Pairings: Bucky x Fem Reader
(y/n is **** - makes my life easier)
Warnings: Angst, Cheating, Pregnancy, Domestic Abuse, Postpartum, Guns, Running Away, Swearing, Abandonment, Possessiveness, Divorce, Dark/Mafia Themes.
Summary: The Affair doesn't surprise you. Bucky pointing a gun at you didn't scare you, him threatening to shoot you didn't make you flinch. He crossed a line and you run, cutting ties with your ex, baby, everything you had built over the past decade. Desperate you call an old friend and hope they can help...
The affair didn't surprise you.
There was a small part of you that believed all men were the same and your husband would one day act a fool.
Leaving the party to nurse your baby you paced the halls while patting your babies back. Your son was fussy but you would rather spend time with your four-month old than your husband's associates.
A giggle had drawn your attention and thinking a guest with their conquest had found a spare room to fuck and you peaked in curious. The door was stupidly left ajar, who would be so bold?
There you were, a new mother, wife to the scariest man in the state, watched as your husband felt up the daughter to the Senator.
A barely legal petite thing that was the typical stereotype for any man past their 30s with a wife they'd been with for a decade.
A part of you wanted to nudge the door open with your toe and make yourself known. You wanted to see their expressions of desire mutate to guilt and embarrassment... instead you held your baby closer and walked away.
You didn't need to see your husband face fuck someone other than you.
Sitting in your rocking chair in the nursery you browsed the internet, tablet propped by your nursing pillow, door locked. You had ignored the party goers and responded by texts that you wanted to be alone and not to be bothered.
The prenuptial agreement you had signed was haunting you.
Love really made you stupid.
Nearly ten years together, four married, and you get nothing.
You wouldn't be entitled to spousal support and the past you was okay with that, the independent you had plans to succeed and impress. That was before your husband convinced you to drop your stressful lifestyle and be a kept woman who did charity work.
Years wasted - not that you regret helping others - but it left you with a résumé gap and little in personal savings under your name.
Your husband - no - James - no - Bucky was generous and you wanted for nothing.
Going from a shoebox with roommates to a literal mansion was humbling. If you weren't breastfeeding you'd have a glass of wine or better yet a cold beer. Sober minded while contemplating your life choices hurt.
Wiping at your eyes you didn't know if it was a bad sign you'd cry over giving up your dreams but not watching your hus-Bucky get a blow job?
No... you needed to be smart and think.
Clearly your marriage was over and running off without your son wasn't an option you had no choice but to stay and wait. The door knob rattled and you ignored the soft taps on the door, "****?"
Picking up your phone you called your hus-Bucky who was quick to pick up. "What?"
"What? Why are you locked in the fucking nursery?" Bucky was confused, blow jobs tended to remove blood from the big brain to the smaller one.
"I'm having a mommy moment."
You hear him sigh, "God **** really?"
"Yep. Goodnight." And you hangup.
Tonight you'll sleep in the nursery and in the morning you'll visit a lawyer.
The thing is, everyone knows who you are.
Everyone who is everyone knows who you are and the trick is to leave the baby with the nanny and go for a spa day. Your technician just so happened to be the ex girlfriend of your ex boyfriend who turned into your best friend. While your face is caked with a matcha tea treatment you sip a glass of apple cider bubbly and FaceTime her husband.
An attorney willing to give you legal advice but not sit across the table from a man who could kill him.
You didn't begrudge the man of course.
Once the call had been called off you were no closer about what to do.
Bucky leaned against the door watching, you were sleeping on the small sofa that had been dragged in that day. Before that it was the floor or the chair. For a week he had allowed it but Bucky was missing you, his wife.
Picking you up he smiled when you naturally snuggled against him, it wasn't a long trek to the master suite, and he set you down gently. A frown marred your brow and he tried to smooth it over with no luck.
When morning came you were no longer in his arms but locked away in the nursery. That morning Bucky canceled all of his meetings instead waiting for you to emerge with their son in your arms, "You're here?" The surprise on your face saddened him.
"Missed you." He moved to pick up his son, awake and fussy, Bucky tried kissing you but you turned away to pour yourself a cup of coffee. "****?" The baby squirmed and he patted his back.
"Hmm?" You sat at the island dragging the paper closer to you.
"Your daily horoscope sounds ominous." You tap on your own side, "I think I'll play my numbers today."
"****?" Bucky tried reaching out wanting to at least touch you but you slid off the stool and went to the massive refrigerator.
"I'll cook lunch. We have..."
Frustrated Bucky snaps, "What the fuck is wrong with you?"
"Me? I'm hungry, you sound like you need a nap." Closing the fridge with a head shake you said, "Forget it. I think I'll go out, spend some son daddy time, I'm going out."
