#the pain that nat's death has given me

[yeamarvel]

love is for children. i owe him a debt.

[writing-for-marvel]

A Solid Foundation

Builder!Bucky Barnes x Fiancé!Fem!Reader

Summary: Your best friend suspects your fiancé of having an affair when he starts working late, but Bucky would never cheat on you, right?

Warnings: slight angst - discussion of Bucky potentially cheating (no actual cheating), soft fluff

Word count: 2.4k

A/N: thank you so much for this gorgeous inspiration my love 💕 this is my second entry for the Connect 4: Into an Alternate June-iverse Event by @buckybarnesevents, for the prompt ‘Modern AU’. Banners by @vase-of-lilies

Masterlist | Ask me anything! | Library

“Where’s Bucky? You two just got engaged, I would have thought he’d barely be able to keep his hands off you - he does at the best of times.” Nat jokes before taking a sip of her wine.

She had been stopping off at your apartment on her way home to drop some supplies for your engagement party next weekend, when you invited her to stay for a drink, wanting to take your mind off your fiancés absence.

“He’s been working late recently.” You try to say nonchalantly, but Nat’s far too observant to miss the disheartened edge to your voice.

“He’s a builder. Start early, finish early, what’s he doing still working at 6:30?” You didn’t know the answer to that question. And though part of you is curious as to what he’s up to, you’re also nervous to find out the truth.

It’s Bucky, the man who has loved you through every high and low, treasured every part of you, especially on those days where your insecurities were at their worst. Who has done the silliest, most embarrassing things just to hear your laugh. Who trusted you enough to reveal his deepest trauma, who comes to your arms for comfort through every nightmare.

You find it difficult to believe that man would be capable of hurting you, even knowing he hadn’t been completely forthcoming with you the past few weeks.

“I’m not sure, he’s been a little secretive since we got engaged. I don’t wanna push him to talk about it, I just wish he knew he can trust me with whatever it is.” You say as Nat supportively takes your hand, something of sympathy in her eyes.

“Oh sweetie, you are far too pure for this world. Working late, the ring, the secrecy - has it crossed your mind that he might be having an affair?”

“It crossed my mind for half a second before I scolded myself. It’s Bucky, he would never cheat on me.” You state with conviction, the memory of each night you’ve fallen to a peaceful sleep in Bucky’s arms only supporting your belief that he would never put himself in that position with someone else.

“As much as I want to believe you, you know I’m a cynic. In my experience men are pigs, you give them an inch and they take a mile. I know he’s sweet and you love him, but at the end of the day, he is a man.”

But Nat doesn’t know Bucky intimately like you do, hasn’t experienced his selfless and generous heart day after day for the past two years, hasn’t been loved all-encompassingly by him like you have.

You’ve never even thought to question his loyalty to you - Bucky has never given you reason to.

You hear keys rattle in the front door and shoot Nat a look which unquestionably screams don’t bring this up.

Bucky smiles instantly when he sees you seated at the dining table, that same adoration and serenity brimming in his eyes as when he always comes home to you. Though you do notice his skin is somewhat flushed, as if he’s just been physically exerting himself, his hair looks a complete mess and appears slightly darker with sweat.

You know exactly what’s running through Nat’s mind at this very moment.

“I’m gonna let you two talk.” She declares with a perceptible tension in her tone as she stands and grabs her purse. “But I swear if you ever hurt her Bucko, you’ll die a slow, painful death.” She vows with a glare that seals her promise. Though you know Nat well enough to perceive she isn’t joking, Bucky seems to think she’s kidding.

“Duly noted Nattie.” He chuckles as he watches Nat shoot you an encouraging look and then make her way out the front door Bucky just walked through. “What was that all about?”

“She’s just being protective.” You justify, not knowing how to, nor really wanting to tell him that your best friend suspects he’s having an affair. “I told her you’d been working late recently.”

“What… she thinks I should instead be here doting on you hand and foot?” Bucky asks as he moves behind where you’re seated, his hands reach for the back of your neck and begin massaging the tension from your shoulders which had built up from your long week at work. “You know I’d much prefer to be here with you than working.” You shudder slightly at his words as he places a gentle kiss to the skin where your neck curves into your shoulder, your body subconsciously revealing that you don’t fully believe he was working.

“What’s wrong, doll?” He asks, feeling your muscles tense even further underneath his hands, and you internally curse yourself for letting Nat’s speculation get under your skin.

“Where were you tonight?” It’s a simple, four word question, yet the weight of significance on his answer feels like your whole world could start crumbling before you depending on his response.

“I told you this morning: Steve needed me working late.” Bucky replies without hesitation. It’s a straightforward answer, yet there’s something about it you can’t quite believe - a half truth that he’s practised too much that doesn’t quite feel natural. “Why do you ask?” There’s a hint of worry to his voice, as if you’re getting a little too close to something he’d like to keep to himself.

“Nat thinks ‘working late’ is code for you cheating on me.” You comment, placing all the blame on your friends postulation rather than your own curiosity.

You hope Bucky won’t hate you too much for indulging in your friends theory, that he won’t completely resent you for insinuating he’s been unfaithful. Because you don’t think he’s cheating on you, but you also don’t believe he was working late tonight.

Instead, Bucky steps towards you and tentatively places two gentle fingers under your chin, tilting your face so that you’re gazing directly into his vulnerable, sincere eyes.

“Doll, you know I would never, ever, hurt you like that. I love you, you’re my whole world, I wanna marry you and spend the rest of my days making you feel as loved and cherished as you make me feel.” You sense the heaviness of your engagement ring on your left hand, you’re still getting used to carrying the small weight of it around with you everyday, though right now it feels substantial.

“I know you wouldn’t Buck, but since you proposed you’ve been a little secretive. Long days, working weekends. I mean you have to admit it’s slightly suspicious.”

He sighs, coming to some sort of internal decision when his gaze meets yours again. His thumb brushes over your bottom lip and for a moment you think he’s going to kiss you in an attempt to distract you from the topic of discussion.

“I promise you, I can explain everything, but I think it would be easier to show you.” His hands snake down your arms and when he takes both your hands, pulls you from your seated position at the dining table.

“Show me?” You query, having no idea what that could indicate he’s been keeping to himself.

“Yeah, care for a drive?”

* * *

The night is dark as you sit in the passenger seat watching the world pass you by, the empty roads only lit by periodically placed street lamps and the bright headlights of Bucky’s truck.

You have no idea where he’s taking you - you’ve never been to this part of town before and have no preconceived ideas as to what being here indicates for his unplanned surprise.

Bucky drives with one hand on the steering wheel, the other rests comfortingly on your thigh, an indicator that he’s not upset about you insinuating he could be having an affair, and that where he’s taking you to is not a revelation you should be anxious about.

Soon enough he turns down an innocuous street and pulls the car to a slow stop. You're in the middle of a suburban area with expansive blocks of land, stopped a few metres behind an SUV that has stickers of a family of five and a dog on their back window. Looking over at Bucky, you find he’s staring at you with an excited expectancy from the driver's seat.

You turn to look out the car window and the reason Bucky’s been ‘working late’ hits you like a bus.

You’re parked in front of a half built house - at the moment it’s just studs and partitions, with an unemptied skip out the front, but you can see the skeleton of a beautifully spacious two story house.

He’s building you a home.

“Bucky…” You comment under your breath, unable to articulate the swarm of thoughts buzzing around your head and the pure love blooming in your chest like a flower as he rounds the car and opens the passenger door for you.

“I know it doesn’t look like much yet, it’s just the frame and foundation, but soon there will be a roof, walls, windows, and a proper floor. It’ll really start taking shape.” He's nervous, you can tell by his shaky tone of voice, which you find adorable.

“You’re building us a house?” Your stomach contorts with guilt when he smiles crookedly and nods. How could you have ever been suspicious of his long working hours when they were spent building a physical monument to his love for you?

“I wanted to build our dream house, somewhere we can grow old together.” Your heart just about bursts when these words fall from his lips. Though the night is dark, the moon and the small torch Bucky keeps in his truck are the only source of light available, you can see the fondness in his eyes.

You give him a sweet kiss before approaching the house, an outline in chalk on the ground indicates where a front porch will be built and the entry to the house is currently only the rectangular frame of timber.

Bucky starts walking you through the house hand in hand, explaining what he had planned each room to be used for. There's only wooden studs outlining every room and a concrete slab for a floor, but you can already imagine what the space will look like when it’s all complete.

The entry foyer has high ceilings where you can currently see the stars shining, a large winding staircase connects the ground floor with the one above. To one side is a large garage, an offset office and bathroom, to the other has a large sitting room.

As Bucky pulls you further into the structure, the house opens up to a large, open plan living area. You can picture cooking together in the kitchen, room enough for a large island where you can sit and watch as Bucky cooks you breakfast, sneaking kisses in between breaking eggs. A smile grows on your features as you imagine what the future holds for you two, and what you envisage is beautiful.

He shows you where he thinks the lounge room television would go, before steering you to the right to an open room where the walls don’t have horizontal studs like all the other rooms you’ve seen so far.

“And this will be your sunroom.” He comments, eying you with a smile as your jaw drops in awe.

“A sunroom?” You ask as your voice cracks and hot tears well in your eyes.

Your dream house always seemed so far out of reach, you wondered if you would ever earn enough to own a place of your own. But it didn’t stop you from wishing for your dream house. That concept had changed over the years, but the one aspect which remained the same was it containing a sunroom. A place where you could sit in quiet contemplation and read your plethora of novels in peace, the warm afternoon sun heating the room as you draped your legs over beloveds, finding tranquillity together.

Bucky really is making all your dreams come true.

“It wouldn’t be our dream home if we didn’t have the sunroom you always wished for. This entire wall will be a huge built-in bookshelf, then the rest will be just glass, looking out over our backyard and have the perfect view of the setting sun.”

You find yourself completely lost for words, unable to articulate how remarkable this entire house is, that he built it for you, and how you will forever come home to a physical reminder of just how much Bucky loves you.

“If there’s anything you don’t like I’ll change it. I want it to be perfect, I want you to love it.” He says as if he can’t see that you already adore every inch of the house he’s built, thinking that your silence indicates aversion rather than pure amazement.

“Bucky, it’s already perfect.” You lean over to kiss him, slow and sweet, because you need to express the overwhelming gratitude and affection for him doing something so special for you. “I’m sorry I ever doubted you when you were putting in your spare hours to build us a home.”

“I’m the one who should be sorry, doll, I shouldn’t have lied to you about where I was and what I was doing, but I wanted it to be a surprise.” His arms snake around your middle and pull you closer to him so none of the cool night air separates you.

“It is a surprise, such a wonderful surprise. I love you so much and I can’t wait to spend our life together here.” You say, looking up at him with wide eyes, only closing them to kiss the stubble on his sharp jawline.

“I love you more than you’ll ever know.” Bucky places a kiss to your forehead, his voice soft but heartfelt and full of tenderness.

For a moment you stay cuddled into his strong, warm chest, his arms gently stroking up and down your back in soothing motions, feeling completely loved and so excited to start your marriage in a new home together.

“Will you show me the bedrooms upstairs?” You ask with a small voice, part of you not wanting to move from Bucky’s embrace, but also intrigued to see how much more work he’s done in the name of love for you.

“Of course, my love.”

He kisses you once more, for emphasis, before guiding you carefully upstairs to show you the spacious master bedroom where you will be spending your first nights as a married couple.

If you're interested in seeing the floorplan I based the house off, you can find that here

[rxmqnova]

Hii! If your still taking request i might’ve have something for you, only if you would like to make it, i just love your stories so much, and click on it when i see you have posted!!! ( it’s a Wanda x daughter!newborn y/n reader😅 kinda something)

Anyway, the storie i have thought off, was maybe that Wanda was pregnant and was about to give birth, (she’s in her late 9 month of pregnancy) when the Avengers came to rescue them, she’s in a bit of distress when they came, and feels a contraction or something, (maybe this was after they first met and she used her powers on them) the others wouldn’t help her, even tho Nat got most hit, she would help her and demand the others to help or something, and she ends up in so much pain before they reach the compound ? A little chaotic with some fluff at the end?😅

Hope this make sense, just an idea😅

Merry Christmas!

Little miracle

Y/N: newborn ——————————————————

NO ONE'S POV "Wanda, are you sure you want to do this?" Pietro sighs, worry in his eyes as he's looking at his sister and hoping she'll change her mind.

"He has to pay for what he did to our parents, Pietro" Wanda says seriously, preparing herself for meeting the Avengers once again.

The twins and the Avengers have already had one encounter and it wasn't nice at all. The original plan of the Avengers was to take down another hydra base, but the twins showed up and made some damage on them.

The team hasn't given up though. Steve is convinced that the young siblings need help, so that's why the team is headed to the abandoned place Wanda and Pietro are hiding at.

Wanda knows though and she's determined to destroy them… specially Tony Stark as the twins blame him for their parents' death. What keeps Pietro worried is that his sister is in her last month of pregnancy. He'll soon become an uncle, but another fight with the Avengers definitely isn't good for the baby.

"They're here" Wanda announces, her nervousness becoming bigger and bigger.

She won't admit it to her brother, but she is nervous and stressed that something might go wrong and her baby would get hurt. Her stubborn self just has to avenge her parents though.

As soon as the Avengers are standing in front of them, the twins are ready to attack, a red magic ball formed in both Wanda's hands… So the fight starts, Pietro using his superspeed while Wanda's using her mind-reading abilities, getting into their minds and showing them their worst fears or memories. Though suddenly something just doesn't feel right. A sudden pain makes Wanda let out a groan.

"Wanda?" Pietro looks over at his sister concerned, immediately making his way over to her.

"I'm good, it was just- ahhh" Another contraction interrupts Wanda's sentence, making her immediately put her hand under her stomach.

"Wanda" Pietro wraps his arm around his sister, not knowing what to do at all while the Avengers are either deep in their thoughts or watching the siblings confused.

"It's nothing, it's no- oh my god" Wanda groans, digging her nails into her brother's arm as another contraction hits, making him hiss in pain. "My water just broke! Do something, Pietro!" She raises her voice, nearly dropping down to her knees if Pietro wouldn't hold her.

"So, hmm… Are we fighting or not?" Tony asks, interrupting this uncomfortable moment.

"I can't do this, Pietro. I can't" Wanda whispers, panicking as her contractions are picking up on speed.

As Wanda lets out another loud groan, Natasha's up on her feet again, shaking her head to get rid off the horrible memory Wanda made her see.

"She's giving birth" Natasha say, slowly making her way over to the twins with her arms up to show them she's there to help.

"Pietro" Wanda whispers, looking at the Avenger that's walking closer, making her brother turn around and spot the redhead.

"I wanna help" Natasha assures, still keeping her arms up, so worried Pietro just nods as he has absolutely no idea what to do. "You need to breath, Wanda. Breath with me" She says softly, taking a hold of Wanda's hand and trying to get the young girl to breath properly. "Don't stand there like that! Help me get her to the jet!" She orders to her team members quickly before looking back at Wanda. "That's it, you're doing great"

The Avengers are quick to listen, Steve helping Pietro to get the young witch to the jet while Clint's already in the jet, ready to set off to the compound.

"I'm not ready, I don't think I can do it" Wanda whispers as soon as she's sitting in the jet, tears filling her eyes as she's gripping her brother's and Natasha's hands.

"Of course you can, Wanda. Everything will be okay. You'll have your baby son or daughter soon" Natasha gives the scared girl a soft smile, rubbing her knuckles with her thumb before Wanda squeezes her hand once again as another contraction comes, making both Natasha and Pietro let out groan.

"Daughter. It's a girl" Wanda whispers.

"Oh, a girl? See, you'll have your baby daughter soon. Have you thought about a name already?" Natasha continues the conversation, trying to distract Wanda from the pain.

"Mhm. Y/N… Y/N Maximoff" A small smile forms on Wanda's face, loving the name she's chosen for her baby girl.

"That's a beautiful name. Did you choose it?"

"Yeah, I- aaah. Oh my god, are we there yet?!"

———

"Few more pushes" The doctor informs, trying to encourage Wanda, thought the witch feels exhausted as ever.

Pietro being the supportive brother he is, he agreed he'd be there with Wanda the whole time. Though it looks like he overestimated himself as he got soon replaced by Natasha.

"I don't think I can do it, I can't anymore" Wanda nearly whispers, tears slowly running down her cheeks.

"Of course you can, Wanda. I know we don't really know each other, but I just know you can do it. You're such a strong girl" Natasha encourages, giving Wanda a soft smile.

"Let's push on three, okay?" The doctor says on which Wanda nods. "Good… One, two, three. Push"

Wanda squeezes her eyes shut, trying to push as much as she can while squeezing Natasha's hand for her dear life.

"You're doing so good, let's go again. One, two, three. Push" The doctor says on which Wanda repeats her actions as good as she can, Natasha trying not to hiss in pain from Wanda's tight grip over her hand.

As soon as the room fill baby cries, Wanda rests her head on the pillow, completely exhausted.

"You did it" Natasha smiles warmly, wiping away the tear that's escaped her eye. It doesn't happen often when Natasha gets emotional.

"Are you ready to see your daughter?" The doctor asks with a smile, handing Wanda the little one wrapped in a pink blanket.

"Oh hi" Wanda smiles, tears forming in her eyes once again, Natasha smiling at the sight. "You're so beautiful, sweetheart. I'm your mommy" The brunette whispers, tears running down her cheeks while she's rubbing her daughter's small knuckles with her finger. "I love you so much, Y/N/N. Mommy will always protect you, I promise"

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

I've never written about giving birth, so hopefully it's not too bad xd

I'm so glad that you enjoy my stories!! This makes me so happy!! <;33

Thank you for reading and liking! <;33

Merry Christmas!!! <;33

Wanda Maximoff masterlist

Masterlist

[gingiesworld]

Even In Death

Natasha Romanoff x GN! Maximoff Reader

Warnings: Violence. Torture. Death.

18+ MINORS DNI

Taglist @gb12d @lifespectator

Now

The compound was extremely silent. There was no laughter. No joy. Just pain and anguish could be felt as soon as you walk inside. All of the team were off doing there own thing.

