I’m not done with you yet, my Golden Swan.”

By the time he held me to his chest, trembling, panting and slick with sweat, his essence was dripping from my spent pussy, still speared with his softening cock as he pressed gentle kisses over my shoulders adoringly.

“Good?” he murmured, fingers trailing sleepily over my stomach before freezing in realisation, automatic uncertainty making him hesitate until my hand found his to resume his gentle stroking, earning a quiet, surprised sound and a hum of delight.

“Perfect,” I breathed, resting my head back against his shoulder.

“I’m glad,” he chuckled softly, arm snaking around my waist to hold me tighter to him. “I was a little concerned you were gonna go ax-crazy. Had to do something… I feared for my life.”

I giggled, nuzzling back against him. “I’m sure it was a real chore for you,” I teased, flexing infinitesimally around him and earning a soft groan.

“I- Hm. Yeah… I don’t know how I’m gonna cope with you off your feet for the next few weeks…” he purred, and I squealed with delight as he jerked me closer to pepper devoted kisses along my throat, growling playfully.

#fanfiction #mine #fandom: marvel #writers on tumblr #writing bingo #rating: e #cw: smut #multifandom flash bingo #beehive #fandomfreebingo #fandom free bingo: frosty edition #fandom free bingo: flight edition

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