"What? Wait!" But you were gone. Not willing to be ignored Bucky followed, purposely keeping his voice low less he caused his baby to cry. "Where do you think you're going?" He watched as you climbed stairs.
Bucky hated Italian, a bad deal fucked with his love of pasta. The man of course followed, "No. We're going to that stupid diner you like." The man was quick to pass you and into the master suite.
The baby was gently put down on the mattress and Bucky walked into the closet that looked like its own bedroom with the size of it. "Doll I'm in no mood to argue. You've been a right bitch this week and I'm sick of it."
Hands on your hips you glanced over at your baby then the closet. It was a horrible decision but you turned on your heel and walked out. You had already rung the chauffeur and though you were wearing clothes that hadn't been changed in two days with a questionable stain on one shoulder, hair a hot mess, no makeup, no jewelry, and house slippers, you all but ran to the front door and into your Bentley.
Your driver shifted in his seat but didn't move, "I'm sorry ma'am but..."
Swearing you got out of the car and went to the driver's side, opening the door and the man was quick to unbuckle himself and hop out. Before you could speed off you rolled down your window and held out a hand fingers wiggling.
"He'll kill me." The driver whined, showing off his youth.
"Shit... ok... alright..." he fumbled with his wallet and pulled out a hundred-dollar bill and handed it over.
"Thank you!" And you were gone.
Home was a place that lived in the days before food service had health inspectors. A diner with florescent lights, aged linoleum, and wait staff that gave no shits.
Sitting in a booth you remembered being yours at ungodly hours years ago you ordered more food than you could eat. You weren't sure why you were here, here was a horrible choice, it was the place you had met Bucky.
The man stumbled into your booth, intoxicated.
You should have walked away, you should have known drunkards would make you miserable, a pretty smile and slurred compliments shouldn't have led you to the altar.
Stabbing at your second plate of scrambled eggs you hated how salty they tasted. Your tears made them taste horrible. Stuck in your own world of wallowing you didn't notice the Mercedes that parked beside yours, you didn't see how your car was quickly drove away by Peter, you didn't see your hus-Bucky enter with a scowl twisting his handsome features, his boots scuffing on the linoleum as he spotted you in their corner, you didn't pay him any mind when he paused at the end of your table more concerned over your eggs and wiping the tears away from tainting your breakfast.
Bucky was ready for a fight.
What he wasn't ready for was seeing your booth cluttered with dishes and you crying.
Like the time you had lost a business contract, your grandmother passing, your goldfish nose diving into the toilet, the depressing moment were of course surrounded by food and the depressing atmosphere of the diner... except this time it wasn't him sitting across from you sharing food but an empty space where he should have been.
You didn't spare him a glance and after all these years he hated to see you cry. Valiant as ever, fighting back your emotions. Your lips would tremble and face crumble but a second later you'd smooth it over as if smothering a grease fire that just didn't die.
Bucky tried reaching out, he managed to settle a hand over yours before you slipped away again. The anger from earlier came back, "Stop that."
Only then did you spare him a look. It was a hard blank stare and Bucky felt it. Worry. Guilt tickled his conscious but he smoothed it down and waited. He didn't have to wait long, your spine had straightened and you leaned back in your seat, tears ignored and nose sniffing back the snot that made it damp looking. "Your son?"
"Our son is with the Nanny."
"You should be watching him."
"You're his mother and yet you ran away to mope." He tacked on just as harshly.
Your lip quirked up and you crossed your arms, "When was the last time you fed him a bottle Bucky?"
Bucky frowned, you hadn't called him that in ages. "What did you call me?"
"You've changed how many diapers? One? Two? You come home, kiss him goodnight, and sleep. Five minutes. Exactly 5 fucking minutes before you push him away."
Nudging plates aside Bucky leaned forward, "I'm working ****, everything we have comes with sacrifice."
"Ah. Work." You nod your head, "2 am meetings and missed births."
Bucky pinched the bridge of his nose, "How many times do I need to apologize ****? I'm sorry okay. I was..."
"In L.A. with a red-head that's infamous for her head game." You interrupt not wanting to hear about a meeting that never existed and you too stupid to not see.
Bucky stumbles, his eyes shift taking in your expression, stance, and finally the room before trying to salvage the moment. "Texas sweetheart, remember? I was in meetings all day..."
"Meetings... wow..." you had been stupid to listen and forgive the bastard for missing the birth of their child.
If your pregnancy and birth hadn't been so complicated and traumatic maybe this wouldn't have happened? "You like real girls. No boob job or fillers and she's cute. Hell, if I wasn't in labor half dead I'd fuck her."
Bucky licked his lips and tried again, forcing a smile on his lips, "Honey..."