Tony remained in his lab, scouring through every nook and cranny he could think of until he found a sign. A sign that Y/N Maximoff was still alive.

"It's been over 6 months Tony." Steve stated as Tony shook his head no. "They are dead by now if Hydra has them."

"NO! I am not giving up on them." Tony told him sternly. Steve sighed as Bucky entered the lab with two cups of hot coffee, handing one to Tony.

"You believe this fools errand too?" Steve questioned his friend.

"I do." Bucky told him. "We never leave a man behind, that's what you told me." He used the Captain's own words, like a knife straight to Steve's heart.

Although with Y/N gone, there was a huge hole in the family. Everyone was drifting, surviving, just barely living. Both Wanda and Natasha had barely left their rooms.

Wanda held the bracelet Y/N had gotten her in her hand, it was the first thing she had gotten since they lost their homeland. Her first birthday spent on foriegn soil, and her older sibling made it the best experience she could have had, regarding the loss of Pietro. Her eyes teared up at the engraving in the gold.

'My Butterfly' was the name that Y/N had always called her since they were children. They were their protector, especially after they had lost their parents in the bombing. Y/N made sure the twins had food and shelter, safe from the soldiers that still roamed the streets of Sokovia.

While Nat lay in their bed, numbness had overtaken her as she had cried all of her tears. She knows that Tony wouldn't give up on them, they were like a kid to him. Especially as they took an interest in his inventions and such. Wanting to learn from the genius himself.

Nat sobbed at the memories she had with them. The moment they confessed their feelings to her.

Then

Y/N and Natasha were sparring, Y/N wanted to brush up on their hand to hand combat since they have barely trained since they were a part of the Winter Soldier Programme. Escaping Siberia before they put the remaining five into cryofreeze. Finding their way back to Sokovia just in time to find their siblings.

"Fuck." Nat groaned as she lay on the mat, Y/N held their hand out for her to take but she just tackled them to the ground herself. A smirk dorned on her face as she straddled their lap, a victorious smirk on her face.

"Do you know you're actually beautiful." Y/N stated making the assassin blush profusely.

"What?" Nat questioned confused.

"Would you like to have dinner with me." They asked her confidently.

"Yeah." She whispered in shock as she removed herself from them.

"Great. How does Friday at 7pm sound?" They asked as they sat up. Nat just nodded before Y/N smiled, kissing her head before they left the training room with a pep in their step.

Now

Wanda tried to use her powers, she could still feel their connection, hoping to find a way of finding out where they could be. Soon screaming as she felt pain, alerting Natasha and Vision.

"What is it?" Nat questioned with worry.

"Pain." Wanda whispered as she squeezed her eyes closed. "They're in pain. So much pain."

"They're torturing them." Nat whispered, declaring their worst fears as she turned to Vision. "Help Tony find a location. Search every traffic cam in the world. We need to find them."

"Yes Ma'am." He told her before he disappeared.

"We're going to bring them home." Nat told the witch who only nodded. Tears falling from her eyes as she held onto Nat for dear life.

Then

Y/N and Wanda were having their daily walk through the compound grounds. Wanda held onto their arm. Y/N had been on multiple dates with Nat, well given it has been 6 months since they asked her to be theirs and she of course said yes.

"I'm in love with Nat." Y/N told her as Wanda just smirked.

"I know." Wanda spoke softly. "I see the way you look at her, just how Papa used to look at Mama."

"I want to tell her but I am nervous." They whispered. "What if she doesn't feel the same way?" They questioned unsurely as Wanda smiled endearingly at them.

"I can say this much, she most definitely feels the same way." Wanda told them. "And if she isn't ready to say those three words then that doesn't mean it is the end of you both."

Now

Tony, Bucky and Vision worked endlessly to find a location, using every tool they had to find Y/N. Wanting to bring them home where they belong.

"I'm not getting anything." Tony groaned as Vision turned to him.

"It appears that you haven't slept in days sir." Vision told him. "I can always carry on the search while you both rest."

"No." Tony shook his head. "I have to find them Vision. I have to." He muttered as he continued to search.

As the hours went on, Nat stayed with Wanda, laying in her bed as Wanda slept for the first time in a while. Everything within the compound didn't feel right to them, especially when Y/N wasn't there.

Then

Nat was shocked when Y/N turned up at her door at 2am. Watching as they paced her floor as she sat on her bed.

"What is it?" Nat pressed on as Y/N paused their movements.

"I am in love with you Natasha." They breathed as she watched them. "I have for a while, I knew the moment you cried at that movie Wanda recommended to you and you forced me to watch it. That moment I knew I wanted to be with you for the rest of our lives." They gazed at her softly. "I love you Nat, and I don't expect you to say it until you are ready. I just needed to get it off of my chest."

Nat rose to her feet and stood before them, holding their face in her hands as she gazed in her eyes, inhaling shakily before she spoke.

"I am so in love with you Y/N, there isn't really enough ways that I can show you how much I love you." She told them emotionally, they caressed her cheek as their other hand held her hip, soon placing a loving kiss to her lips.

"Just being by my side is enough to show me." They told her before kissing her once more.

Now

It had been days since Wanda had felt the connection with her sibling, although it gave her some hope that they may be just in time, but she always dreaded the high possibility that they may be too late.

The pain was too much for them to bare, the countless burns and lacerations turned into beatings with a crowbar. Broken ribs and a punctured lung, something they didn't need a doctor to know about. Their face was almost unrecognisable as they were covered in cuts and bruises.

Even tied to the chair, their head was too heavy for them to keep up. Even as the cell door opened, wheels sounding on the concrete floor as a trolley of instruments was wheeled inside.

"You know, in some countries they removed nails as a form of torture." The agent spoke. "Something about the acute pain from it can make someone pass out from the simple technique." They gripped Y/N's hair, pulling their head back as they smirked. "And this has surely been the best six months of my career." They let go of Y/N's head, letting it drop harshly before they picked up some pliers. Gripping Y/N's thumb and getting the pliers in position of gripping the fingernail, soon pulling hard and steady as Y/N let out a scream. The sound of the nail being ripped from the bed was muffled by the screams.

The agent relished in the pain he was inflicting, the agonising screams were like music to his ears. Even the previous wounds they had treated, only to be reopened again and again.

"Your beloved sister isn't going to save you in time." They sneered as Y/N groaned in pain as they worked on a third nail. "You will be dead before they even find a location." They looked at their hand before lifting their head up. "And don't think we don't know about your friendship with the traitor either. James Buchanon Barnes will meet the same fate as the Maximoff siblings."

As they were busy inflicting agonising pain on Y/N, Tony and Bucky had come up with a plan. The two of them, with the help of Vision had started to look at old SHIELD bases that were no longer in service.

"There's one right outside of New Jersey." Bucky told them.

"Why would they be so close to us?" Tony questioned.

"The closer they are, the less likely we are to check." Bucky told him. "Hydra know what we think like, they have been inside of Shield for decades and we never knew."

"Ok." Tony hummed. "I'll use the Stark Satellites to get a thorough scan of the base, search for heat signatures."

"I'll get the jet ready." Bucky stated as he ran straight for the hangar. As Bucky was running through the compound, Vision decided to notify both Natasha and Wanda.

"We may have a location." He told the two as he phased through the wall. The two didn't need to be told twice before getting in their suits ready before heading down towards the hangar, seeing Tony, Steve, Clint and Bucky already there.

"Are you sure they're at this location?" Steve questioned as the two girls walked.

"Yeah, why would Hydra use old Shield bases?" Clint questioned as Tony groaned.

"If this is a possible location to find Y/N and bring them home, that is what we are going to be doing so deal with it." Nat bit at the two as she and Wanda got on the jet. As Tony came up with a plan, Steve and Clint remained silent as everyone listened to their parts.

"We don't know the extent of Y/N's injuries so we need to get to them and fast." Bucky told them. "So none of this protecting the lives of the enemy shit. Shoot to kill."

"We don't fight like this." Steve told them as Tony just laughed. "It makes us no better than the enemy."

"Giving up makes us no better than the enemy." Tony sneered at him as everyone watched Steve shrink. "We do the plan our way and that's final."

Soon enough, the jet was fadt approaching the location, everyone made sure they had everything they had needed so they can just leave the jet.

"Vision, you go ahead and phase through." Tony told him. "You will be the one to get to them quicker as the rest of us take care of the agents." Everyone watched as Vision disappeared through the wall. "Let's do this." Tony told them as everyone went to their assigned locations.

Fighting agent after agent as they made their way through the base. Aiming to kill each of them, even with the disapproval of Captain America. Vision blasted the Agent who was in the cell with Y/N, plunging a knife in their stomach.

"I have them." Vision notified the others. "But their vitals are weak."

"Get them to the jet." Tony told him. "Bruce is there ready to start." Vision done as he was ordered, racing through the corridors, finding Bucky and Clint who covered him towards the exit.

"Everyone retreat to the jet!" Bucky ordered the others who only followed. Once Vision was on the jet, he placed Y/N on the stretcher as Bruce started to hook them up to the machines and a drip. He could tell that this was indeed an unsuccessful rescue with the extremely slow heart.

"There isn't anything you can do is there?" Vision asked him as he shook his head.

"They won't survive the flight." He admitted sadly as both Nat and Wanda rushed to their side.

"Y/N, baby." Nat cupped their face, a weak smile forming on their face as they opened their eyes weakly to gaze up at her.

"Hi." He whispered hoarsely. "I missed you."

"I missed you too." She whispered as the tears started to fall. "So much."

"You're going to be ok." Wanda stated as she approached the other side of them. They glanced over at their younger sister, reaching for her hand. They shook their head with a small smile.

"I'm not." They whispered as everyone stayed around them as the A.I flew the remainder of the journey. "I am living on borrowed time because I wanted to see my family one last time."

"You're going to be ok." Nat told them frantically. "Bruce is going to save you, right Bruce?" Bruce looked away with his eyes squeezed closed, unable to look at anyone.

"He can't." Y/N told her. "And that's ok."

"No it's not." Wanda cried as Y/N wiped her tears away.

"I'm sorry Butterfly but I am going to die." They whispered. "But I have lived a good life. The best life. I got to see you grow up into this wonderful woman. This hero who is going to take Hydra down." They turned to Tony who also had tears falling. "Thank you Tony for letting me know what it's like to have a father again, but please try to rest. Saving the world shouldn't always be on your shoulders." They said their goodbyes to everyone before they turned to Natasha, holding her saddened gaze. "I love you Natasha, there isn't really any other way for me to say it."

"Just stay by my side." She told them, using their own words as they took a labored breath.

"I will always be by your side." They told her. "Even in death my soul is meant to be yours." Natasha kissed their lips one last time before they looked between everyone. "Thank you for being my family." They turned to Bucky and Vision. "Please look after my girls."

"We will." The two spoke in unison as Y/N soon closed their eyes. "I love you all." Everyone watched as they took their last breath, slipping away from the family they haf built over the years, reuniting with the family they had lost.

The funeral was a small service, just the people who were close to them. Heartfelt words and stories were shared from the people who had known them. But as everyone filtered out, leaving just Nat and Wanda stood at the foot of the grave.

"Y/N was going to propose." Wanda stated as she reached inside her pocket, holding a small velvet box in her hand. "They really wanted to spend the rest of their life with you."

"I would have said yes in a heartbeat." Natasha told her as Wanda smiled.

"Take it." Wanda told her. "It's yours anyway." Nat opened the box, a small smile on her face as she saw the ring. Wanda watched as the assassin took it from the box and placed it on her ring finger. "Right where it belongs." Wanda smiled as Nat wrapped her arm around the witch's shoulder. The two of them vowing silently to Y/N to look after the other. Especially since family is everything.

[ohtobeleah]

Bloody Mary // Natasha Trace

Summary: Phoenix can’t remember why she has a headache, or why she’s covered in blood.

Warnings: Mentions of death/suicide. Blood. Mentions of relationship stress. Mentions of assault/manslaughter. Platonic!Phoenix x Jake Seresin. Jake Seresin x F!reader

Word Count: 2.2k

Author Note: This Drabble is associated to the Series Bruises & is apart of its spin-off series Life After Death.

Main Masterlist | Bruises Masterlist | Life After Desth Masterlist

The luscious fields that expanded far beyond the horizon were, as you laid with your head resting in the nook of your husband's shoulder, just beginning to feel the light layer of morning dew. 

The sun was barely rising above the horizon that forever seemed to expand with its growing light. It was truly the picture perfect world of which you never thought could exist. Even after life had all but ceased to exist.

“This all feels too perfect—“ Jake sighed as he laid on his back looking up at the ceiling fan that twirled around on a low speed above your bed. Round and round the blades turned as his eyes struggled to focus. “Being here, with you, sometimes I feel like I’ll wake up and it’ll all be a dream.” Jake knew how odd that sounded given the circumstances. “That I’ll wake up and I’ll be back at the Hard Deck, and you’ll be looking right through me like you don’t even know my name.” Jake continued on as his fingers danced along your scalp and through your hair. He could feel the rise and fall of your naked chest against his side. “Or worse, I’ll wake up and we’ll be back in that prison, in the dirt, listening to each other's pain.” 

“Jake—“ You mumbled softly against your husband’s shoulder. Your cheek was squished right up next to him. 

“Yeah?” Jake questioned softly, he knew what was coming his way. This wasn’t the first time Jake had mentioned how he worried that even in death he’d lose you forever. 

“If you weren’t already dead I’d kill you.” Jake had to smile and a low rumble erupted in his stomach. The two of you had just finished up an early morning sexcapade. The post coitus realisation that this was in fact Jake’s version of a forever home with his forever girl didn’t exactly come out the way he’d intended it to. 

“All I’m saying, Hotshot, is that I wouldn’t wanna be anywhere else on earth or in the afterlife, than right here, with you.” Jake was quick to roll over, suddenly the comfort of Jake's broad shoulder was nowhere to be found until you opened your eyes to see your husband hovering about you. A forearm on either side of your face. “Let’s go for round three?” 

“You are a menace, even dead Jake Seresin.” You teased through a coy smile but ultimately pulled the love of your life down by his neck to press your supply lips against his. 

“But you love me all the same.” Jake mumbled into your mouth as he deepened the kiss, his tongue searched for yours desperately as his hips shifted against yours. “Heaven or high wat—“ 

“AHHHHHHH!!” Within a millisecond, or what felt like it anyway, Jake was shooting up out of bed with panic and shock laced between the lines etched on his face. 

“What the hell was that?” He asked as he turned back to you to see you were still lying completely exposed on your bed looking just as confused as he was. Sounds like that weren’t often heard around the farm. 

“AHHHHHHH!!” “AAAARRRGGGHHH!!” 

When you saw a figure ghost past your bedroom window your heart sank. No. No it couldn’t be. It felt like a few years had gone past since Bob had first stopped by, he’d been the first to go. But as you sat up to see if you could see the figure outside once more? Your suspicions were confirmed when none other than Natasha Phoenix Trace turned around and screamed at the top of her lungs. Right in the very direction on your bedroom window.

“AHHHHHHH”

“It’s Nat Jake.” You sighed as you got out of bed to cover yourself up. “I’m gonna go check on Ellie, you should probably go see if she’s alright.” Jake wasn’t placing bets on who’d come through and when, but he thought Phoenix would surely outlast Fanboy. 

As Jake made his way outside in the early hours of the morning, it was only then when the sun just started to creep over the hills did he notice the blood that stained the back of Natasha's head. How her hair was a knotted and bloody mess. The dress she wore was stained with deep crimson red. 

Oh. This wasn’t good: This wasn’t good at all. When Bob came through he was still in one piece. For Phoenix to show up like this meant her death must have been—

“AHHHHHHH!”

“Nat!” Jake shouted as he raced down the small set of porch steps in just his boxers. “Phoenix, hey—what’s all the screaming about?” 

Not a lot shocked Natasha Trace these days, she’d seen enough and lived through enough to say she was comfortably desensitised. But when Phoenix turned on her heels to see a man she hadn't seen in years standing before her not a day older than the last time she saw him, she froze. 

“You alright? You look like you’ve seen a ghost?” Jake teased as he took a few tentative steps toward the wingwoman Jake claimed to love like his own sister. “Nat?” Okay maybe the ghost joke was a little too soon. 

“You aren’t real.” Jake could see the tears welling in Natasha’s eyes as he crept closer and closer, the only sound he could hear in the deafening silence was the crunch of the gravel beneath his slippers. “No—no you aren’t real, you’re dead, I’m dreaming—“ Jake had seen this play out before, from what he could tell of time these days it wasn’t too long ago either when the WSO had come through. “You’re dead, you died in—“ 

“Hey—“ Jake cooed as he reached out to touch Natasha’s shoulder. The second Jake’s fingertips grazed Phoenixes skin? Her knees crumbled. 

“No no no!!! You aren’t real!!!” 

“Woah! Easy easy Nix, I got you—“ Jake fell with the woman he admired and wished he could have been even half as good as in the sky. “I’m sorry, I'm so sorry.” 

“You can’t be real, you're dead! You died!” Natasha whaled as her knees dug into the gravel. Jake tried his best to control one of the best aviators he’d ever had the pleasure of knowing. 

“I know, I know I did, I think you did too—“ It was a harsh reality but the only way Phoenix could be here right now was because she wasn’t living. The afterlife was pretty strict on its terms of entry. “Nix—what happened huh? Hey, it’s alright I’ve got you.” 

The only thing Jake’s question was met with was more inconsolable tears. He’d never seen Phoenix in such a state before, hell Jake wasn’t even sure Natasha was capable of working herself up to such an extent. 

When Jake looked at the palm of his hand that had been rubbing small consoling circles against, he saw what appeared to be the crimson hume of his friend's blood staining the entirety of his hand. 

What on earth had happened to Phoenix? 

“You’re covered in blood Nix, we should get you inside—“ Jake tried to get through to the woman who was clearly distraught, he knew this was a lot. Even if he was just a dream it was clear he’d done irreparable damage with his untimely departure from reality that he had to accept the consequences of those decisions. 

“I helped Rooster clean your bathroom after he found your body—“ Phoenix sobbed as she finally looked at Jake. Still crying, Phoenix shook her head in disbelief. “I flew with your body back to Texas, I consoled your family.” Jake never thought about that before, who did what after he died. “I slept on your lounge for two weeks while we all did our best to pack everything up.” 

“Nix—I don’t even know what to say.” Jake tried his best to interject, but Natasha kept going as the two sat kneeling in the gravel of the main road that led around the property. 

“And the worst part is I can’t be mad at you because I know why you did it.” Phoenix sighed heavily through a sob. 

“He’s never claimed to be a good decision maker has he Trace?” You smiled softly from the front porch as Phoenix looked up at you. “For the record I never wanted Jake to follow me, not until his time was up.” 

“Hollywood?” Phoenix sobbed again as she let Jake help her up. “You’re here too?” 

“We live here, or reside here, I think being alive is an important element of living somewhere.” You shrugged as you walked down the stairs. “What happened to you? You're covered in blood Phoenix?” 

“I uh—“ Phoenix wasn’t sure what had truly happened as she reached up and around to touch the back of her head. When she pulled her hand back to see the fresh blood on her fingertips, the sensation came flooding back. “I was arguing with my boyfriend Ryan.” 

Jake looked at you with fire in his eyes. Fuck. 

“We were supposed to be heading out for dinner, I even took the next day off so we could relax and enjoy the night.” Natasha explained as her head began to throb. “I remember being mad that he was running late, something about work and by the time he got home we’d missed our reservation.” 

“Tash—“ You cooed softly, it was a harsh topic to discuss. “Did Ryan hurt you?” As you asked, the back of Phoenix’s head began to throb, the memory was on the tip of her tongue. 

“I—I can’t remember, no—no he wouldn’t, he loved me.” The tears began to flow once more as you looked at Jake and he looked at you. Bob fell out of the sky and still made it to the ranch in one piece. Why had phoenix showed up covered in her own blood and with the back of her head cracked open like a hard boiled egg. “My head hurt so bad, the memories all fuzzy.”

“That’s alright, here—why don’t we get you inside, have a shower, take some time and hopefully it’ll start to clear up?” Jake nodded as you offered Natasha a place to stay for however long she needed. “I’ll make you some coffee.” 

“You two.” Phoenix asked as she linked her arm with Jake’s, he’d offered her a hand up the stairs knowing her legs were still properly shaking. “You changed everyone’s lives, you know that right?” It was a harsh reality to have to live with, but both you and Jake knew that your deaths affected your closest friends in ways you’d never fully understand. “Rooster, oh god Rooster—“ Phoenix sighed. “He’s just gonna be a mess, I was on the phone with him when Ryan came home.” 

“Would that have been an issue?” You asked cautiously as you opened the front door for Jake to lead Phoenix in. 

“No—no but I think he wanted to stay on the line, we’d been having some issues and you know what Bradshaw’s like, overprotective.” 

Jake couldn’t imagine what trauma Bradley would be carrying on his shoulders right now. He knew his wingman had been the one would found him in the Bathroom: 

So as Jake watched you lead Phoenix down the hall towards the bathroom, Jake couldn’t even begin to imagine the pain in Roosters chest when he ultimately found Phoenix too. 

***~***~***~***~***~***~***

“AHHHHHHH!”

The sound of Phoenix screaming at the top of her lungs echoed out throughout the house. Beside you, Jake groaned into his pillow. 

“She’s going to destroy her vocal cords—“ He mumbled as you leaned over to turn his bedside table light on. “Every single time.”

“She’s lost Jake, you can’t hold it against her.” It had been a week, or at least that's what it felt like time wise, since Phoenix had shown up on the ranch. 

“AHHHHHHH!”

Everyday it began the same. Phoenix would up the driveway screw out in pain as she tried to figure out where she was and why her head hurt. You and Jake had been having the same conversation over and over with the aviator. 

“She needs to remember.” Jake nearly growled. 

“She needs empathy and emotional support, Jake I’m sure when the times right she’ll remember.” Hopefully that would be sooner rather than later. 

“Yeah, and until then we get to wake up every morning to a bloodied and screamed Phoenix.” It was now your turn to groan in slight annoyance for the early wake up call. “I’ll go get coffee started, you go collect Bloody Mary.” Jake sighed as he sat up in bed. 

“Thanks, two sugars please.” You smiled back at your husband as he padded out of the bedroom and down the hall. Jake was all but awake when a knocking at the door into his new found routine. 

“Phoenix?” Jake cautiously greeted the bloodied woman at his doorstep. “You alright?” Jake knew that Natasha wouldn’t remember him from the countless conversations they’d had over the past week. It was like her mind reset whenever she fell asleep. But this time? Phoenix remembered—

She remembered everything:

“Ryan shoved me.” She cried with painful heartbroken tears in her eyes as you came up slowly behind Jake. He felt your hand on his hip as you stilled yourself behind him. “I fell back and hit my head on the edge of the kitchen bench—“ The realisation was as heavy as her heart felt. 

“The love of my life accidentally killed me.” 

***~***~***~***~***~***~**

Tags 🏷️ @americaarse @blindedbythelightt @tayl0rhuynh @athenabarnes @imaginecrushes @whyareallnamesgone @mjmaximoffbarnes @amiets2 @mads-weasley @gabbyella @ephemeralninon @xoxabs88xox @pedrohoe04 @starkleila @je-suis-prest-rachel @clancycucumber230 @maisie-rebloging-blog @callsign-barbell @obiwankenobis-lap @some-lovely-day @paperbag333 @callsign-magnolia @jhiddles03 @hardballoonlove @shanimallina87 @seitmai i @abaker74 @missemrose @starset21 @kmc1989 @phoenix1388 @emma8895eb @tsofo26 @itsmytimetoodream

[queeenpersephone]

Find Five Lines Tag

thank you so much for tagging me @xxsksxxx!! this looks like so much fun and i loved reading your lines <3

Rules: find any lines in your WIP or fics that fit each parameter given by the person who tagged you. Then change one of the parameters and tag five or more people.

My lines: a line about longing, a passionate line, a line expressing relief, a line that screamed, a funny line

Your lines: a line about desire, a line expressing grief, a line expressing pain, a line that makes you incredibly happy, a line expressing anger

a line about longing from an original WIP:

It is easy to think of fragments of sentences, of pleas, now she has allowed herself this moment to dream. For all their differences, Alex and she are the same in one significant way: paragraphs and soliloquies and poetry flow from their hands and lips like water. She has devised masterpieces that founding fathers quote in their writings. He has brought financial systems into existence with only a pen. And for what? This gift, this commonality, has not given her Alex. She cannot tell him her true hopes, her deepest fears, not even her real name. For all the sentences they have given the world, there are so many words left in the space between them.

passionate line from this evlynn fic:

“Even when I didn’t know you, I knew you,” she promises, arms aching with the desire to wrap around him. He presses his forehead to hers.

“Even when I didn’t know you,” he replies, pulling back only just, and yes, there are the tears, sliding down his cheeks as he cages her in his embrace, “I loved you.”

a line expressing relief from new year's day (ironwidow):

And when she does, she can feel when he wakes because his lips split into a wide grin that halts any semblance of a kiss. “Nat,” he gasps, breathless, kissing her harder. The way she is leaning against her elbow is awkward, but her back isn’t implicated, so she deals with it to let Tony kiss her for a few more seconds. “You’re alive,” he murmurs, anguished and relieved and she has to squeeze her eyes shut to keep her tears from falling. “I’m furious with you, by the way,” he adds against her mouth, bringing up a hand to tangle in her hair. He kisses her harder for a brief moment, but they are broken apart naturally by the way they both can’t help but smile.

a line that makes me scream from a msr wip:

Mulder forces a teasing smile to his face, though he feels none of the emotion behind it. “Who’s going to second guess me if you’re not there?”

Scully goes rigid, cold, and he knows he’s misstepped. “You can turn on all the recordings of the many voicemails I’ve left you over the last few months. Even better. You can’t ditch a recording machine.”

His voice goes low. “I can’t turn your soul on."

funny line from my pjo fic:

Percy frowns, but his eyes are twinkling. “Oh yeah, I should be more specific. If I’ve gotta fight my dad, Poseidon, God of the Seas, Earthshaker, Guy Who Dresses Like He’s Blind, Man Who Needed A Dolphin to Convince His Wife to Marry Him, Keeper of the Fishing Pole of Death-”

Tagging: @katebishopofearth, @themorganapendragon, @rappaccini @autumnwoodsdreamer, @baronessblixen, and anyone else who would like to! just say i tagged you <3

[griffin-girl-r]

You always come and get me (Part 2)

Created: 22.07.2022

Finished: 05.08.2022

Edited: 25.09.2023

Age: 3

Word count: 3,083

Warnings: Guns, Blood, Death, Violence, Illness, Knives

Request: No

AU: Mafia

Part 1

—

*One week later*

Natasha sighed as she looked at the thermometer in her hand.

"What is it saying, Nat?" Clint, her best friend, asked concerned

"She has a fever." Natasha explained, turning her attention back to you "Don't worry, angel. Mama will take care of you and you'll be better in no time." She smiled before kissing your forehead

The soft contact of her lips with your forehead only made her frown deeper feeling how much you were burning up.

"Mama... Head hurts." You cried while you slightly shivered

"I know, baby. Mama has already given you something to make it better." Natasha stroked your head "Why don't you try and take a nap for Mama? I promise that when you'll wake up, you'll feel a lot better."

Your tiny body only had enough energy left to nod then you closed your eyes and instantly fell asleep.

Natasha looked at you with tears in her eyes.

She hates so much to see you in pain and not be able to take it all away in an instant. All she wants is for you to be healthy, happy, and safe.

"Mama will be here to take care of you, baby. I promise I won't leave your side." The woman whispered as she put a wet cloth on your forehead that Clint handed to her

She looked around to room and saw 3 of her most trusted men and close friends waiting for orders from her. Clint, Steve, and Bucky decided to stay up the entire night if needed to help your mama take care of you.

—

Clint approached Natasha and put his hand on her shoulder "Don't worry, Nat. She'll get better really quickly. Kids get sick all the time. Trust me. I have three." He smiled slightly and squeezed her shoulder as a way to reassure the concerned mother that everything would be okay

Natasha only nodded and looked back at you "I think she was so scared after everything that happened last week that she got sick. My poor little baby..."

"We won't let that happen again." Steve declared

"I hope so." She sighed "Thank you, Steve."

Steve nodded and took his place back next to Bucky, guarding the door.

—

About 15 minutes of silence later, a knock on the door was heard all across the room.

"Who's there?" Bucky asked in a deep and scary voice

"Stark..." Tony shouted with a bored voice from the other side of the door, the fact that he rolled his eyes at the same time as he answered was very evident even without seeing his face

Natasha nodded at Bucky and the man opened the door, allowing Tony to enter.

"What is so important that couldn't wait till my daughter was feeling better, Stark?" Natasha looked at Tony but remained seated on your bed next to you

Tony held up some files "I need you to sign some papers for me, Romanoff. No need to be like this."

Natasha took the files from Tony and started reading them before signing "And what am I like, Stark?" She asked absentmindedly while signing the papers

"Just so worried about your kid." Tony chuckled "We have important businesses and yet you let everything aside for a child. You have to focus on your work more. Why is she so important to you anyway?! You can always just go around and have more kids."

Natasha closed the file in her hand with a loud and scary bang, making Tony take a step backward as he realized that he accidentally just summoned the Devil itself.

"What did you just say, Stark?" Natasha spitted out as she got angrier and angrier with each passing second

"That you can always go around, have fun, and make another kid if this one dies." Tony was starting to lose confidence with every word he said "It's not like right now you know who's your baby's daddy. Really? Which one of them is?" He pointed in between Bucky and Steve "The guy with a metal arm or the guy that seems to never age but it's older than all of us?"

Natasha gestured for Clint to take her place as she put the files from her lap to her side and got up.

Clint happily complained and took your mother's place.

"Steve? James?" Natasha pointed her head towards Tony

In a blink of an eye, both Bucky and Steve were holding Tony in place, each by one arm.

"One, it's none of your business who is the father of my daughter. She doesn't need one." Natasha took out a knife from her back pocket and pointed it at Tony "And two, do you really want to know why this child is so important to me?"

Tony nodded scared, eyes fixed on the knife that was closely pointed to his neck.

Natasha looked him in the eyes "Then let me tell you a little story that happened a long time ago."

~~~~~

January 6, 1993

Natasha had just turned 8 years old a month ago and her life was as normal and happy as it could be.

Little Natasha was happy. She had two loving parents who provided her with everything she could need or wanted. She had a few friends and nothing could have prepared her for what was about to happen.

—

"Mama, where are we going?" Little Natasha asked her mother as she got inside their car

"We're going on a little trip, my love." Her mother smiled at her but the panic in her voice was evident "Papa had some problems at work and we need to move with him to another place for a short time but we'll come back."

Natasha nodded as she got comfortable in the backseat.

"Ivan, hurry up. I think I can see them." Her mother looked outside the window of the car with fear written all over her face

Ivan, her father, was quick in driving away and leading them as far as he could from their home.

He was a well-known doctor and scientist and before he married Natasha's mom, he worked for one of the most dangerous gangs there was. But he escaped, formed a family, and lived a normal life.

But now the people he worked for found him and wanted him dead.

—

"My dear Natalia, don't worry. We are just going to have a family vacation. There is nothing to worry about." Ivan reassured his daughter

But before Natasha had time to answer her dad, Ivan was forced to hit the brakes, and the only thing she remembers it's her being dragged out of the car while her mother screamed at someone to let her daughter go.

Natasha was thrown in the snow, in a small and dark alley.

Her mom was fast in helping Natasha up and hugging her tight "You're okay, my baby. We'll get out of this."

Natasha looked around them only to see armed men surrounding her and her parents.

"Ivan Romanova, our boss says 'hello'." One of the men stepped forward

He was a tall man, muscular and the big scar that went all across his face made little Natasha hide her face in her mom's chest.

"If your boss was so brave as he thinks he is, he would have been here. But instead, he's hiding like a coward and sent his monkeys to do the job." Ivan almost shouted, but deep inside, he was scared for his wife's and daughter's lives

"Don't worry, doctor. He'll be here in a few minutes. The snow it's responsible for his late arrival but he will be here." The same man as before explained

On cue, a long black car pulled up next to them on the road.

One of the men rushed and opened the door for another older man.

—

Natasha will never be able to ever forget his face. That face was going to haunt her nightmares for the rest of her life.

"General Dreykov." The scary man with the scar announced as he bowed in front of the other man

Dreykov was at that time not exactly an old man but he did look to be in his early 50s, his short dark brown hair was hard to be seen under all the grey hairs that were showing, the white snow and the darkness of the night. He was a short man indeed and little Natasha thought that even her mother was taller than that man that had a robust body construction.

Ah! And the glasses. Let's not forget the glasses.

The glasses had a black frame that matched the clothes he was wearing.

—

Natasha shivered, but she wasn't sure if it was because of the cold or because of the look Dreykov gave her when he laid eyes on her.

"Doctor Romanova." Dreykov laughed "It's great to see you again. I see you had built a beautiful family in the time we were apart."

Dreykov looked at Natasha from head to toe with a smirk on his face then proceeded to do the same with her mom.

Natasha was pushed by her mother behind her so she wouldn't be in sight.

"It's okay, my little Natty." Her mom whispered as she stroked Natasha's long red hair with one hand "It will be okay."

"My wife and daughter have nothing to do with the problems that we have. Let them go!" Ivan firmly told Dreykov

"Oh, dear Ivan. For the smartest scientist there is, you're quite dumb." Dreykov laughed before his face turned emotionless "You really thought you could run away from me, start a new life, and have a family without any consequences? I'm going to make you pay through them."

"No!" Ivan shouted "They are innocent. My daughter, it's still very little and my wife had no idea I worked for you. I wasn't proud of my past as your main scientist who did all of the work for your sick experiments. You're crazy! And you're obsessed with girls. The little ones especially. This is an illness and you should go get help!"

Dreykov was not looking offended at all by Ivan's words. It was exactly the opposite. He found it funny.

"I came here to offer you a deal, Ivan. Come work for me again and your family lives." Dreykov proposed

"Never! You're a monster!" Ivan yelled

"Kill the girl." Dreykov pointed to Natasha

It all happened too fast for any of them to understand what was happening.

Natasha only remembers her mom's scream and a gunshot. Next thing she knows, her mother is lying on the ground with blood surrounding her and a hole in her chest.

Little Natasha dropped to her knees and took her mom's hand in hers.

"Mama..." Natasha cried with tears streaming down her face

"It's okay." The woman smiled weakly "My beloved Natalia. Always remember that Mama loves you so much. Keep being the same smart, brave, kind, and beautiful girl I know. Keep being yourself."

These were the last words Natasha ever heard from her mom before the life in the woman's eyes faded away and her eyes closed. Her chest settled and if there wouldn't have been blood all around her, anyone who would have seen the young mother lying there would have thought she was just sleeping.

Ivan let out a full pain scream and launched himself at Dreykov with his fists clenched in hopes of killing the man who took his wife away from him, only for him to be the one who was killed.

That was the end for Ivan.

He collapsed next to his wife with a bullet hole in his head.

—

Poor Natasha just looked at her parents' bodies lying in the snow, that was slowly turning red, and cried.

She was an orphan and alone in the world now.

"Don't worry, little one. You'll follow them very soon." The scary man with the scar explained as he took a knife out of his pocket and kept getting closer to her

Natasha doesn't remember for sure what happened after she heard his words.

The only thing she knows is that the world turned black for her.

~~~~~

"My mother was only 27 years old when they killed her." Natasha looked with tears in her eyes at Tony "After that they stabbed me and left me on that alley to die."

Natasha lifted her shirt only to reveal an ugly scar on her lower abdomen.

"Dreykov left that night thinking he had killed all of us but what he didn't know was that Nick rescued me. He took me to a hospital where I spent a whole month there recovering. He saved my life and then offered me a home and the opportunity to be what I am today." Natasha explained "Thanks to him and Clint, who had been my protector while I grew up. He is like my brother."