"I liked those twins too." You interrupt watching his face smooth over, "Cutting it close with those two though. Barely turned legal and you paid for their citizenship. Too bad I was on bed rest, how many Viagra pills did you swallow for that all nighter?" Hadn't that been a doozy of a moment, pictures in hand of two pretty barely legal twins that still had that young look. It had made you dive deep and contemplate murder to make sure your husband wasn't a closet pedophile.
You had a newborn after all.
Freaks came in all shapes and sizes, money just hid them better.
Bucky rubbed the nape of his neck and looked around, "We can talk about this later."
"Talk?" You peer out the tinted windows, not really seeing the world outside your reflection. "There's nothing to talk about Bucky."
"My name's ****." His face falls when you say your full name, your premarital name. "I'm not your Doll, baby, sweetie, I'm **** your baby mama." It hurts to say but you say it.
"You're my wife." He points a finger at you.
"On paper. We both know how little you care about government contracts."
Bucky's fist hits the table, a plate topples and the rest shake, "In the eyes of God you're mine. You carry my name, you had my baby, you sure as fuck aren't something as hackneyed as a baby mama!"
"Stop calling me Bucky! I'm your husband not the schmuck you met in the beginning."
"You stopped being my husband last week, you remember that mingle right? The one where what's her name," you snapped your fingers feigning memory loss, "The Senators daughter. Red dress? She was blowing you in the study, the one right by your son's nursery." Leaning in you whisper, "Should I invite her for tea and ask for tips?"
Bucky stood, a nasty look on his face. His teeth were clenched and cheeks flushed in anger, embarrassment, both? "That's enough!" He grit out before removing himself from the booth and with shaky hands removed a 100$ bill from his money clip and tossed it on the platter of cold sausage links. "Home. Now."
You didn't fight him when he gripped your wrist, you didn't dig your heels into the linoleum as you were dragged out, he opened the car door for you and stood over you as if daring you to not get in. Your eyes darted to his gun that was strapped in a holster at his side, you sat down and slid over. Bucky sat and before he could close his door you were out the other side and slamming the door in the mans face.
You can hear him screaming your name muffled by the interior before the door is swung open and Bucky gets out red-faced and livid.
You had on a pair of house slippers, loafers, whatever they were called they were expensive with rubber soles and encased your foot which was a good thing because you ran through traffic.
"****!" Bucky screams, horrified as cars honk and tires squeal to keep from hitting you.
Bucky never leaves the house without guards. You know as you finally made it to the other side that you were being tailed by the quickest - Sam - and you knew he would hunt you down. It's happened before, once when you found out your hus-Bucky was some mob boss, Sam had been the last person chasing you from one part of the city and to the other.
It was Sam who jogged with you in the mornings, afternoon, night, whenever.
It was also Sam who you thought was your friend never told you. Finding out that almost everyone but you knew was heart-wrenching. You also knew, really knew, they were loyal to the Family and their employer. You were just that french fry in a bag of onion rings, a treat.
Time had no meaning when you ran. Even now when your gait slows and it's just you weaving through crowds and traffic with Sam a quiet guardian that keeps pace but there's no banter or friendly shoves.
Eventually you find yourself in an unfamiliar part of the city with crumbling infrastructure and few bodies that you pass. Chest heaving, legs prickling and feeling like your bones were hot pokers, you leaned heavily against the chain link fence and try to breathe.
Sam tries to touch you as he was the touchy feely sort, always ready for a hug and comfortable shoulder to lean on, but you turn away from him. The tears did nothing but annoy you, by now you should have run out of them but they fell freely as your legs all but wobbled as you walked away.
It was better to say nothing less you go off.
Sam wouldn't give you the satisfaction of a fight. He was paid well enough to handle any verbal abuse lunged at him and it would be pointless. No one was your friend, your old friends long gone, the people who you broke bread with and baked birthday cakes were employees, loyal dogs to the man who was supposed to be your husband.
In sickness and in health.
Hands on your knees you willed yourself to not throw up as beads of sweat and tears intermingled on the cracked sidewalk. It didn't take long for several cars to pull up and park half hazardly around you. Bucky in all his bad guy glory stepped out - sunglasses, toothpick, and gun. He adjusted his button up jacket and pulled out his gun, holding it lazily, and you couldn't help but chuckle at the sight.
If he couldn't sweet talk then he'd rely heavily on his reputation of douchery.
"Get in the car sweetheart."
You were thirsty, licking your lips reminded you of that fact. "What are you gonna do Bucky, shoot me?"
He bites down on the toothpick and you ignore him as he spits it out, "Now's not the time for your shit," he shakes the gun at you, up and down, he looks composed but his hands are trembling. "Get. In. The. Fucking. Car."