The room was silent. Only your little whimpers were heard from time to time but other than that, only silence.

"And you know why Y/N is so important to me, you ignorant piece of shit?" Natasha looked down at the scar on her abdomen as she gently traced it with her thumb then moved to touch the stretch marks that she so proudly wore "Because when I woke up from the surgery, the doctors told Nick I will never be able to conceive a baby thanks to how deep the stab wound was. It had permanently damaged my reproductive organs. I was officially declared infertile and unable to conceive and carry a child that could have been mine."

Tony opened his mouth to say something but Natasha beat him to it.

"Don't you fucking dare say a word till I'm done talking." She threatened and if looks could kill, Tony would have been long dead

Tony nodded and gulped.

"And, yes. I did have fun the night I conceived my daughter because I wanted to forget about the fact that I could never become a mother even if it was just for a short time. I started the night with my favorite drink: vodka. Then 2 bottles of vodka, one of whiskey, and one of wine later, I dragged to bed the first man who tried to help me get safely to my room and slept with him. I think your pigeon brain can understand now why we hadn't used protection." Natasha sighed relifed "And thank God, we didn't. Otherwise, my little miracle wouldn't have arrived in my life."

Natasha smiled as she mentioned you then put her poker face back on.

"I had to get a complete sterilization after her birth because the pregnancy with her had been extremely risky due to my health problems and it wasn't safe to keep those things inside of me anymore. I just care that my little angel is here in my arms right now. There's no other child for me than her." The woman put the knife back in her pocket "And if you wonder what happened to Dreykov, just know I sought revenge. I killed him and the rest of his gang. It didn't made the pain easier but it was something I had to do for my mama in the first place and then for my papa too."

Natasha turned around, picked the files up, and handed them to Tony "All signed up." She added with a smirk "Now get the fuck out of here before I make James and Steve make you regret you were born."

Tony nodded rapidly, any word he could say died on his tongue before coming out.

"Mama..." You mumbled in your sleep

That was it for Natasha. As if nothing happened she returned next to your side and started comforting you "Mama is here baby. Mama's here."

You slightly opened your eyes and forced a small smile for your mom.

Of course, she returned it.

"Papa..." You called out in Bucky's and Steve's direction

To Tony's surprise, none of the men answered to you but he knew Natasha wouldn't have allowed them to do it in his presence.

So he left with the weight of Natasha's story on his shoulders and one unanswered question.

Your papa quickly knelt next to your bed and stroked your hair once he made sure that Tony was far enough.

"Papa's here." He reassured you with a soft smile

Natasha kissed the top of your head and breathed in your smell. She thought that if heaven had a scent it would be yours.

There weren't enough words in the world to express how much she loves you and what you mean to her. You are her precious little angel.

And after years of thinking and asking herself why the woman who gave her life took that bullet for her, Natasha can finally understand her own mother.

The love a person can have for their baby it's infinite and if she would ever be in her mother's place, Natasha would jump without a second thought in front of you to protect you from that bullet or any other thing. She wanted the best for you even if that best meant her death just like what happened in her case.

But for now, she was thankful that she could avoid bad things from happening. She'll make sure you'll never have to witness what she had to see as a child and you'll never have to go through the same physical and emotional pain as her.

It's true. Pain does make you stronger but Natasha sometimes wishes that she didn't have to go through as much pain as she did. The only thing keeping her human is you.

"My beloved Y/N." Natasha whispered with a smile as she looked at you sleeping "Always remember that mama loves you so much."

—

In the morning, thanks to Natasha's care and affection you were feeling a lot more better, and in the next 2 days you were feeling as energic as before.

Although your mom didn't allow you to get out of bed for the entire week even though you were no longer sick, she had bought you tons of new toys and she played with you, spending some good quality time together.

No matter what happened in her dark past, Natasha knew that her future was bright as long as you were in it because you were her future.

She lived for you and you only.

You are a gift sent from above for Natasha.

[artficlly]

the horselords of naraik [chapter 3]

A quiet civil war has raged across the kingdom of Garwic for nearly three decades. The cruelty of the Duke of Garwic knows no end, bringing death and misery with each raid upon the lower-class. The horselords of naraik have fought to protect those suffering under the Duke's violence. The reader being the daughter of the duke is captured and held for ransom, only things are not as they seem. The reader can only hope that the horselords recognise her as a victim rather than a villain before it is too late. Fantasy AU

Pairing: horselord!bucky x duchess!witch!reader

Warnings: huge suicidal thoughts/intentions warning, huge SA warning (not to reader), bucky is an asshole in this but he gets better in the next chapter i promise, violence, blood, wounds, death, swearing, yelling, angst, tension, mention of sickness, lmk if i've missed anything

Word Count: 5.2k

A/N: i don't like this chapter which is why it's taken me so long to get up. feeling very burnt out. this chapter is particularly triggering in regard to suicidal topics as well as SA topics so please read at your own risk. not proof read - sorry for any typos

chapter masterlist | main masterlist

You felt the storm long before its presence was known. There was an energy to the wind, a taste of electricity on your tongue. The entire ride to the next camp had been riddled with anxious energy, the horses twitching and acting up. The horde were connected with their horses, bonded for life and they knew that the weather was coming in and fast. Your trek had been cut short, men and women rushing to put up the tents before the wind set in. They lay river rocks along the base of the canvas, holding the billowing fabric in place. 

You had broken your hunger strike a week previous, much to the relief of many. You were still not allowed to help May or the healers, but they felt comfort in your presence. The healer women would often sneak you fruit in exchange for recipes or advice. Steve and Nat turned a blind eye, often helping the women sneak back and forth without Bucky’s knowledge. 

Still blindfolded, it seemed someone had taken pity on you. Your usual setup of being tied to a tree had been upgraded, now only your hands tied together with a length of rope attached to the tree. You were able to stand and walk for a short perimeter around the tree, often pacing in circles around the trunk until the rope became tangled. Nat said you were acting like a caged dog, pacing and snarling away. In reality it helped you pass the hours, gave you something to do other than mulling over how to escape your doom uselessly. If things had seemed dire before, now with the knowledge Steve had given you everything seemed worse. Even if you knew death was quickly approaching, you decided to spend your last weeks acting like nothing was wrong.

The strong storm winds tussled your hair as you stood, arms braced over your chest for warmth. The rain would arrive soon, you could smell it in the air. In the distance thunder roared closer and closer, it would be upon the camp like a stampeding herd of horses within the hour. The horde's worry wasn’t entirely focused on the storm though, instead hushed whispers carried across the wind as a terrible screaming shook the camp. Wanda had gone into labor hours ago, and it seemed the labor continued to rage on alongside the storm. A doncayo child, as you had predicted. You knew the labor would be hard, contractions rising and falling with the wind and rain. Wanda would have to be one with the storm, time herself with the rumblings of thunder and the flashes of lightning if she hoped her boy would come soon. 

You and Steve had barely heard any news of the progress of the birth, only hearing Wanda’s pained cries as the storm grew nearer and nearer. Nat had rushed off as soon as the labor had started to help, leaving the two of you in a foreboding silence. Hours had passed of this hush between the two of you, only being broken as the storm began to pass directly over the top of you. The anxiety of the camp was high, shouts of panic lost to the wind as Wanda’s screaming was lost to waves of thunder. Each time it reverberated across the landscape the booming would become louder and louder, lightning blinding you even through your blindfold. Steve began muttering about where to house you for the night, clearly unhappy with Bucky’s decision to let you brave the storm outside. 

“Steve!” Nat’s voice shouted over the howl of the wind, words nearly swallowed by the air that rushed past. You couldn’t see her due to the blindfold, but you could sense her worry through her tone. The birth didn’t seem to be going well you had gathered. Although the skies had been dark before, now the setting sun behind the clouds was casting the plains into darkness. 

Steve and Nat exchanged some words you couldn’t quite make out, words and speech lost to the roaring of the wind. You continued to hug your body tightly, using your damp hair to shelter your face from the lashings of rain. The horde would be fine with their furs and cloaks, whereas you were armed with only a light linen shirt and skirt. You strained your ears, flinching slightly as another roll of thunder deafened you momentarily. 

The squelch of muddy grass was the only thing to indicate to you of Steve’s sudden closeness. You jolted nevertheless, teeth chattering as he pulled you towards his chest with your bound hands.

“Come.” He instructed, voice raised so you could hear him over the storm. You cocked your head quizzically, only understanding as you felt the cool of a blade cut your bound wrists free. 

“Where are we going?” You shouted back, wincing as you rubbed your tender wrists. Steve’s hand found the small of your back, guiding you in the direction of the camp. You were quick to pull off the blindfold, squinting as another flash of lightning engulfed the camp in a blinding white light. You could briefly make out men securing loose tent flaps which blew in the wind, women rushing between tents children in tow but most alarming was Nat. 

Her eyes met yours, fear and exhaustion painted across her expression. Her eyebrows were knitted together, crows feet pulled together. Your eyes had cast down to where she braced her hands in front of her stomach, blood lining the skin. Even the sleeves of her shirt were stained pink, blood diluted by the rain.

“Wanda. The baby… it’s twisted so it won’t pass. The healers are at a loss, we don’t have a midwife.” Nat explained, exasperated. You abandon the blindfold in the mud, frowning hard as your eyes follow to the sound of Wanda’s screams. 

You hesitate for a moment, Steve’s hand pressing harder into the small of your back as he glances at you in confusion. “What about Bucky–” 

“Since when have you cared about what he thinks?” Steve snaps back, catching you off guard. 

“Wanda will die if we don’t act quickly, she has already lost too much blood–” Nat begins and you cut her off.

“Take me to her.” You reply determinedly, rushing into the tent alongside the two warriors. 

The tent was far warmer and dryer than the weather outside, Wanda groaning as some of the wind rushed in alongside the three of you. There was a darkness cast across the interior, only candles which lined most surfaces casting a dim light. Wanda lay on the bed, blood staining the furs and sweat pooling across her skin. Healers muttered worriedly among each other, only pausing as they caught sight of you half-drenched with a look of determination in your eye. 

Wanda let out a sob, muttering your name weakly as she reached out with pale, shaking hands. You were quick to move to her side, pushing strands of damp auburn hair from her sticky forehead. She looked weaker than you had first assumed, skin clammy paired with eyelids that could barely flutter open. You hushed the auburn, your stiff fingers stroking over her swollen belly as you tried to feel how the baby was positioned. 

You could feel the form through the tight skin, Wanda’s muscles tensing as another contraction washed over her body. You squeezed her hand throughout, feeling how her stomach strained beneath your palm. Only as the contraction came to its end, the thunder outside fizzling out did you allow yourself to move. 

“Get fresh towels and water.” You instruct, glancing at the old water and fabric which was stained with blood. One of the healers sprung to action, dashing out of the door instantly. Beneath you, Wanda sobbed to Nat while the red-head murmured to the woman. You kneeled between Wanda’s legs, letting out a shaking breath. 

“Wanda. Wanda, look at me.” You instructed, palm braced against one of her knees. The auburn’s eyes snapped towards yours, eyes red and puffy. You gave her a reassuring smile, worry biting in your gut as you anticipated the next roll of thunder and contractions to come. 

“The baby is around the wrong way.” You explain, shaking your head as Wanda is thrown into hysterics once more. “It’s okay. I can move him, I will have to reach in and guide him. Once I have repositioned him, you will have to push.”

“I can’t.” The auburn sobbed. 

“Yes you can. I just need you to listen to me and push when I tell you to, he is a doncayo child, we must time it with the thunder.” You explain, a sense of relief coming over you as the healer comes rushing back in with fresh water. 

“I don’t understand.” Wanda continues to cry, you shake your head with a tut as you wash your hands in the freshwater. 

“That is okay. I will guide you.” You say reassuringly, positioning your hands before Wanda has time to react. 

xxx

You had barely finished washing the blood off your hands in the basin of water when Bucky stormed into the tent. Anger and droplets of rain rolled off of his hulking body in waves, his chest heaving for breath after fighting the strong winds. 

Nat, who was crouched next to the bed, visibly tensed, standing as she faced the enraged warrior. Steve, who had stayed stoic the entire birth composure faltering slightly. You angled yourself to face Wanda, back turned to Bucky as you dipped your hands and forearms deeper into the cold water with a huff. 

“You directly disobeyed my order.” Bucky rumbled as deeply as the thunder that still loomed outside. The storm was still going strong, lightning crashing down to earth as the rain continued to assault the camp in icy sheets. 

“Wanda would have died if we didn’t get her help!” Nat protested, motioning to the woman who lay weakly in the bed. In her arms she held a crying infant, a boy as you had predicted. She had lost a lot of blood and was tired, but she would live thankfully. Once you had been able to reposition her son he had arrived easily, much to everyone’s relief. 

“You disobeyed an order.” Bucky repeated himself, voice low and dangerous. You tried your best to hold your tongue, drying your hands on a nearby towel. “What has happened to us? Has this witch enchanted all of your minds? Someone should have ridden to a nearby town to fetch a midwife–" 

“Ride? In this storm?” Nat barks with a harsh laugh. “You are a fool!”

“No. You are the fool, letting this woman infect you! Don’t you remember who she is, who she shares her blood with?” Bucky continues. 

“She has the symbol–” Steve cuts in. 

“Quiet!” Bucky interrupts him. “She is a duchess, our enemy, like her mother–” 

“Enough!” You shout, sending the room into a stunned silence. The only sound that follows is the sound of you dropping the damp towel onto the table. Outside the winds have grown silent, not even the canvas of the tent rustling with the gale. The rain had stopped, even the roar of the river close-by having gone silent. For a moment, the group of you breathe in the heavy silence, the thunder long gone as if the storm had suddenly disappeared. 

With achingly slow steps you walk towards Bucky, who assesses you with a snarl. You position yourself between him and Nat, watching how his chest heaved with rage as he looked down upon you. 

“You don’t get to speak about my mother in that way.” You say defiantly, chin lifted. Your voice is unshaking, gaze firmly meeting Bucky’s whose rage had grown into a look of amusement, as if he were in disbelief that you would speak in such a commanding tone – to him – your captor. 

“You best learn your place you–” Bucky starts, anger laced in his tone. Your scowl deepens, not allowing him to finish his sentence before you interrupt. 

“I said, enough!” You shout, the air feels like it has been sucked from the room into you. The energy that crackles through your blood stings, as if the storm itself had entered your skin. Bucky’s mouth is still open, but words fail to come out as if they had been stolen from his lips. The candles that line every surface all suddenly go out, as if a flash of air had stolen not only Bucky’s words but their life. The tent is cast into an even deeper silence, Wanda’s son no longer crying. The tent is drenched in darknesss, in the dim light you see Nat’s eyes flash in fear. There was no sound of the storm, no words uttered, only the darkness and the power radiating off your body as you gaze upon Bucky with bared teeth. 

“My mother was raped,” You hiss at the horselord. “Like many women before and after her, she was taken against her will during the raids. Do you think she wanted that? That she asked for it? The duke was infatuated with her, so he forced his seed upon her. When it was over, he grew embarrassed. A duke laying with a commoner, a magic user at that? He created a rumor that she had enchanted him to fuel his campaign of violence! My mother did everything to protect me, to keep me hidden from him.” Your chest heaves as you try to catch your breath, a look of contemplation crossing the horselords face. 

“I don’t believe you.” He states, deadpan. 

“What?” You gasp in disbelief. 

“I said, I don't believe you. She was a witch, why didn’t she take a potion? Why would she carry a monster's child? Why didn’t she cut you from her womb like a parasite? Why would a witch test fate knowing she could not change it?” 

Your shoulders dropped, you knew the answers to all those questions but it was pointless. You had tried fighting for so long, you had tried fighting for years. All you were met with was the crack of the whip and another rope tied around your wrists. You had tried fighting, screaming, biting and running. It was no use. There was no life left behind your eyes, no spark of the girl you had once been. So many years you had been nothing but numb, turning to starvation and self mutilation to feel something other than emptiness. The magic that flowed from you was a defense mechanism, there was no artistry, no passion or love left for the craft. You were empty. A husk of your former self, tormented night and day by those you had lost. 

The tent burst back to life, the wicks of the candles flickering back to life, the baby crying once more. Outside the rain pelted onto the fabric of the tent, the wind howling and screeching as it tore through the camp. Even the river roared, its banks overflowing. And you were no longer a storm, instead just a scared little girl. The beast you had possessed, the power that prowled and snarled beneath your skin gone. It was lost with the wind. 

“The promises you hold yourself to will be your downfall,” You utter with the last of your breath, not even bothering to check the reactions of those in the tent. Instead you walk past Bucky, opening the tent flap and walking directly into the storm outside. 

The winds had grown since you had been outside, almost instantly drenched by the side-ways rain that assaulted you in icy sheets. Your arms went to wrap around your torso, protecting your shivering form from the strong winds that whipped the air straight from your lungs. No one dared to follow you into the madness, even the other members of the horde had retreated into their tents to hunker down for the rest of the night. 

Staggering against the gales of wind, you were unsure if you were crying from the whipping wind piercing your eyes, or from the confrontation from moments before. A sob from deep inside your chest was lost to the crashing of the storm, lightning momentarily lightning up the ground beneath you. The river was overflowing, waters pulling dangerously close to the tree you had been tied to. 

Despite all things warning you to stay away, to find a warm tent somewhere, you pressed deeper into the storm until your legs gave in from a mixture of the battle against the strong winds and the exhaustion of the past few hours. You were overwhelmed by grief, everything you had lived for was for nothing. Your mother had died for nothing. You missed her, and you had never been allowed to mourn her. You had never been allowed to mourn all the lives lost in Idamir during the final raids. So many months you had spent in your fathers clutches, so many weeks you had allowed yourself to be doubted by the horde that could save you. You were a fool and a coward, you had allowed hope and your desire to live dominate your senses. Your fate, your destiny, it would not be one worth living. You wished to just tell Bucky the truth, why your father kept you at his manor. But fear clutched your heart, fear that maybe he would hand you over regardless. 

There was no kindness left in your world, only the cruel hand of fate and death. You were ready to outstretch your own hand and let them carry you away. 

Your hair was slick against your face and neck, clothes painfully snapping against your shivering skin as they were pulled to-and-fro by the wind. Your knees connected with the muddy bank of the river, chest heaving as you leaned against the tree. You wove the rope you had previously tied to around your palm. The river was violent, brown water roaring past with large branches and trunks of trees caught in its current. You wished you could wade into the depths, let the currents pull you away. You would be the rock with the three knots, your father the fever you washed away. 

But once again, you were a coward. Instead you lay your head down against the wet ground, watching as the river swelled. You were so tired, so weak. You could only hope the river would take mercy on you and sweep you away in your sleep. That when you opened your eyes again, only the darkness of death would greet you. 

xxx

You awoke to the sound of Nat’s voice. For a moment, you wondered if the storm had carried you all away. You could imagine the river swelling further, banks bursting into the camp and sweeping the entire horde away. Nat’s voice floated above you, calling with worry. Despite your best efforts, the call of the darkness was stronger than the will to open your eyes. You slipped in between two worlds, the peacefulness of rest and the torture of Nat poking and proding above you. 

Your neck and back ached, legs up to your thighs submerged in a thin layer of water. You flashed between hot and cold, hair laden with mud stuck across your flushed skin. A set of cool fingers were pressed against your forehead, another worried mumble coming from the woman. 

“Is she alive?” Another similar voice asked, deeper and male. Steve. You almost stirred at that, the soft feeling of fur tickling your exposed skin as if he had draped his cloak over your frail body. 

“Barely. She won’t wake,” Nat whispered in a hushed tone to the warrior, pushing some of the stiff hair that had dried against your cheek. Her fingers paused with a jolt as the sound of mud squelching beneath boots drew closer, an annoyed grunt leaving the lips of whoever lingered nearby. Even in your delirious state, you knew who it was. You tried to focus your mind on the rush of the nearby river, the call of the birds that had returned now the storm had passed. 

“Wake her and give her some food.” The gruff voice of Bucky instructed.

“She won’t wake up.” Natasha repeated to the horselord, fingers skimming over your scorching skin. 

“She is probably faking it,” Bucky replied with a huff. “Hoping we will forget her so she can make her escape.” 

“No. Bucky, she’s feverish and her pulse is weak, I can barely feel it–” Natasha explained, upset clear in her voice. You could hear the rustle of clothing, as if Steve had reached out to her as he hand was quickly withdrawn from your face. 

The three of them were silent, for a moment you thought you had slipped away into unconsciousness once more. Instead Bucky spoke up once more, this time uncharacteristic worry in his voice. “Show me.” 

There was more movement, then a set of large callused fingers tenderly pressed against your neck. Bucky was silent as he felt your slow pulse, the back of his free hand delicately brushing against your forehead to feel your temperature. 

“This is your fault,” Nat hissed from somewhere nearby. “She is the one you told us to look for, the one with the symbol. She’s supposed to help us and all you have done is ruin everything.”

“Quiet, Nat.” Steve grumbled in response. Bucky’s touch didn’t waver as he continued to assess your condition. 

“No! You be quiet. You always defend him. She was right, Bucky. Your promises to yourself will not only cause your downfall but the death of us all! As much as we deny it, the Garwic soldiers are slaughtering the south in mass! We can’t hold on for much longer!” Nat snapped, only then did Bucky withdraw his touch with a loud sigh. 

“I fear you are right.” He replied defeatedly, leaving the two warriors in a stunned silence. Only then do you try your best to open your eyes, to reach out for the horselord but strength alludes you once more.

To your surprise, Bucky doesn’t retreat in shame at this realization. Instead you feel a pair of arms scoop you up, one holding you by the crook of your knee, the other behind your shoulder blades. Your side is pressed up against Bucky’s chest, body limp and at the mercy of his gait as he carries you back into the camp. You try to open your eyes once more, trying to grip the forearm that holds you close but you cannot. You are so cold, skin covered in goosebumps and wracked with chills. Your limbs feel stiff and frozen, but burning with fever all at once. You head lulls with each step, hair thick with mud dangling freely. 

The murmurs of camp merge into one, the sounds of construction and voices all jumbled into a symphony of noise. You can’t find the effort to isolate one voice or gasp of worry. Instead your mind falls blank, only snapping back as you feel the heat of a fire against your skin. You are placed down onto soft furs with delicate care, fingers pulling the strands of hair from your face. 

“Nat, undress her from those wet clothes. We need to get her warm and dry.” Bucky instructs, which is met with a confirming noise from Nat who is quickly by your side. Only as Nat pulls you into a sitting position, are you able to open your eyes weakly. If the woman notices, she doesn’t reveal it. Instead she works on pulling off your shirt with some struggle, as she is also supporting your bodyweight. 

You are sat in what you assume is Bucky’s tent, as the tent is larger than most you had previously been in. The room is decorated with not only a make-shift fire place, rugs and a bed but a table covered in a worn paper map. Near the entrance, Bucky and Steve stand near the tent flaps muttering under their breath to each other. 

Nat had flicked your hair over your shoulders so they covered your breasts, huffing as she tried to pull the shirt over your head. Only then did your body go rigid, a sudden energy rushing through your veins as you tense in fear. You were unsure if it was muscle memory that triggered the fight or flight, or your feverish brain finally kicking into motion. 

“Nat stop,” You suddenly speak up. Your voice is gravelly and weak, Nat only chuckling in response and half in relief like she was glad you were suddenly revived. 

“I’ve seen you naked before.” She replied light-heartly, as if thinking that were the issue. Your hands twisted around your body, trying to weakly locate her hands to stop her as she dragged the shirt further up your back. 

“Nat–” You start weakly, but are cut off by her sudden stiffness. A gasp leaves her, shirt finally risen past your shoulders where your entire back was exposed to her eyes. You squeeze your eyes closed, swallowing back defeated tears. How many weeks, months had you kept it hidden? Everytime you bathed you always made sure your long strands of hair obscured your back from vision. You didn’t want them to know, you knew it would bring up too many questions. Questions you wouldn’t want to answer. 

“Nat, please–” you begin to beg, eyes flickering open once more but you know it is pointless. You don’t even have to turn to face her to know her eyes would be laced with horror. 

Your back was a reminder, at least that's what your father called it. A reminder of who you were, what you were and even after you became something new, it would remind you that you were always a weak, magic-using commoner. It was bold for the horde to assume that just because you were the dukes blood, that he wouldn’t treat you with the same cruelty that he treated all his prisoners. 

Your back was lined with scars, some fresher than others. Each white line arced across your once smooth skin, some flat and sharp, other raised and gnarled like the knots in a tree. They overlapped each other, months of suffering and hatred forever carved into your skin. A reminder of who you were. A reminder of who your father was. A reminder that despite everything, the scars inflicted across your back was not the worst pain, the worst trial you would face. No, what your father had planned for you was far worse. And you could not escape.

“Bucky, look at this.” Nat calls out, distress laced in her tone. Your head dips in defeat, too weak to fight back as the two warriors walk over with curiosity. Nat holds the shirt firmly up, not allowing you to squirm and hide it as you flinch away from Bucky’s sudden closeness as he crouches beside you. 

Both him and Steve are wordless, exhaustion tugs at your bones as you focus on trying to hold yourself up-right and breathing steadily while their eyes rake over the exposed scars. Your eyes see Bucky’s fists first, balled up and grown white with strain as he clenches around the fur of the rugs. Your eyes slowly shifted up, over his forceps where veins bulge, across the furred cloak draped over his shoulders before finally resting on his face. And to your surprise, his expression wasn’t one of disgust or pity. Instead it was one of rage. 

Bucky’s eyes snap to yours, the burning hatred swirling beyond the blue softening slightly as he takes in your defeated, muddy face. “Who did this?” 

You bite back a laugh at the absurdity of it all. “Who do you think?”

“But why? You are his daughter, his blood–”

“You really think that would have stopped him? Stopped his cruelty? He did it not only because he enjoyed it but because he hated me.” You reply, letting the bubble of anxious laughter finally leave your chest. You feel as if hysteria has finally gripped you, you’re unsure if you’re sobbing or laughing as Steve’s fingers tenderly brush over the scars. 

“You’re still hiding something.” Bucky states, fingers finding your chin as he forces you to look at him. You bite your tongue, laughter falling silent as you gaze up at him. His look is softer than any he had ever given you. He gazed upon you with that tenderness, as if asking how he could help you, rather than demanding information from you like a captor and hostage. 

“I will tell you, but you have to promise me something.” You say to him, gaze momentarily flickering to your mothers knife that still hung from his belt, like the first day you had met. His gaze follows yours, a deep frown flickering over his features. 

“Promise you what?” He asks, beside you Steve and Nat are silent, breaths drawn in anticipation. 

“No matter what happens, you must kill me. Let the fever take me, slit my throat, I do not care. You must ignore the ransom, you must kill me because I would rather die than return to him.”

“Why?” Bucky asks, he sounds breathless.

“Promise me.” You insist. 

“I will promise after you tell me why.”

“I need you to promise first Bucky.” Your voice grew into desperate rasps, fists curling around the fur rugs beneath you as you leaned closer to him. A silence grows in the tent as Bucky seems to contemplate his next words. 

“Promise me.” You demand, tears threatening to surface. 

“I won’t kill you.” He states simply, unable to meet your eye as a noise of anguish leaves your lips.

“Why? Why won’t you just kill me!” You were now edging on shouting, limbs trembling. “Do you know how long I have suffered? Do you not understand that I am done with all of this?”

The three warriors were silent once again, Steve and Nat glancing towards Bucky whose lips pressed together in a concerned frown, yet he continued to deny the promise you demanded. You had thought for a moment that maybe he cared when he brought you in here, that perhaps a part of him felt sorry for all the cruel words he had spoken. Once again, you had the crawling sensation of defeat lingering in your chest, a feeling that you had been tricked or deceived into thinking you could be saved. 

“That day you took the manor, I was moments away from slitting my own throat in my fathers drawing room.” A sound half-way between a sob and a laugh bubbling in your chest. “I thought that the horde coming there was some kind of sign, some kind of intervention by fate.”

“What?” Steve asks in disbelief. Your eyes flutter upwards, as if tempting fate itself to strike you down for your foolishness.

“I didn’t go through with it, but now I can see that was a mistake.” You utter.

Only in that moment does Bucky finally offer up a noise, sighing heavily through his nose. Your eyes remain transfixed on the ceiling of the tent. You fear that if you look down that tears would spill, instead most of your focus going into controlling the fever chills that shook your fragile frame. 

“If you won’t tell me your reasoning, I cannot promise you anything.” Bucky says. Your eyes finally flutter down, locking in a tense stare with Bucky’s.  

“I suppose we are at a standstill.” He states, getting to his feet. “I cannot help you if you will not tell me.”

[cdyssey]

Safe

Summary: On the night before Natalie's funeral, Tai finds herself on Shauna's doorstep.

Tags: Death/Drug Mentions

AO3 Link

On the evening before Natalie’s funeral, Taissa knocks on Shauna’s door, shivering from seven sleepless nights that feel like seven thousand, from fear, from aching grief, from the rain and November cold. She’s not here about forgiveness exactly—giving it, receiving it, talking about if either of them have ever once deserved it.

It’s just about being in her presence. 

About finding comfort in one of the few people who has ever made her feel safe.

It’s to her visceral relief that Shauna’s the one who opens the door. She’s fairly sure she would have clawed Jeff’s pretty boy eyes out on sight. (Fucking asshole. Their goddamn blackmailer apparently.) And, well, she still feels ashamed that the first time she laid eyes on Callie, it was on the verge of being mere footfalls and moments away from successfully hunting her mother down.

She hadn’t wanted it to happen like that.

Had maybe wanted their two kids to meet someday, and she and her best friend could look each other in the eye and revel in the fact that they’d produced one damn good thing in this world. 

They hadn’t fucked something up.

But she supposes that plan went like a brick through a window when she recently scared the living shit out of her own child and almost killed his other mother.

Simone’s going to take her to court for full custody whenever she gets out of the hospital, and Taissa is going to fight it, of course—(she never knows when to quit)—but somewhere, beneath the thousands of crusted layers of outrage, denial, inflexible pride, and reflexive fear, it’s entirely possible that she understands that it’ll be justice if her soon-to-be-ex-wife wins. She’s spent an entire lifetime inadvertently hurting the people she has loved. Simone’s probably helping out by making it that much harder for her to do it to their beautiful son.

Indeed, another of her would-have-been-victims stands in the threshold of the doorway with a flannel pajama set on, her hair hanging in limp waves around her face, dark shadows engulfing those big, brown eyes like sickly bruises. 

She seems exasperated by Taissa’s presence, one hand cocked on her hip, mouth pressed into a thin, pink line.

Fair enough.

Warranted even.

But she also looks so goddamn broken.

“You look like shit,” Taissa blurts out and just as immediately regrets it—not because she didn’t mean it exactly—but because Nat had said the same thing to Shauna mere weeks ago, and she knows, just from clocking her friend’s black expression, that the connection isn’t lost on her.

“Oh, fuck off,” she snarls and tries to slam the door in her face, but Taissa gets her foot in before it completely closes. The ensuing force might have been enough to break something had she not been wearing boots.

“Wait, Shauna! Fuck—“ She hisses through the pain ricocheting all the way up her leg.  “I don’t know why I said that. I mean, just look at me. I look like shit too. Haven’t slept much since—“

But she stops short, can’t quite bring herself to finish the awful sentence. It’s unbearable. 

She can’t fucking bear it.

It’s only been a little over a week since paramedics carted Natalie’s body away in a belted black bag. She had always been tiny, but she was utterly insubstantial in death, just an arrangement of hollow bones on the dirty ass ground. It had been a familiar sight to them all. 

Watching someone they love die.

Being the sole cause of her death.

Natalie, their savior and leader in those cold and lonely woods.

Natalie, their teammate.

Natalie, their hunter.

Natalie, their friend.

Taissa had tried so fucking hard to save her, had paid for rehab stint after failed rehab stint, had both forced her scrawny ass to sober up in jail on a few frustrated nights and dutifully bailed her out at least a dozen times more. She’d coddled her. Yelled at her. Given her a thousand-and-one stern talking-tos, perhaps thinking—(praying)—that at least one of these extraordinary measures would be enough to keep her alive. But in the end, even if it was Misty who shot her up with phenobarbital, it was Taissa who had called off the crisis team.

Which is to say that it was Taissa who made it permissible for their former equipment manager to wield a cocked and loaded gun.

Shauna’s face doesn’t exactly soften, but at the very least, she stops actively trying to amputate Taissa’s foot, and she takes desperate solace in that, in the fact that her friend still gets it—gets her—without a single syllable having to be said.

“Me neither,” the other woman finally admits in a quiet voice, leaning her cheek against the edge of the door. It doesn’t look comfortable, but then again, nothing about Shauna ever really does. “When I shut my eyes, all I can see is her.”

And then she does it.

She briefly closes her eyes, exhaling deeply, and Taissa knows that Nat is filling all of that empty space: her presence, her absence, her sunken-cheeked ghost. She was waxy in death, like a damaged doll. A marionette even. Limbs akimbo. All cut and broken strings. 

“Yeah,” Taissa nods once, the column of her throat suddenly constricted. She blinks rapidly and swipes at the underside of her own heavy eyes with the heel of her hand. 

“Rain,” she lies and doesn’t know why she does that either. Most of her actions are incomprehensible to her these days, even when she does feel present in her own body.

(Which is not as often as she’d care to admit.)

“Can I…” She hesitates, squirms, worries her chapped lower lip, and suddenly feels like a kid again, too little to be occupying such big shoes. “Uh… can I …come in?”

“No.” 

Shauna straightens up and shakes her dark head. The lone syllable slashes through Taissa like a knife. She’d been counting on Shauna’s acquiescence—much more than she had even realized until this very moment. 

She hadn’t anticipated a no.

Shauna has never fucking said no when she’s needed her.

But then, surprising her and simultaneously unknotting her where she stands, her friend reaches out and places a steadying hand on her arm.

“Stay here,” she says, fingertips gently curving over Taissa’s wrist. It’s still slightly banded with rope burn scars, all the nights her Other self had fought against containment, and all the nights that Van had valiantly fought back. She usually wears a watch over the spot, some expensive number, the kind lawyers like to wear when they’ve made it.

“I’ll grab us some blankets and something warm to drink,” Shauna continues in a voice that could almost be construed as kind. “We’ll, um, sit in your car, okay?”

“Okay,” Taissa croaks, devastated with relief, simply choking on it. 

She doesn’t have to leave.

Shauna doesn’t exactly smile, but the corner of her lip slightly bends.

Just a little. 

Taissa clings to this infinitesimal gesture like it’s a lifeline.

—

Ten minutes later, they’re both in Taissa’s idling car, sipping on boozy coffee, plaid throws draped around their shoulders like pelts. It’s still drizzling a little outside, the rain politely drumming its fingers against the steel roof of the car. Fleetwood Mac plays on the radio.

“Landslide.”

It’s depressing as hell, but neither of them make any move to change it. They both loved this song when they were kids. (Shauna dropped Tai off at her house after practice once when her own car was in the shop, and they listened to it on cassette, incorrectly half-remembering the lyrics to the song. They talked about MTV and stupid history pop quizzes. They pleasantly agreed that their calculus and English teachers were probably fucking behind the gym. They fantasized about what it would be like if they finally made it to Nationals. Shauna thought it was a long shot. Taissa bet her five whole dollars and a six-pack of beer that it was a guarantee.)

“I would have invited you in,” Shauna explains, lips nearly touching the rim of her thermos, “but I don’t think Callie would take too kindly to your presence right now. You made an… um… not-so-nice first impression.”

It’s a generous way of saying that she almost killed Shauna in an act of ritual violence.

“We don’t have to sugarcoat it,” Taissa mutters, even though she has to look away, staring out at the endless row of nice, suburban houses in this nice, respectable neighborhood that her friend who used to be their unflinching butcher lives in. It doesn’t feel real to her.

But then again, most things don’t.