Would he shoot you in broad daylight?
No one in the small crowd of guards - all of which you knew their name, birthdays, and allergies - would blink if he killed you. They'd help him hide your body or maybe do prison time. Taking the rap for your homicide. You wipe your face but the hot salty trails are never-ending, it makes your eyes itch. "Dont you have a meeting to get to?"
"****." He points the gun at you.
"Gotta fill your quota of fresh meat." You taunt.
"Get in the car or I swear to god..."
"Shoot me?" You smile and hold out your arms, "Go for it." You move closer, step by step, ignoring the wide-eyed look of Sam and hesitant glances of several guards. "Or are you gonna pistol whip me?" The gun presses against your shoulder, "Tie me up and feed me to Nemo?"
"****!" He seethes, "Don't tempt me."
"Do you really want to die?" He moves the gun, barrel pressed between your eyes. "Leave me, leave our son behind?"
"I'm sure with your money you'll upgrade just fine." He removes the safety.
"James!" Sam shouts, both hands out.
Bucky digs the gun into your skin and you can see his finger toying with the trigger.
He bares his teeth and grits out, "Get in the car."
There's rage in the sound he makes, like a barely contained scream. Bucky lunges at you, his fingers claws as his free hand chokes you and the gun digs into your cheek. "Say it." Spittle clings to his lips, "Again."
His nails dig into your flesh and it's hard to breathe but you try, it's a croak mess of a try but Bucky knows you would if you could, the gun goes off. It's a loud pop by your ear and you flinch at the sound but jump when the heated barrel hovers by your face.
You can feel it and you know it'll burn if it touches you.
"James, stop, **** is your wife." Sam tries to step in with both hands up but it does nothing but piss him off.
Bucky sneers before he's leading you backwards by your throat to his car. Your feet drag and you nearly trip but he shoves you inside before getting in as well. "Don't bother with the doors." He returns his gun back into its holster. "You're grounded until further notice."
"Grounded?" You scoff, "You can't..."
"I'm your husband." He says as if that was the end of the conversation. The car moves and you wait, you wait for Bucky to get comfortable enough to spend time on his phone and the car to hit the highway at a speed worthy of a ticket.
You move before it could register. Your body lunging over the console, elbowing the driver, and grasping at the wheel. Consequences be dammed you jerk the wheel careening into the opposite lane, cars honking, tires screeching, and swears filling the car as the driver fights you for the wheel. Bucky is screaming at you - yes you were fucking crazy - and manages to drag you back where he attempts to hold you but you weren't some defenseless house wife that relies on money, you fight.
Legs kicking, nails scratching, fists punching, you bite Bucky somewhere and the car eventually manages to turn into the emergency lane. The driver is quick to get out and circle the car with a roll of duck tape he pulled right out of his ass and it takes two men - driver and Sam - to restrain your legs before your ankles could be bind followed by your wrists, after they flipped you over and Bucky had to contort himself to help.
It was bucky who taped your mouth shut before having no choice but to leave the backseat and switch to the front cursing in his native language for the world to hear.
Making it home you are carried by two people into your home in front of staff and acquaintances, lead into your master suite where Bucky paces in your peripheral, you had been laid on your far too big bed, for a long while it didn't matter how big the bed was you both would gravitate towards one another and now you couldn't stand being in the same room as him.
Bucky sniffs and for a moment you think he was emotional but he was a very good liar. You hear him clear his throat and the ruffle of fabric and the thumps of his shoes being tossed off his feet. Closing your eyes you will your heart to calm and your tears to stop. You've been crying nonstop and it made your head hurt.
Hands turn you over and it makes you wince, the firm mattress putting pressure on the awkward angle of your bindings. Buck doesn't care he just straddles you, a hand patting the side of your face before settling, his thumb brushing the swollen underside of your eye.
His own eyes are red rimmed and it surprises you to see that he too was crying. Had been crying. The dampness clung to his eyelashes but he must have wiped away the streaks on his face... was that why he was wearing sunglasses?
"I love you." Behind the gag you humph, barely controlling an eye roll but you did try to look away but Bucky gripped your face and leaned closer, his weight hurting you. "I love you."
You don't believe him and shift your gaze away, his fingers tighten on your face and his hands are shaky. He takes a breadth and let's out, a part of you expects him to shout at you, hit you, something but instead Bucky is like a statue, gaze beckoning you to accept his pitiful reassurance.
"Last time you ran from me I told you what would happen." He sits up, filling the silence that had settled between the two of you. A sleeve wipes his nose and he sniffs but you see no tears unlike your own eyes. A silent refusal to go away. "This is your fault, remember you brought this on your own."
He reaches behind him and he pulls out his pocket knife. Its his favorite least aesthetically pleasing. Black with silver bits and a well cared for blade.