“We don’t have to litigate it either,” comes a blunt reply—a warning tone even—punctuated by the precise thud of Shauna setting her coffee down.

Danger ahead.

Don’t cross this line.

Don’t burn this tentative bridge, Taissa.

This is all you’ve fucking got.

“I’m a lawyer,” she retorts all the same, perpetually one to greet a challenge with a handshake and a vicious smile. “That’s what I do for a living."

A beat—she inhales sharply through her nose.

"Well, did," she mumbles. "Did for a living anyway."

The slip-up briefly disorients her. She hasn’t spent an awful lot of time thinking about the fact that she’s a state senator now, not since her barely remembered excursion to a dusty video store in Ohio. Naturally, all of her aides were on the verge of a nervous breakdown after her week-long disappearance, freaking out about missed calls and panicked constituents, and in one assistant’s case, her lost car. She didn’t have much of an explanation for them then, nor can she barely bring herself to care about the less-than-stellar optics now. The election feels like it belongs to another lifetime.

Before Natalie.

And this is the After.

She will have to live in the After and with it for the rest of her godless days.

“What do you want then?” Shauna laughs bitterly. “To talk about how you called off the crisis team? To fondly reminisce about the fact that you picked up a knife? That’s not a conversation that’s going to end well for either of us, Tai.”

She briefly wonders if the other woman is being accusatory if it’s all true.

“I don’t fucking know, Shauna,” she grunts, defensive—always—and in this particular matter, far from deservedly so. “I just don’t want to… you know… do what we always do.”

“Fuck each other over?” The other woman snorts, crossing her arms over her chest. It’s petulant, a child’s gesture. 

They’re both forty-two year old women who never stopped being seventeen.

“That,” Taissa agrees emphatically, “and sweep it all under the rug like it’s no big deal. We’ve both fucked each other over lately. Like, you and the whole Adam deal. What was that? What the hell were you even thinking?”

Maybe it’s a low blow, bringing up the fact that Shauna has been a piece of shit too while they’re sitting in her driveway, drinking her coffee that’s probably three-fourths booze, but Taissa isn’t above a little playing in the mud. Besides, she doesn’t want to be alone in the pit, ashamed by just how far she’s fallen. Hell is too awful of a place to be without a bosom friend.

Shauna immediately flushes.

“Don’t change the subject,” she snaps, every lineament in her body rigid with tension as she turns to fully face Taissa. “I mean, you and the other four dipshits were actually going to kill me. Like, you were literally gonna do it just because I drew that stupid card.”

“I thought you didn’t want to litigate it,” Taissa mocks her, and it’s clever. It’s scathing. It’s cruel. It’s how they sometimes talked to each other in the woods, and so maybe it’s a fucked up declaration of love too.

“Yeah, well…” Shauna starts heatedly, pink blotches feathering her cheeks, but then just as quickly fizzles out, visibly deflating. She’s got nothing, Taissa knows, because she doesn’t either. 

What they’ve done is indefensible—the violence that they’ve inflicted upon others, the suffering, the horror, and the pain. They’re going to destroy their families and all the people that they’ve ever loved if they keep it up. They already decimated themselves in the wilderness a long time ago.

And they could blame evil forest spirits then; they could attribute their brutality, their monstrosity, and their madness to every creaking branch and volatile stirring of the breeze. Devoted worshippers, they could call their own depravity God and offer sacrifices to keep it alive in their chests.

But maybe Shauna was the one who screamed it best the other night.

You know there’s no It, right? It was just us.

And maybe Lottie, as unbalanced as she was, as fundamentally unwell, had a salient point too.

Is there a difference?

The end results are still the same. They’re abominations, each and every one of them; the blood on their hands keeps the score.

“You killed a man, and we almost killed you,” Taissa says matter-of-factly, and she almost remembers what it’s like to be a lawyer again, actually caring about justice in this world. “And, fuck, Shauna, that’s not even half of what we’ve done. We’re all messed up, and somehow, we’re not sharing a wall with Lottie in the psych ward.”

“Because we’re not like…” Shauna tries to protest, shaking her head, looking like a hunted animal and just as hurt. “We can’t be—“

“We can’t be? Or don’t want to be?” She cuts across her mercilessly, rubbing one of her brows with two fingers. “Because I’ve been thinking about that a lot, and I don’t know that it’s great that I can’t remember chasing you through the woods. I think the fact that I woke up holding a knife is fuckin’ terrifying.”

And maybe that’s one of the things—right next to Natalie’s death—that haunts and implicates Taissa most of all. The hypothetical reality where she could have slaughtered her best friend and not even realized it until after she’d done it. She looks over at Shauna, at the steady rise and fall of her chest, at the delicate flush coloring her bloodless face, and feels a rush of primal relief in her aliveness, in her hereness and her health.

Of course, being alive is not the same as being well—the survivors from the woods know that far more intimately than most—but it goddamn beats being dead. They’d sell their own souls just to keep their hearts pumping. 

(They‘ve done it before.)

(Once, they watched a twelve-year old boy fucking drown.)

“Why are you even here, Tai?” Shauna groans, every syllable affected, injured and anguished on her tongue. “Why aren’t you talking about all this with… God, I don’t know… Van? I mean, where is she? I don’t even know what you want me to say.“

At the mention of her—well, she doesn’t exactly know what to call Van anymore because ex-girlfriend sounds juvenile, reductive, and now frankly untrue—Taissa shifts in her seat, a knot in her belly, a writhing worm.

She loves Van with every last molecule in her and Van loves her back, right down to the ghastly marrow of her bones. And when they kiss, when they talk, when they share space with each other, when they fuck, the entire world narrows down to just the two of them alone. 

And that’s intoxicating, how consumed that they are by each other—fire and oxygen, burning and burning endlessly in the dark of the night.

But, Jesus, it’s breathtakingly dangerous too. It’s not lost on Taissa that Lottie hadn’t been the only one who had wanted to draw cards on the night that Natalie died. After all, it was Van who had convinced her to call off the crisis team; it was Van who had also wanted to play their most sacred and dangerous game.

For what reason?

Taissa’s got one hell of a good idea, and there’s an entirely selfish part of her that sympathizes—and more than that even—actually fucking understands.

(Survival is the one thing that any of them have ever really been good at besides soccer; in those godforsaken woods, there was never a cost they weren't eventually willing to pay.)

“She’s driving back from Ohio tonight for the funeral,” Taissa finally says, neglecting to mention that she’d had to go back for an appointment with her oncologist. Shauna doesn’t need to know. Shauna would immediately connect all the twisted puzzle pieces together and arrive at the big picture. Shauna would bristle. Shauna would judge. Shauna would blame the pair of them for Natalie’s death all over again. (Shauna would be right.) Shauna doesn’t need to know.

“And I don’t wanna talk to her about this,” she continues stubbornly, also setting her thermos in the empty cupholder with a decisive clunk. “I want to talk to you. Van and I… you know… it’s like we don’t know how to be straight with each other sometimes.”

“Sometimes?” Shauna mutters under her breath, and Taissa laughs for the first time in what feels like days; it’s a coarse sound, unpleasant even, as though it’s been raked from the muck in her chest. 

“Asshole. You know what I mean.”

“Not really,” comes a scoffing reply. “It’s not like we’ve been entirely straight with each other either lately…”

It’s true. They’ve both lied to one another’s faces and thought nothing about getting away with it. Taissa didn’t have a single qualm about sending a fixer after any of her fellow survivors, and Shauna, meanwhile, remorselessly made them all accomplices to manslaughter for Jeff Fucking Sadecki. The weight of those mutual violations currently electrifies the air between them—takes up oxygen, resources, energy, and precious space. It turns all of their words into live wires, each subtle shift of their bodies into the probable beginnings of a spark, an all-engulfing flame.

And both of them intimately know what it’s like to watch the world around them burn. 

“No,” Taissa agrees tiredly, shrugging a hand across the back of her neck. “I guess we haven’t.”

Another long beat, a tortured silence, slumping between them like a body, a carcass, a bloody slab of meat. This is assuredly the part of the conversation where normal people say sorry and hug each other’s neck.

The problem is, they haven’t been normal people in a very long time.

“Lot’s locked up,” she finally breaks the silence, digging her nails into the fabric of her jeans. She clipped them short just last night. Couldn’t stand all the dirt that had gotten beneath her cuticles. “Van’s away, and Nat’s…” 

She stumbles on the words, still can’t say it, still finds it impossible to articulate a reality where Natalie Scatorccio isn’t just down the road, probably snorting blow at some shitty motel.

But at least she was alive.

At least she was somewhere Taissa could always reach.

“... in a casket somewhere on the other side of town,” Shauna finishes for her, and the effort seems like it cost her. She shivers and suddenly looks ancient. Neither of them are even close to fifty-years old.

“Yeah,” Taissa just barely gets out, roughly scrubbing the side of her nose. “And I can’t stop thinking about how she hated small spaces.”

“Ha,” Shauna tuts, “don’t we all?”

And all she can do is nod in mute agreement. Before they’d been flown back to Wiskayok—nearly three months of recovery in a Canadian hospital later—doctors had been forced to sedate them all. Not a single one of them could bear the thought of being lucid on a goddamn plane. And to this day, Taissa can’t stand to be entrapped in a space any smaller than a bedroom. Elevators freak her out. Her closet door stays open when she’s scavenging for clothes. Simone always rode with Sammy on the Ferris wheel whenever they took him to the local fair. Those steel cages made a mockery and fool of her, but somehow, she had hated it even more when her wife looked at her with such tender concern in her eyes, with pity for this tragedy that she could never understand.

“But I know what you mean,” Shauna eventually adds in a less skeptical tone. “The thought of that makes me wanna shrivel up and, like… die.”

Maybe most other people would have flinched at such a brutal assertion.

But, of course, most other people haven't starved in the wilderness for nineteen goddamn months.

Taissa doesn't even blink.

“So many of our people are either dead, going, or gone, Shauna,” she half-whispers, staring out through the rain-lashed windows. The endless rows of amber street lights flicker like a hundred tiny fires in the night. “And I know we have our shit between us, but we have to get through it. No grudges or anything like that. I can’t… I don’t want to… 

She struggles yet again; it’s hard to be honest about what she wants from Shauna.

Her attention. Her affection. The physical presence of her body right next to hers. The weight of her unconditional love. It’s not really romantic, but it sometimes absolutely is. It’s almost sisterly if it’s sisterly to want to lay another woman’s warm arms and feel safe there forever. Of course, at the same time, it’s an unrealistic expectation—not particularly because they’re both taken women per say—but because safety is the most temporary delusion in the world. So Shauna is safety. And Shauna is a delusion. And Shauna is temporary.

But fucking hell, they all are in the end.

“I’m terrified of being alone,” she eventually chokes out, sickened by every syllable, so goddamn ashamed. She resists the urge to close her eyes at the sudden rush of nausea and bile. “It’s stupid, I know—“

“No,” Shauna tries to interject, shaking her head. “Tai, it’s not—“

“—and, fuck, it’s needy,” she plows on anyway, afraid to stop, afraid to listen, unable to face even the barest possibility of rejection—not from anyone, really, but especially not from Shauna. She buries her face in her shivering hands, fingertips mashing down hard on her eyelids.

“Just don’t shut me out, Shauna. Please. I’m begging,” she finishes, and just as she does, a horrible thought—Jesus, one that she doesn’t even believe—suddenly erupts in her head.

Don’t make me another Jackie Taylor.

All-alone when she died, frozen, half-buried in the freshly fallen snow. They used to have a term for that when they played soccer.

Iced out.

She would know; she once broke a girl’s leg putting the phrase into good and practical use.

“Taissa.” Her own name lands upon her sharply, like the lash of an incisive blade, but then, directly on the very heels of it, there is a much softer sensation, right next to the crook of her elbow. A warm, scar-calloused hand. The hand of their butcher. The hand of her best friend. “Hey, look at me, okay?”

It takes her a few seconds, but in the end, she reluctantly drops her hands and finds that Shauna’s face is mere inches away from her own now, pale even in the growing darkness. She can discern every tired line and errant freckle, the faint etching of a scar running across the bridge of her nose that she earned in the woods long ago. She can see the resilient, seventeen-year old girl who almost fucking died in gruesome labor. And she can also see the forty-two year old wreck that Shauna has become now precisely because she didn't.

“Stop being a dumbass,” she says when she’s sure that she has Taissa’s attention. “I’m not going to shut you out or whatever. Alright? You tried to kill me. Fine. Both of us have done far worse.”

And she smiles at the end of this batshit insane—this unquestionably true—declaration. It’s a small, crooked little thing, but it’s more than that, really. It's an olive branch and a tiny kindness. It's an unspoken sign to let her know that everything is going to be okay.

Relief storms through Taissa Turner. It plunges through her like rain.

“Sooooo inappropriate,” she croaks, embarrassed when a tear slips from the corner of her eye. She jerks instinctively to mop herself up, but Shauna gets there first, reaching up to thumb it away with her free hand without saying a word. She almost wants to gasp at the touch, wants to shudder, wants to weep, wants to shatter into a million pieces on her Nissan’s well-kept floor. 

She keeps it together anyway.

Shauna's tenderness is sweet anathema to her, an unholy cure.

“You say that like there’s anything appropriate about us,” the other woman says before letting her hand fall away. Taissa misses the warmth of her touch immediately. “Like we’ve got this normal thing down.”

“Wishful thinking, I guess,” she replies lamely.

Refuting her on that particular point is pretty useless.

“We all have stories that we tell ourselves in the dark,” Shauna shrugs right back, and with that, reaches down to grab her thermos from the cupholder. To Taissa’s surprise, she also grabs the one next to it.

“What are you doing?” She asks quickly, dreading that her friend has already decided to take her word back.

“What does it look like, dummy?" Shauna rolls her eyes in such a way that it's clear that she thinks she's doing something obvious. (Asshole.) "We’re going inside. There’s vegetable soup in the crockpot, and you can wear one of my t-shirts to bed. Well, um, put Jeff on the couch.” She snorts to herself at this last thought. “He kinda deserves it after all the shit he pulled."

Taissa’s body reacts to what her friend is suggesting before her mind catches up. She laughs aloud, a pleasant warmth percolating in her gut, a happiness that she's forgotten how to entirely feel. She only eventually remembers—

“Shit, wait, what about Callie? I thought you said she wouldn’t want to see me.”

“I’ll deal with my teenager. You’re coming in."

“But—”

"No buts," comes a fierce reply, a desperate one. Taissa flinches at the sudden change in tone, while her friend looks down, her dark hair eclipsing most of her face from view.

"It's mean, it's just... we need each other tonight, Tai. Tomorrow—" But it's Shauna’s turn to be repulsed by her own words, to anticipate the foregone conclusion to her sentence and call foul. Red card. Timeout. This isn’t right. It’s far from fucking fair.

But, of course, this has always been their shared reality.

Life isn't fucking fair.

“—we bury Nat,” Taissa finishes, remembering what it was like to be a closer in the game. One kick. A ball buried in the net. It had to be done.

As a teenager, she once lifted her arms in victory as her teammates crowded around her, shouting her name, embracing her, nearly knocking her to the ground. As an adult, she reaches over and tucks a strand of hair behind Shauna's ear, knuckles skimming her smooth cheek, and knows that this, too, is love.

“Fuck,” Shauna exhales, closing her eyes. 

“Fuck,” Taissa dully agrees just as it stops drizzling outside, as it begins to pour and endlessly pour.

[fukanouna]

I’m loving ur headcanons for wandanat actually. Currently going thru their tag on Ao3 and as much as a I love a good hurt/comfort or angsty piece, there is some abundance of works where one of them is literally like depressed / seriously mentally unwell and they get together during the healing process and that.. doesn’t sit well with me. I know with Wanda and nat there is such good opportunity to have them each work thru stuff (Wanda with hydra trauma, losing her brother, westview, etc,,, nat with the red room and Yelena and Ohio) but to have them get together while one is hurting so much just seems rly misplaced and rushed. Do u have any thoughts or headcanons on a hurt/comfort, angsty, healing type thing between them?

I'm happy you're enjoying the WandaNat headcanons I share :)

Everything below the cut are more headcanons and thoughts I have about them based off their personalities in the MCU.

When it comes to processing emotions, especially painful ones, both do it very differently, but it's why I personally find it enjoyable to write their relationship because they balance each other out or find some sort of middle ground.

In general, Natasha doesn't express herself through words, having been taught by the Red Room that emotions are unnecessary baggage. That doesn't mean she doesn't care; she's someone who shows her feelings through her actions instead.

Meanwhile, Wanda's the opposite. I'd argue Wanda feels too much, felt so much pain back-to-back, and doesn't know how to process all that grief because she's never given time to do so or had someone to help her through it.

I think that's why Natasha is good match for her because both have experienced similar trauma. Losing their sibling (before finding out Yelena is alive), losing their parents (as in Nat's real parents), and both being experimented on by some Soviet organization to turn them into a weapon. The main difference is that Nat has had time to compartmentalize her grief and trauma compared to Wanda.

After Pietro's death, Natasha would comfort Wanda in her own way. She doesn't say things like "I'm sorry." or "It will get better" - but she'd quietly keep Wanda company. Things like go on walks, make a cup of tea or coffee, or sit beside her on the couch without pressing for a conversation, giving an occasional smile and pat on the shoulder at most. Then at some point, Wanda starts to open up to Nat, realizing she feels better when Nat is around and starts to appreciate her company, and then their relationship begins to blossom from there.

Later down the line once they've become close, Wanda brings up how Natasha never shares her troubles when she's always thoughtful about Wanda's. That's when Wanda realizes that Natasha is afraid of opening up, to be vulnerable with her feelings, but Wanda is desperate to show Nat that she can trust her, to be her confidant. She wants to help Nat the same way Nat helped her.

And it isn't easy at first, but bit by bit (Wanda is very patient with Nat), Natasha lets Wanda in because out of everyone on the team, Wanda has a better understanding of what Nat went through better than anyone.