"If you run from me again I swear to the gods **** I will keep you naked and tied to the fucking bed until you learn to behave. I'll put a fucking collar around your throat and keep you at my feet, do you want that Doll?
The memory of the first time you ran and was captured was seared into your memory. Bucky had made good on his promise the second time you ran after he hit you for the first and last time. Right after you used the meat mallet to bludgeon him and tried burning down your stupid apartment with him in it.
While he was remorseful of his actions and apologized profusely he made true to his promise. Keeping you naked with the softest collar made of crushed velvet and leather, the carpet in your den had been replaced with a plush monstrosity that didn't bruise your knees and palms.
You forgave him because you were an idiot and he had sobbed on your lap begging for forgiveness and promised to never lay his hands on you again, even going so far as making his best friend Steve to shoot him if he did something so heinous again.
Only it wasn't your face that needed promises.
The knife cut through your sweaty and dirty shirt as if it were paper maché and not organic cotton. It had been ages since the last time you were subjected to such treatment... so much time passed that you forgot just how cruel and savage the man was.
"Never wanted you to find out." The blade scratched over your nipple, the fabric of your nursing bra not the least bit attractive, "How did you..." his words trail off and he's mesmerized by your full breasts and you flinched when he squeezed one. A wet patch appeared on the gray fabric from your milk and a grimace flashed over his face.
Embarrassment had you turning your face away. Shutting your eyes and crying. It's enough to jostle Bucky back and he moved away from your top half to drag his knife down your soft belly, the scar from your c-section had healed but left a puckered dark scar.
Another reminder that you weren't the 20 something year old from a decade ago. The belly button ring was gone and your flat stomach had the stretch marks from your 9 month pregnancy. He hesitated at the drawstring of your pants, his fingers nudged down the edge to show off the edges of your cotton briefs that replaced your lace thongs.
"Times change hasn't it?" Carefully he cut the fabric of your pants until they fell like ribbons and your shoes were tossed behind him. "5, no, 6 months... last time I touched you?"
You try to shift to cover yourself as the panties are cut at the sides and he tugs them off you. "Mph..." silenced.
"Even here." His finger drags down the line of your sex, "Before you were so meticulous in your upkeep but now," he tugs at a tuff of hair. "It's like you stopped caring."
You weren't going to play this stupid game.
Deep calm breadths - in and out - you forced your body to relax, fingers curled into the torn fabric of your shirt, ignoring the glide of the blade along the ripple of your knee cap, even bound as you were you knew Bucky wouldn't hurt you in the way he had torn your heart apart.
At his feet lay the trust and adoration you felt for the man because Bucky was everything, this man was your everything and you had given up your life to be his star, his doll, his Bonnie while he was your Clyde.
You got pregnant for this man.
Every ounce of hardship you suffered was so he could be the father he said he wanted to be... and here you were feeling ashamed over your post baby body.
The knife cut through the tape binding your legs and you felt him try and part your legs, sure that he was going to try and take what you hadn't given since before the end of your pregnancy and you lashed out, knee bending and hiking upwards, foot lashing out and hitting Bucky in his abdomen, knocking him right off the mattress.
Your hands were bound and wiggling to distance yourself, to at least sit up, was your only option.
"You (cough) fucking (wheeze) bitch."
The tape around your mouth itched, you would have cursed the man to hell and back. He rounded the bed and you tried to keep your body faced in his direction ready to kick him, sure that he wouldn't lash out with the knife.
A decade didn't make the man weak or lazy. Bucky was still as strong as you remember from years past, quick too, it was no wonder he was able to climb on the bed and throw himself atop you as if your attempts at wiggling was a game.
The knife stabs into the mattress and it's enough to make you pause, Bucky a disheveled mess sitting atop you and for a moment you're not looking into the eyes of your husband, your lover, your everything... they were twin dark pools of nothingness.
The tape is ripped off your lips, blood wells up, dry and chapped his thumb smooths over the bruise and smears it. "I hate you."
"Get in line love." The knife is plucked and you could feel the cold sharp edge lay against your cheek, the tip just beneath your eye. "You're not leaving me." His fingers drag down and curl around your throat, heavy and they tighten. "I know you spoke to a lawyer."
Your hips buck and the blade nicks your skin and Bucky squeezes, you struggle to breathe, he pushes you deeper into the mattress, it felt like he put his weight into it, and you're truly afraid this was it.
The man who had put a ring on your finger, a baby in your belly, your name and his name were carved onto each other's body, the one person you had put your all was going to choke the life out of you.
In the distance you heard the door break, you heard Steve but if you were going to die you weren't going to break eye contact with the monster wearing your soulmates face.
He was off, ripped from atop you and all you could do was take a frantic gulp of air and cough. Your scream was stuck in your throat and you felt so cold, so numb, Natasha's neutral expression the last thing you saw as you struggled to breathe but your body slumps and you fall unconscious.
The words haunt your waking minutes. When sleep manages to claim you, your dreams are haunted by the devils eyes.
His forked tongue spouting promises that burned to ash under your bare feet.
The same nightmare night after night, you choke on your screams, your throat a mess of bruises, your lungs ached, and the nausea haunted you during the day.
The though of choking on food had you sipping on the water and going hungry. If you were forced to stay a prisoner in a spare bedroom, it was the only thing you had control of.
What were they going to do?
The jagged wound on your wrist where you attempted to slice your wrist was proof you gave two shits about it.
The son you had spent hours trying to push but in the end had to cut out of you had been their bartering chip until you let him cry and cry. His red face and flailing limbs you forced yourself to ignore as you tucked yourself in a corner and cried along with him until he was finally picked up by someone and that was it.
You could hear him faintly in the distance at times but it was better this way.
"I've been instructed to insert an IV if you refuse to eat." Natasha leaned against the doorjam, in her hand was a Mason jar and a fat straw, she waved it at you, "Vanilla ice cream and Ensure, it shouldn't irritate your throat."
To think you used to have spa dates with this woman. How the game would go was Nat leaving the offering on the dresser and locking the door behind her. It would sit there until the next meal and if not her then Sam would deliver you food.
Steve had shown his face once and the food had been tossed in his lap, you were nice enough not to fling the soup in his face. A few days had passed before someone was brought in to clean up the mess you had refused to pick up.
Moving off the two-seater couch you were huddled on you reached for the smoothie. Natasha wasn't the most expressive of persons but there was genuine concern in her face. Too bad you turned around and went to the bathroom that was attached and emptied the glass in the toilet. You were nice enough to rinse it in the sink before handing it back.
"****," she's not happy, "Now isn't the time to act like a brat." You roll your eyes and shuffle back to your couch, a bare wall your entertainment since you had nothing to occupy your time. "I know you're pissed, hurt, but you can not eat. When's the last time you ate?" You ignore her and lay on the small space with your knees bent and eyes closed. "If you don't eat I will have no choice to force you."
Eventually she leaves and you hear the sound of something breaking in the distance shortly after, there's a raise of voices, you can make them out as your ex and Steve.
A knock breaks the quiet and surprise, it's Steve. The man takes in the bare room that had once been furnished like any other spare room. The mattress took up a corner of the room, a single dresser, and the couch made the room feel like it didn't belong in a multi-million dollar mansion. "I've contacted Bruce, he'll be by shortly to look you over, we'll start with an IV for dehydration and if you refuse to eat we'll insert a feeding tube into you."
"Touch me and I'll hang myself with the feeding tube." It comes out broken and scratchy.
"You don't mean that." In response you lift your wrist with the bandage and you can hear him sigh, "Your son needs his mother ****."
You look over to Steve, he was tall and broad-shouldered taking up space in the doorway. "Bullshit."
"I was an incubator, nothing more."
"How can you say that ****? You're hurt, I get it, but you can't cut out your own flesh and blood."
"He can keep him." Steve frowns at your words, "I didn't want him anyways."
A laugh bubbles up but you can't so you smile instead, "He wanted a kid, I gave it to him, he can keep it."
"It? Brandon isn't an It ****!"
"Funny how you're lecturing me and not your best friend."
"Buck has been dealt with, he's... he's sorry ****."
The words make you sit up and your hands tug at your collar, "For this?"
There's so much you want to say, to scream, you want to pick up the couch and fling it at the man you had made godfather to your son... you just... rest against the cushion and cry. It's all you can do, frustrated angry tears that silently fall and you don't bother to wipe them away.
Don't bother to pretend you're not broken and hurt because you are.
You keep your eye on Steve, the man shifts and clears his throat, eyes dropping to the floor and you can see his shoulders droop. "****..." he calls you by your pet name, "I'm sorry."
People like him, Sam, Natasha, Bucky, they were masters of deception... even sweet Peter... he knew...
You don't bother with words, your throat ached, you shouldn't have wasted the energy. God, you were too tired to deal with this. Getting to your feet you feel flushed and nauseous, the world goes a little gray and your body stops fighting, Steve is there to catch you, calling your name before shouting for help.
Waking up in a hospital was a miracle, it wasn't long before you pulled an Oscar worthy freak out and used whatever public assistance given to you to get away from your ex who had the audacity to sit beside you like he hadn't tried to murder you with his bare hands.
Pictures and a statement had been taken. The look of utter disbelief on Bucky's face when you didn't play the submissive wife role and agree that you had been attacked by a stranger was worth the hassle of the police.