(Sorry that this became a mini dissertation 😅)

[strxngemxgick]

@shieldagentnatasharomanoff asked:  ➤ receiver has been stabbed and sender finds them (reversed)

Meme /// Accepting

Finding Natasha making herself comfortable in the Sanctum had become an undeniably welcome sight. She had been an easy, welcome addition into their lives, providing companionship and warmth and an unexpectedly welcome strength. She spent most of her time with Strange - understandable, given their (still sometimes perplexing) closeness - but he liked to think that she was welcome at any time in their little corner of the multiverse open to her. Cherry welcomed the presence of a friend, and Wong seemed just as at ease in her presence, which was a rare gift in and of itself. Stephen, though he knew he never said so as much as he should, felt a sense of lightness in her company as much as the others.

She was always welcome, they had told her, so she could stop by anytime. No need for a heads up, they had told her. 

No, they had all come to expect the occasional visit from their traveling companion. But she had never really come to them quite so beat up.

It was an understatement, really; while Nat certainly didn’t appear to be on death’s door, there was too much blood for comfort. A considerable bruise darkened her cheek, formed around her swollen, busted lip. Her clothes were shredded, stained in her own blood. He could see her skin, pale and lined with oozing lacerations and gashes and punctures. And there she sat on the floor in a corner of his study, obviously pained but too nonchalant as she sealed up a wound with-.

“Is that... dental floss?” Stephen asked, incredulously, his inner medical professional balking at the almost unholy sight. Not unheard of, but no less appalling. 

He was already moving towards her, dropping to sit across from her on the floor, cross legged. Gently, he swatted in the direction of her hand, a silent encouragement for her to stop. A wave of his hand conjured medical sutures and a curved needle faintly glowing and held aloft with magic. “Allow me?” It was certainly phrased as a question, but the sharpness of his gaze and firmness of his tone (and the glint of worry in his eyes) left little room for argument.

[blorbologist]

26 and 37

26. You must swap one nat 1 die roll with one nat 20 die roll. They must both be from the main campaigns, but can be cross-campaign. Which are they, and why?

Ooooof, how dare you make me have to do research for this? :vvv

See, I'm torn between making them both of similar magnitude or pulling a cheap shot and taking a nat 20 that didn't matter much to swap for a nat 1 that did matter.

Okay, let's take two important ones and make them both WORSE, because I'm a bastard

For the 1 -> 20, hmmm let's say Caleb trying to persuade Essek to pretty please let him invite mages that want to kill them both onto this expedition. Gives Liam his bisexual maelstrom early, and it would so badly fuck with their dynamics. Would Caleb backshift into bad coping mechanisms? Would Essek call him out? Would Trent or Astrid or Wulf try to kill either of them? What the fuck! Just about one of the few times I think a high roll would actually be worse for everyone involved. Another that came to mind was Kaylie's initial confrontation with Scanlan. (A good one to turn into a 20 would be the Sunken Tomb 'Sam immediately jokes it's instant death and SIKE IT IS', because it would change SO MUCH of the campaign.)

For the 20 -> 1 :) well since you got me in an angsty mood :) True Love's Nat 20 made into True Love's Nat 1. Even if the roll had succeeded over-all thanks to the other contributions, I can't see Percy coming back if he didn't hear Vex specifically. We'd have Molly in Campaign 1. Vex might do something reckless and Briarwoods-esque to bring him back (winks loudly at Nova). Completely derail everything. (Of course, there's any number of villain Nat 20s turning into Nat 1s would likely be huge net positives, but I don't feel like researching any more than I already have :V)

37. You have to take a 16 hour road trip with one NPC from each campaign (all at once, ie, three other people). The NPCs cannot shorten the road trip in any way and the road trip must be via driving but you can do it in two 8 hour days and share a motel room if you'd like. Who do you pick?

... I read this as PC at first FUCK ME. Including the two I'd written for PCs + why I didnt pick my fav under the cut as a lil bonus.

a) Essek. Okay, hear me out: yes he is a war criminal, but he's also dealt with trying to get grant money and as someone procrastinating on two deadlines rn? mood. I'd poke his brain for hours about blasphemous magic if I could. Also, soup is cheap for when we're done for the day and an easy meal. I think he'd either be a perfectionist backseat driver or a panicky one and either way the research talk is worth it to me ok. I'll survive.

b) Vesper - never said specials were excluded, and she IS in her 30s by this point in the timeline! We have no clue about her personality, but I think, given her family, she's likely very smart and good conversation. Has money to throw at any problems we run into. Also allows me to get De Blorbo lore without wanting to throttle her dad. If she doesn't count because she's a Baby in the oneshot she's in, I guess Cass? Look I adore her but I worry she's never driven a day in her life + trauma + is a noble would make her a pain in the ass to be stuck in a car with, BUT I love her enough I'd take it in stride For Her.

c) Imahara Joe. Look! He's a vibe! If anything goes wrong he can fix it! He can keep conversation going! I have huge Mythbusters nostalgia!

a) Caleb! I think we could talk about our respective cats for hours, or I'd hope we could, and talk magic-science, and Keen Mind would make keeping rest stops/the time/maps/etc. in mind a breeze. And if he isn't up to talk he would just! be quiet! and read a book! which is good for my stress brain! And if both of us are overstimmed that's a 50% vote on getting people to turn the music fucking down so we can relax.

b) Fjord, actually? He's captn' Tusktooth, he knows how to organize a voyage and what goes into sharing cramped quarters with other people for hours on end and how to keep distracted and not kill eachother. Plus, Star Razor is a convenient flashlight if ever. His music selection would also likely be fun to sing as a whole car together - shanties or good roadtrip songs.

c) oufff this one's hard.

(I'm Not saying Percy because so help me I'd want to throttle him within the hour. Beau would bully me I think. Both are also so hot and my favs I think I'd die and be incapable of driving. Laudna would also make Noises with her Existing and I think I'd lose my marbles, sorry babe :c)

[thedelolos]

neverafter episode 9 live thoughts

under the cut!!

Holy cannot believe we are up to nine already 

(also the content warning scare me this week pls be okay little cat)

I want ally’s polo shirt , i don’t like a lot of polo shirts but that one looks cool 

“This is you giving your strings to somebody else” nooo let him be his own boy

GOD NAT 20

“Into the light of your own book” oh bless

“What are you trying to understand your story” “why nothing has never worked out 

Why does this hurt so much he’s really just a kid 

“For a moment you are all marionettes together” somehow that is both creepy and assuring 

“I should have never made you” ow oW OW OW

Ew ew she’s manipulating him 

I’m really glad that his friends are there with him 

‘Your holding it’s strings to “i haven’t given my soul to you, you’ve given your soul to me”

“Full phrase, i guess i can’t talk” Pib i can’t with you

No do not go with her she’s sus

“You’ve seen them too”

So the fairies aren’t unified, inch resting

“They’re all surrealists now, wake up” crying

The wolf vanishing from stories 

“Lollipopcorn” emily chaos incorporated

Wolf true neutral

“You feel the turning of pages” whoa 

Wait so is this our ylfa’s original story?? 

“It was my grandma’s time, but not my time?” “Yes”

I think that quick yes signifies that the wolf is the personification of death like in most stories, maybe the thing that the fairies want to do has to do with killing versions of stories that have strayed

‘I met death and death wants me to life” i know that was said with a laugh, but that line is so metal

This jumping into different stories thing is so cool 

He’s acting like a frog as an act of dissociation that’s so sad but also me too 

He’s fetching her ball i’m gonna cry

“It’s been so long since anyone asked me that” bruh i’m sobbing

“I’m an inside frog” AHHH

Confirmation of the golden mace i love that 

Gerard you have no right to make me feel this many feelings

“And they all lived happily” STOP BRENNAN

Wait is muffet still with them?? We didn’t leave her falling into the void did we??

ZAC CRIT CITY

The gander is in pain, wonder why

That cutting space effect was so cool, like trying to cut into another story

PARTS OF THE SKY AREN’T THERE YO 

WAIT THEY ARE GONNA SEE THE REAL STEPMOTHER

Wait so did she do something similar to what red did? Consume another entity for more power

GOOD THE SEAM IN SPACE IS SO COOL

ALSO EMILY I HAD THE SAME REACTION 

GOD THE WAY THE EDITING IS HERE I’M YELLING

“Be careful what you ask for”

“You don’t have a story” wow wow wow

I love this villain origin story, this is so cool 

So she just wants choice too?? 

Everyone in this world wants the freedom of choice but they don’t agree with other peoples choices and how they seek their agency and i think that is super interesting and provides for a lot of nuance 

Pib be out of tricks 

THE CROWNED WOMAN WAS THE EVIL QUEEN 

So they all have their own books now 

Emily backtracking is so funny 

The baron of bricks oooo

Legend lore once a day that will be so helpful 

So everyone has an idea of what's happening because they are only seeing it from their point of view yeah?

Yay long rest!!! No con saves only restful sleep 

ROSAMUND 

WHY DOES THIS FEEL LIKE A BAD IDEA

UHH

This certainly is an idea

God that was quite the episode

[benefits1986]

Houston’s Robyn

“Will you stay or will you run away?” Let’s tweak it a bit to something like: Choose to stay and make your own runway. YES?

From Gary Vee to Whitney Houston: I Wanna Dance With Somebody real quick because when I rewatched his interview with Steven, he said that his feed looks like a fuckin’ sunshine. Yeah?  Been more intentional in my own Netflix time because 2023 has been filled with a good number of urgent life matters plus deadlines and pivots. Mother Dragon loved Whitney and Madonna, too. So, I’ve been a silent fan of her songs, too. [Perhaps, one of the things I noticed during her duet with Mariah Carey is how she seemed to bow down to the diva. I didn’t understand why she had to tone her totality down. So weird for a 12-year old, right? Or is it because I dislike Mariah to bits?]  As I love documentaries since my elem days (Nat Geo during Health and Science class is my go-to because we don’t have cable.), Whitney Houston: As I Am hit home... hard. The storytelling is not as biting as that of Anthony Bourdain. Both ended their lives but, Anthony’s stories are celebratory and poetic. Whitney’s story seemed too flawed to the point that she was shrunken to a victim of race, of gender, of religion and the list goes on.  As I was watching her 2021 documentary, I can’t help but see how her story can be made better. She deserves it, given that she shattered silos even when she had to bow down and bend over too many times to pay everyone’s bills. She had to carry her cross that she chose because stereotypes and archetypes sell. There’s something so painful when there reports said that the cause of her death is OD that led her to slip in her bath; her last one.  Perhaps, one of the things I didn’t like is the angle where Robyn seemed an anti-hero, a distraction, a major fault. I keep shaking my head because for a world where queers rule, why the hell do women like Whitney and Robyn be taboo. Why can Freddie Mercury and Elton John get away with brandishing their vibe? Why can’t Whitney do the same or something even better? Why not?  Fast forward to 2023... I Wanna Dance With Someboday biopic seems to be nowhere near how colorful Bohemian Rhapsody is. Both are trending; but, I hoped it could have been a level up. Storyline is really good; however, it seemed to be another story peppered with SORRY. It could have been more slanted to social activism. It could have fleshed out the monologues inside the characters especially Whitney and Robyn.  Don’t get me wrong. The female gaze is definitely my cup of tea. I don’t know much about the director who is a female. Perhaps, she wanted to tell her story as it is. Perhaps, she wanted to see how the world crucified not only Whitney but all her derivatives from then until now. Perhaps, she wanted this movie to be a wake up call to the universe of capital gain rooted on muting women and their innate power. 

Some takeaways in the 2021 documentary and I Wanna Dance With Somebody are:  1 The world celebrated her but, her universe, her hood, cancelled her out.  2 Health in all aspects is wealth. PERIOD.  3 While blood is thicker than water, choosing your friends, your circle, your significant other is your salvation or your crucifixion.  4 Don’t run after goals that are not aligned with who you really are. Keep your goal list closest to you and let it be your Polaris.  5 The noise DOES NOT matter even though it may sound like a trance, a paradise, a promise of forever.  6 OD will never numb the pain. Feeling the pain when you’re numb is probably the saddest story in this lifetime and even the next.   7 No matter how powerful your voice is, make sure that it is yours, not anybody else’s.   8 Beating The Beatles & Elvis Presley is one for the books; but, the true battle is staying true to who you are, especially when no one is watching.  9 The spotlight is blinding and binding. Beware. Be very, very aware.  10 The ladder? Fuck the ladder. Make your runway. Run, fall, walk on your runway. It’s not gonna be easy, but it’s the road ought tot be taken.  11 Being a woman is both a gift and a curse. Use it well. Use it to tell YOUR story. Do not be but a character in the story that is forced upon you.  12 Set boundaries as you break boundaries.  13 Fuck Disney princess mindset. Women are queens, leaders, and influencers. Stay in this lane; and bring in other women, too, while at it.  14 Ask for help. Ask hard questions. Be comfortable with embracing your vulnerability.  15 Get a good lawyer and a good account, too.  16 Breathe. Breathe. Breathe.  17 Diamonds, especially the biggest ones, are usually not forever. Buy yourself flowers and diamonds instead of waiting for them to be gifted to you. Better yet, burn them if you want to, if you need to.  18 Strangers can change your life. Keep traveling to keep the strangers and fresh perspectives coming.  19 You need time off the grid to stop feeding the greed.  20 Be loyal to no one but yourself. 21 “Learning to love yourself is the greatest love of all.” 

Let this be the start of finding women who craft stories that are worth sharing. While I usually go back to the roads of Plato, Aristotle and Socrates’ derivatives, let this Gemini szn onward be for intentionally curating women who are unmuting themselves one message, one step at a time. 

[wolferine]

Home is You

Natasha Romanoff x Reader

Summary: You always said you’d die for Natasha. Your time has come.

Warnings: Graphic violence, blood, language, death

Word count: 1343

AN: Heavy angst ahead. Sorry in advance.

“Nat? Nat, I’m here!” You rush into the room, finding Natasha lying in a sea of bodies, both her arms tightly pressed over her abdomen. No one else seems to be moving but her. You see the dark blood staining through her sleeves and hurry to aid her. 

“Oh, Nat...” You hate seeing her hurt like this, especially knowing that you were too late to help her.

“It’s…It’s okay,” she pants, but suddenly screams when you accidentally nudge her leg as you kneel. You look at her legs and see both of them bent the wrong way at the knee.

“I’m sorry. I’m so sorry, baby,” you whisper. You busy yourself with searching for broken pieces of wood to splint her legs with. You tear off your sleeves to use as ties and remove your jacket to wrap around her stomach. 

“Come on, Nat. I’ll get you out of here,” you say, carefully shifting your hands underneath her to lift her off the ground.

BANG.

A ball of fire tears apart your right bicep and you inhale sharply, too stunned to scream. You look over your shoulder to find a HYDRA soldier sitting up against the wall, a gun propped up in his lap. With a growl of rage, you reach for the nearest weapon—a hatchet—and hurl it at the soldier. The blade meets the center of his face and you turn back towards Natasha without missing a beat.

“I got you, okay?” With your own blood trickling down your arm, you manage to pick Natasha up and drape her over your back without upsetting her stomach or legs too much. The tunnels are dark and claustrophobic as you retrace your steps towards the exit.

“Hang on for me, okay, Nat?” you say, murmuring words of assurance every few seconds to keep her awake. Natasha isn’t speaking, but you can feel her weak, hot breaths on the back of your neck.

She’ll never admit to how much pain she’s in, but given how quiet she currently is, you know it’s serious.

You reach the ladder and climb it as fast as you dare, but it’s difficult with Natasha’s added weight and the diminishing use of your right arm. The air is significantly lighter once you climb out of the hole and you inhale a huge breath gratefully.

“Steve!” you call, refusing to put Natasha on the floor for even a second. “Steve, I found her!”

“Is she—Oh, God.” Steve races around the corner, his face covered in sweat and dirt. “Oh, Romanoff.”

“I’m still alive, Rogers,” Natasha coughs.

“Save your energy,” you shush, but Natasha is determined to explain what happened.

“They…They found a way into the tunnels,” she says. “I fought off most of them and blew up some walls, but they’ll find a way. They always do.” 

“You two need to get out of here,” Steve advises.

“How?” you ask, your question emphasized by the storm of bullets raining down on the walls of the bunker. If you didn’t know any better, you would have guessed they sounded like heavy rain.

“Take the car.” Steve digs into his pocket for the key and shoves it into your hand. “I’ll try and hold them off until you reach it.”

“What about you?” you ask.

“Don’t worry about me.” He glances over at the giant, whirring hunk of metal bolted to the ground that the three of you had been sent to protect. It contained a nuclear reactor, which SHIELD hadn’t even been sure existed at all. However, once the three of you entered the bunker, you accidentally tripped the alarm, which sent hundreds of HYDRA agents to smoke you out.  

“SHIELD is on their way. I’ll hold off HYDRA until then,” Steve says. You don’t envy him at all, but you don’t want him to be alone either. “Romanoff needs medical attention now. The longer you wait—”

“I got her.” You will not let Natasha die here, even if it means risking your life to get her out.

“Good luck.”

The car is less than 100 yards from the bunker, but with the never-ending gunfire from every direction, you know there’s a slim chance you’ll make it unscathed. But your goal is to protect Natasha, and you will do that in any way you can.

“Ready?” you whisper to Natasha, who nods sleepily against your back. “Hang on just a little longer, okay?”

You kick the door down and burst out at full speed. A spray of bullets kick up a wall of dirt that obscures your vision, but you lower your head and run as fast as you can. You hear nothing but the pounding of blood in your ears, your adrenaline spiking so high you don’t even notice the multiple bullets that puncture through your chest and stomach.

Blood suddenly pours out of your mouth and you fall to your knees when a bullet severs your spine, paralyzing you from the waist down. Everything goes numb as you start crawling, not hesitating for a second.

“You’re almost there,” Natasha encourages behind you, feeling the wetness of your blood on her stomach.

“Almost…there…” you repeat, pushing with your elbows until they’re skinned to the muscle. You reach the car, and with the last of your strength, you open the passenger door and boost Natasha inside.

But you’re too weak to climb in yourself, and Natasha can’t help you, so you rest your back against the car door, wheezing in agonized bursts.

“Here,” you gasp, forcing the car key into her palm and squeezing her hand. “Just go.” You don’t mind being left behind if it means keeping her safe.