You were connected to a domestic violence assistance - providing you shelter and a safe place to go, at least you hoped.
It was a mind racing process, leaving behind everything you had built-in the past decade, your baby, your name, and life. Hopping over state lines, changing your name, altering your appearance, you carried a scar on your wrist and a fear to leave the safety of your shelter for too long.
Months passed and your breasts had taken several weeks to stop the leaking. It had taken up to that point for the weight of leaving your baby behind to hit you - hard.
You moved again and again.
Never confident that he was out there ready to finish you off.
If he couldn't have you then no one could... it was hot at one time. The possessive energy that would wet your panties and knowing that you were just as toxic.
He was yours, had, had been yours.
Now he was the Whore of tri-state area with God knows what diseases you hoped would make his cock rot and fall off.
The bed creaked under your weight, it's been two days since you left the safety of your room and while you hated carrying a gun, you held it in your hand and told yourself you were okay.
Today was a good day to get fresh air, you had a loaded gun to protect you. You never left home without something on you - mace, knives, gloves with steel knuckles, a tazer - you wouldn't be caught defenseless.
Minutes tick and you work on your breathing as you ready yourself to leave. Suitably armed and jacket concealing the gun at your side you were ready to leave. Making it to the supermarket you were grateful for the wig and contacts, the makeup helped contour your face, it was nice to molest the produce and shuffle through coupons for a good deal.
The nice weather called to you, happily you visited the Starbucks and ordered venti drink and sat in a corner with your grocery bags at your feet. It's where your carefully constructed new life crumbled, a very familiar figure walked into the short line for coffee and you shifted your gaze from them and pulled your phone from your pocket.
Plan B was to run with your clothes on your back and Id's in your pocket, all you had to do was wait for an Uber.
Outwardly you didn't allow the luxury of panic but under the surface your heart was skipping beats and your anxiety was biting at your nerves. "Is this seat taken?" The chair is pulled out and none other than Natasha sits with the grace of a cat.
You ignore her and she sits there, quietly taking you in and the café attached to the supermarket. Your free hand slips into your pocket and you wait for your Uber to get closer and closer... standing you pick up your grocery bags and ignore the ever present shadow that was Natasha and dump said bags into a charity bin before you're out the front door, one hand in your pocket and the other holding your phone that pinged with the arrival of your Uber.
Outside you can see a waiting vehicle with Sam leaning against a running car and if there was him no doubt there was others. You felt her hand grip your arm and you don't hesitate to mace the woman, the brass knuckles you slipped on connected with her skull when you swung, hitting as hard as you could.
There's surprise from the crowd and you rush to the Uber door and hop it, "Go! That bitch is fucking crazy."
The woman driving was wide-eyed and swearing as you made up a story of your ex's stalker girlfriend and the woman had offered to turn around and run Natasha over... you appreciated the offer.
It just sucks you were being followed by Sam.
The car drops you off at a strip mall of a handful of shops. You don't hesitate to hurry into the Dollar Plus store knowing you would be quickly followed but you were prepared, ready for scenarios like this.
Bucky wasn't the only one who had made connections over the years and it helps you escape.
The next time you're met with someone of your past is on the bus that was supposed to take you to another nameless city. You had fallen asleep, head pressed against the glass and it was the crinkle of a bag of chips being opened that woke you.
Peter sat happily beside you with a forced smile and a offer for a chip.
You accepted a chip and a can of fanta.
Had it been anyone else you would have gotten physical. Instead you waited for the next stop, a quick convo to the bus driver, and you refuse to watch Peter hauled away by the police protesting. You knew someone would bail him out and you quietly slipped away, changing destinations.
Sam had been an unfortunate casualty - you weren't aiming to kill him, no matter how much your mind whispered to do it.
He had chased you from a bank to a random part of a city, you had tried to hide under a vehicle but he had dragged you from beneath it and you fought him the best you could until you fought him for his gun and the bullet had been a clean shot through his leg, keeping him from chasing you.
Leaving him there you ran away again, calling a Uber to pick you up from God knows where and this time you were tired of avoiding the monster of your dreams.
It was time to bring out the big guns.
Washington wasn't too long of a skip from the coast you had been tip toeing through. Outside of a random bodega you used a payphone, dialing one of the few numbers you knew by heart. It took 2 tries before they picked up and it was silence on the other end, "It's the Witch of Manhattan."
You heard a gasp in the background and then a booming voice, "Lady ****!" Thor was a personality all of his own, old money, old values, he was an old business colleague of your ex - the reason the man couldn't eat Italian food.
Importantly, Thor was a sworn enemy of the Buchanan's. "Sorry to bother you so late, very rude."