Bullets shatter the window, spilling glass into your hair and lap.

“I…I’m not leaving you,” Natasha says, refusing to let go of your hand. She doesn’t have the heart to remind you that she can’t drive with two broken legs, anyway. “I’m staying with you until the end.”

Your mouth hangs open, drooling blood onto your shirt. Every breath is like a knife in your chest, and you’re pretty sure you can hear the rattling of bullets bouncing around your insides.

This is not the end you had pictured, bleeding puddles onto the ground, sitting on an active battlefield next to your lover you were helpless to protect any longer.

“I…I’m sorry, Nat,” you whisper.

“For what?”

“Not…Not being able to protect you.” Each word takes a colossal effort. “You always deserved better than me.”

“No,” Natasha says, reaching down to and stroke your cheek. “I couldn’t have asked for anyone better.” Her own breathing stutters, but she tries to hide it from you. She knows neither of you are going anywhere, and this is quite possibly your last few minutes together.

“There…There were so many things…I wish we could’ve done,” you say, tears running freely down your cheeks.

“We did enough,” Natasha replies. “Thank you for everything.” 

The car rocks as bullets penetrate its side.

“I’m scared to die,” you whimper.

“Don’t be. I’ll be right here with you,” Natasha says, squeezing your hand tightly. You try and return the pressure, but you have as much strength as a newborn.

“I don’t want to leave you.”

“You won’t. I’m going with you, too.”

You painfully shift your neck and catch sight of her bloodied and torn body. As devastating as it is to see your girlfriend in such a state, it is a mild comfort that you won’t be apart for long.

“I love you,” you gasp, as blood fills your lungs to drown you.

“I love you, too.”

Your body begins to convulse in shock, but you don’t let go of Natasha’s hand.

“It’s okay. Just rest now,” Natasha says, unable to stop her flood of tears.

Your vision starts to darken and you struggle to keep your eyes open. You want her to be the last thing you see.

Natasha squeezes your hand in good-bye.

Through the gunshots echoing between your ears, the last thing you hear is her calm, soothing voice. 

“See you in a minute…”

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AN: Crying, screaming, throwing up. I based this off a scene in Sweet Home but added extra angst for my readers.

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Thanks for reading, and until next time…

[wri0thesley]

Nat. NAT. I just saw your concept about naoya "training" his wife by just throwing her in the room and just watching her struggle to defend herself... Until she ofc breaks and begs him to protect her🙈 you have a MASSIVE brain, the biggest and horniest brain nat can you please write this concept for the event😭😭 maybe w 45 and any other dark or spicy add ons that you see fit!

traditional discipline - naoya x fem!reader (3.3k)

naoya has had enough of you, and resorts to an unusual method of discipline.

warnings: not sfw/minors dni. DARK CONTENT. unhealthy relationship/marriage. fearplay, dacryphilia, finger-sucking, cock-sucking, punishment, threat of violence and death. dubious consent. afab reader with fem pronouns. 

[a/n: this concept literally wouldn’t leave me alone. i’m sorry to all of the readers who are naoya’s wife i’m always so horrible to them]

The room goes quiet as Naoya hauls you out of it by your upper arm.

It’s an easy mistake, a simple slip-up; accidentally talking over your husband. But it’s one in a slew you’ve been making recently, despite Naoya thinking that you were polite and well-bred and knew your place. He’s sick of it, to be quite frank; he doesn’t have time to be correcting you when you should already know how to behave.

You’ve done accidental, small things since the two of you were married. Denying him when he rolled you onto your back at night. Not standing quite as far behind him as you should. Pouring tea for other people before him. He’s given you swift reprimand with both his words and his hands, but . . . it’s clearly not sinking into your pretty little head, is it?

He warned you about this.

“Next time,” he’d growled to you, when you’d laughed too loud at a joke that one of his brothers had made and not laughed at one of his, “I’m going to teach you a real lesson.”

He tells you about the ‘training and discipline room’ on the Zenin estate later that night. A room that the family use for honing cursed techniques, both for practising and for learning purposes, when someone needs to be brought down a peg or two. It’s full of cursed spirits – all the way up to grade two, which makes your blood run cold.

Of course, you have cursed energy. You even have a careful little technique; one that would wrap your enemies up in vines, if you’d ever been allowed to train to use it for anything other than keeping your well-appointed garden neat and orderly. Naoya would not have married someone without either of those things, lest they not bear him fruitful children--

But you have never been allowed to use it for anything more.

The women of your clan are pretty decoration, with no need to learn anything other than how to behave and how to please their masters-and-husbands. You would be useless, thrown into the den of the wolves like that.

“Please don’t,” you’d said to him, your voice all soft and gentle, trying to be appeasing. “Please. I promise I’ll try harder.”

Naoya had taken your chin between thumb and forefinger, the grin across his face very sharp as his light eyes took in the pleading in your own gaze. You remember how the light had hit his earrings, the look of satisfaction at your begging and having you utterly and completely under his thumb.

“Be good,” he’d breathed, all slow and drawling. “And I won’t have to, will I?”

And he’d bid you to get on your knees for him and show you just how good you could be. Starting with your mouth.

So you know where he’s dragging you, down the labyrinthine halls of the estate. You try and pull back, feet sliding on the tatami mat, your voice pitching as you say;

“Naoya, please, I’m sorry--”

“Women should be seen and not heard,” he says to you. “Don’t make a fuss like that. You earned this.”

Your eyes are filling with tears, hot fear clawing its way up your throat.

“I’ll do anything,” you say to him, despite knowing that it’s a dangerous bargain to give him. He almost considers it for a moment, pausing – but then, his fingers just dig harder into the softness of your bicep (you’re going to bruise), and he tugs you.

“You’re making a scene,” he says. “If you don’t stop, I’ll leave you in there even longer.” You try to wrench your arm out of his grip, all of your self-defense mechanisms going into overdrive as you recognise the door he’s leading to you too. You’re breathless, so frightened you think that your heart might stop.

Naoya opens the door and pulls you in. You almost stumble at the flight of stairs, but he clicks his tongue at you in annoyance.

“So clumsy,” he drawls. “And here I was, under the impression I was marrying a graceful, lovely, credit to her family--” More steps, until he’s gotten you in the middle of the floor. He gazes around him, and you hear the low hum of a hundred cursed spirit’s voices murmuring the same things, over and over again. “The only time you’re a credit to them is with your legs spread.”

“Naoya,” you whimper, torn between pushing yourself into him for the comfort and protection that you know he can offer, or trying to tear away from him and escape the room yourself. You know the second option won’t work – he’s far faster, far stronger than you – but it’s hard to think of anything when you feel like your very survival is teetering impossibly over your head.

“If you run,” he says, still in that cold, uninterested drawl, “I’ll break one of your ankles.”

You don’t think he’s bluffing. Naoya says a lot of things, yes – but he’s also reckless and proud enough to mean them. You stand there, next to him, feeling yourself begin to tremble.

“W-why aren’t they attacking yet?” You ask him, voice very small. He looks at you pityingly.

“They’re afraid of me, obviously,” he says to you, very slowly, like he’s explaining it to somebody very stupid. “I didn’t get this good at everything by not training myself, darling.” He lets go of you, finally, a whistle escaping his pursed mouth as he rocks on the balls of his feet. He’s supremely unconcerned by your fear. “When I’m gone, they’ll come out for you.”

Your eyes fill with tears.

“What am I supposed to do?” You ask him, desperation leaking into your cracked voice. “I can’t—I can’t protect myself--”

Naoya narrows his eyes.

“You should have thought about that before you were such a pain,” he replies. And, without further ado, he turns around and begins to ascend the stairs again. You turn with him, moving forward, stumbling in your haste and ending up sprawled at the bottom of the stairs with your hand pathetically fisted into the hem of his hakama.

He looks down at you with a disgusted sneer on his face, and you hate that even with that expression his features are still unmistakably handsome.

“Let go,” he says. “Have some dignity.”

“Please,” you repeat. You can feel a fat tear spilling from the corner of your eye down the curve of your cheeks. You know the ‘dignity’ statement is a dig; the fact that you’ve heard his family members calling your clan power-hungry undignified gold-digging whores, but you can’t bring yourself to care when you can see the beginning of shadows spilling out too far into the main floor of the room. “Naoya. Please.”

He kicks out at your wrist, face twisted in distaste, and you let go to avoid it being stood on and crushed under his strength. You cradle it against your chest, looking up at him still all desperate and afraid.

“If I helped,” he said to you, “you’d never learn your lesson.” He takes a step up and turns away completely from you, as if you’re nothing more than an ignored child on the street. “It will be good for you, beloved wife. Character-building.” You hear the smirk in his voice and you hate him.

You want to strangle him. You want to beg him to protect you. You want to tear him limb from limb, but you want him to let you bury your head in his chest as he dispels the spirits with ease. You want--

The door slams shut behind him. He’s too cheerful as he throws behind him;

“Good luck!”

And you are left alone.

It takes a moment before anything slithers out from the shadows, and you clap your hand over your mouth to stop yourself screaming. The first cursed spirit is a hunched over creature with the face of a Pierrot clown, mouth stretched impossibly wide with gaping black abyss where eyes ought to be. It’s whispering something over and over to itself, but the wide mouth is so crowded with teeth that it comes out as an incomprehensible noise, dripping drool as it begins to move horrifically slowly towards you.

Oh, God. You’re not supposed to look at them, are you? You dimly recall something about many sorcerers wearing glasses so the creatures can’t tell where their gazes are, but this one has already got the scent of you; those dark pits staring at your crumpled form.

Everything you’ve ever been told in passing about jujutsu and cursed spirits and cursed technique just seems to flow out of your mind to be replaced by mind-numbing fear. You’ve not been trained for this; when your clan had arranged your marriage with Naoya, you know that they’d expected fine silken kimonos and traditional food and you being a pretty trophy on the arm of the future leader of their clan. You know they’d be horrified if they saw what was happening.

More of them are melting from the shadows, the whispering and moaning reaching a terrifying crescendo. You’re trembling. Your heart is beating so fast inside of your chest you think it might break free of your ribcage and sputter out onto the floor.

The Pierrot monster is close enough that you can see the six hands it drags on the floor are all tipped with claws that are sharp as blades. You scramble up the stairs on your ass, too afraid to turn your back on the creatures. You realise you’re shouting, but it seems just as blurred as anything that the cursed spirits are saying. You’re crying, too – howling, whimpering, so scared you’re surprised any noise is able to come out at all.

You’re going to die.

It hits you with cruel certainty as you reach the top and throw your weight at the door, only for it to not give an inch. You scramble at the heavy wood, not caring about your careful manicure (Naoya wants you to be a credit to him, and that means manicures and facial treatments and a fancy bathroom full of soaps and creams that he expects you to use and that he slathers, too, on himself). You hear a nail break but you can’t bring yourself to worry about that when the Pierrot monster is dragging itself up the flight of stairs, one step at a time. It makes a hideous sliding thump, like it’s both wet and heavy – and you notice, too, the scent of blood invading your senses.

Your tear-blurred eyes can see all of the other monsters, too – not quite as close, but still too close for comfort. Too many eyes and not enough eyes, too many legs, claws and teeth and misshapen bones and blood leaking from holes. What are you supposed to do?

Naoya has left you here, alone, to teach you a lesson. You hadn’t realised the lesson would culminate in your death, but with all of the spirits so close to you, you cannot see any other way.

All of the fight goes out of you and you sag against the door, a broken sob escaping your lips. Your throat is dry from hoarse screaming.

You are going to die. You hope it will come quick; you hope the Pierrot monster will tear you limb from limb and you’ll die in instants from the shock. Your voice whispers Naoya’s name one last, hopeless time.

Will he find another wife? Will they even bother covering up your death, or will they spin some rumour or lie to your family and the whole of jujutsu society that you brought it upon yourself?

You would do anything to be rescued right now. You would crawl on your hands and knees behind Naoya for the rest of your life, refer to him only as ‘Master’, fulfil every single thing he ever asked you with no more than a meek nod of your head. Pull out your tongue so you couldn’t make any more mistakes.

But the time for pleading seems to have gone entirely, and you are useless and stupid and weak as you run out of tears, eyes burning. All you can do, you think, is wait for death.

The door swings open behind you and you’re dragged backwards, onto tatami, by powerful hands gripping your shoulders as it closes once more with a massive clunk that echoes in your ears--

And you find yourself strewn out on the floor, face caked with dried tear-tracks, a trembling, pathetic mess looking up at your husband’s face.

He leans against the door, listening to you scream. He can hear his name mixed in with sobs and screams and pleading; saying that you’ll do anything, you’re sorry, you’ll never disobey him again you’ll take any punishment he metes out with a smile on your face, if he just helps you. He hears you call yourself weak and pathetic and useless around the tears clogging your throat; he hears the thump of you hitting the door and the sound of your nails scratching down the wood, uncaring of anything other than getting away from them.

Yes, he thinks as he opens the door for you and you fall, shivering and sobbing, in front of him. Yes, he thinks you’ve learnt your lesson.

You’re so pretty, he thinks, closing it once more (he sees the cursed spirits begin to creep back to where they came from at the very sight of him, now their preferred victim is protected), with your eyes all glassy and wet. You’re extra pretty looking at him like he’s a conquering hero who’s saved you from certain death – which he supposes he is.

You cling to his arm, pulling yourself up, burying your face in his chest as your hands cling to him like you’ve been lost and he’s the first familiar thing you’ve seen in months. Your tears soak his kimono, but . . . he finds himself not really minding, as big, lean hands pet you gently on the back.

“It’s alright now,” he soothes you, murmuring low. “Your husband has you.”

“Please, please, ‘m so sorry--” You’re mumbling into him, whimpering, your shoulders shaking. “Please never m-make me, again--”

“Shhh,” he continues, gently beginning to move towards his chambers. You cling to him, adrift in a sea of your own fears. “It’s better now. You’ll be better now, won’t you?”

He receives a fierce nod for that, your fingers twisting into his clothing. It’s nice, having you so wrapped around him; seeing him as the strong protector that he knows he is but you needed reminding of. You’re still mewling little pleas into him even as he unlocks the door to his bedroom and gently pushes you in. Letting go of him even for a moment seems to cause you physical pain--

Good. You should feel like that. You should feel incomplete without him at your side. Naoya rewards you with a rare, soft smile.

“You know why you had to be punished like that, don’t you?” He purrs to you, petting your hair and carefully drawing back so he can look at your face. Your lips are all swollen from crying and biting; he thinks you’ve never looked quite so kissable as you do right now.

“Yes,” you nod, fiercely. “I’m sorry. I’ll do a-anything, I promise. I . . .” You swallow, your eyes filling with tears again. Naoya has been hard since the moment he heard you call out his name from inside the training room, your voice filled with choked tears, and watching them well up again does nothing for the stricture against the fabric. “I needed you.”

“And I saved you,” he says, arching an elegant brow – to which you nod again, and your hands drift towards him like you’re aimless without him in front of you to serve. “I’ll protect you, darling, as long as you learn your place.”

“I will!” That’s said with such conviction that he can’t help the smirk that tugs at the corner of his mouth. “I will. N-Naoya . . .” Your voice trembles a little. “’m willing to do anything for you. J-just please . . . not again.”

“Shh,” he reaches out and deigns to touch you, to gently and soothingly rub his thumb over your cheek, where the tears have dried. “If you’re really going to be so good for me, I won’t have to, will I?” You stumble forward onto your knees and Naoya’s brows shoot up in surprise as your hands tug at his hakama.

“Please let me show you how grateful I am,” you whisper, your eyes wide and bright and desperate. “Naoya, please, please, please--”

Oh, there’s something so gratifying about you like this, begging to suck his cock. It stirs between his thighs again, reminding him that he’s painfully stiff; and you are here, a willing mouth, scared out of your skull and desperate to please him. He’s smirking at you but you do not register it as such; all you see is the smile of your rescuer.

Your protector.

Your husband.

“Say what you want to do to me, darling,” he tells you, keeping his voice as sweet as he can make it. “You’re a big girl. You can use your words. What do you want to do, to show me how grateful you are that I saved your paltry life?”

You’re pouting; your mouth is sweet, pretty. He wants to pry your jaw open and fuck the back of your throat, and his body roars as your fingers tug on the hakama again and your meek, soft voice whispers;

“Please let me suck your cock.”

“You have a dirty mouth,” he coos to you, leaning forward to brush a finger over your lower lip. “Not befitting of a woman of your station. I suppose that means that it’s up to me to keep you quiet, hmm?”

You obediently open it, letting his finger gently rest on your tongue for a moment.

Desperate to please, your mouth closes about it, your tongue gently swiping over the pad, your cheeks hollowing a little as you suck on the digit inside of them. Naoya’s smiling again, the victorious grin of someone who’s gotten exactly what they wanted. He pulls his finger out and thrusts back in with two, whispering to you;

“Do you think you deserve my cock, after what you put me through today?”

You shake your head, but you don’t stop lavishing attention on the fingers in your mouth, a string of drool falling from the corner of your mouth as he presses his third finger inside of it. So warm, and wet. He needs his cock to be inside of you or he thinks he may embarrass himself.

The fingers are pulled out, wiped on the hakama fabric, before he says (the carefully adopted tone almost disinterested);

“Take them off, then. Don’t make your promises empty words. I wouldn’t appreciate such thoughtlessness in a wife.”

You’re eager, stripping off his clothes. Your mouth practically waters at the sight of his cock; elegant, flushed, hard and straining with a light upwards curve that he knows will hit you in the right place at the back of your throat to make you gag.

“Wait,” he says, as you lean in to bring him to your lips. “What do you say, darling?”

Your eyes (still brimming with tears, he notices – and fuck, he loves how you look teary-eyed and pouting. He has to make you cry more often) meet his, but the look in yours is worshipful so he doesn’t chide you for having the insolence to meet his gaze directly.

“Thank you,” you breathe. “For saving me. For letting me suck your cock. For everything.”

Naoya is smiling.

“Good girl,” he says, placidly, as you place a delicate kiss on the head of his cock and slowly envelope it in the warmth of your mouth. “Very good.”