"Where are you?" You hear in the background.
"Jane my dear hush." It was muffled and you smiled, so they were still together. "Lady ****, I've sent a driver to pick you up." The phone disconnects and you hope you made the right decision.
It wasn't a car that picked you up but a motorcycle. A helmet had graciously been provided and with just a book bag as your luggage you held on tight and swerved through the city.
It brought back fond memories.
The high-rise building was brightly lit and you were brought to the underground garage where a private elevator waited. The ride up you spent taking in the sights of the city before the clear glass frosted and with a ding you were greeted with marble floors and a butler - because of course Thor Odison had a butler.
"Weapons on the tray Miss." It was a silver tray, polished and expensive looking.
One by one you removed what you had hidden away, going so far as reaching into your bra. It was a small pile you hoped you got back soon.
A pair of plastic booties were handed to you and your escort before you were Lead through a door and was greeted by creams, gold, and hard wood accents. It was an open concept space with leather upholstery, stainless steel appliances, and floor to ceiling windows.
Until the rattiest looking dog zoomed from the second level, down the set of stairs, his paws skidding on the polished hard wood, around the sectional, and zoomed to you.
Hairless except for the tuffs on the top of it's head and the platinum diamond studded collar clashed with the lopsided knitted sweater, "Loki!" The butler shot the dog a scowl as he set the tray down and was quick to scoop up the jumping mini kangaroo, "Master Odinson will be greatly disappointed."
From the second floor Thor and his wife Jane hurried to greet you - Jane was a rush while Thor walked at a proper pace. It had been several years since you last saw them in person and accepted the hug as Jane tossed herself at you, all smiles and dripping with jewelry.
That was how you were offered a spare room for the night after a very long night of drinks, food, and conversation - honesty was the best policy with Thor, the man hated liers.
It wasn't a happily ever after. You don't think you'd find it for a very long time but it was better than you had expected. A year and some change had passed since you left your husband and child, months of running, hiding, had led you to this point of safety.
As safe as one could be under the feet of someone like the Odinson's. Internationally powerful compared to the Buchanan's but you were willing to be the petty one.
You didn't want a cent from your ex, not a dime and you know you deserved more than half of the wealth that accumulated because of you investing.
You didn't need to read the society pages to learn of the new engagement ring sitting on a models finger, didn't need to sip tea with the wives of the underworld to learn of the girlfriends on the side that came and went like used tissue paper, it was a given that nannies and boarding school would be the life of your baby... no... his baby.
"If you're going to think of him, at least plot his death with me." Jane clicked her glass with yours, the diamond on her finger glistening under the sun. "We don't need Thor, we can do it ourselves."
The world truly believed Jane was a simple scientist turned housewife - brilliant but nice - if only they knew just how blood thirsty the woman truly was. Mix a few chemicals together and poof, problem solved, no body to fuss with. "Thank you again for letting me stay."
She waves it off before taking a delicate sip of her mimosa, "Please, we both know the only reason you didn't leave the country and build a goddamn castle with s crocodile infested moat was because you're afraid of flying."
"International flights need my real ID." She shoots you a look, "The non-profit couldn't ship me first class." You tried joking.
"This," her glass waves in the air like a champagne blessing over you, "Will work on my husband. God knows I love that man but he's a bleeding heart. PTSD, anxiety, mental health I get, trust me ****, I'm not the sanest but you're smart. Not PhD smart but you're not stupid."
"Thank you, really, I appreciate that." You pop a piece of fruit in your mouth.
"****." She waits until you sigh and grace her with your undivided attention, "You went a hunger strike, Bruce is loyal to you, you know this."
"Stop. It's the lifestyle you know this." Out of spite you steal the last strawberry, "I know you and James used to share lover's, you're upset because he went behind your back when you were on bed rest."
"He has two hands. I was bed ridden carrying his sperm, the least the fucker could do was be miserable with me." Picking up the cheese knife you stabbed the brie, "He was disgusted by me, my husband was disgusted by leaking nipples and stretch marks."
"Drink." She shoved her champagne flute in your face and with no choice you take it. "Let it all out, the champagne taste better with tears."
From the ice bucket she pours the both of you more, "I was bloated, gassy, my feet were swollen, I lost my fucking hair."
You both do and she refills again.
"Last time we tried to have sex the baby kicked... he freaked out." Jane reached over and held your hand, "He got soft. If you had seen his face..."
"Drink." You took a sip, "More."
Shaking your head you set the glass down, "You don't get it, he stopped sleeping next to me." Tears welled and you wiped them away, smearing your eyeliner, "It was lonely. He wasn't even there! I gave birth with him balls deep in some bitch, no one was there, I was all alone..." she squeezed your hand, "That was it, I knew."
"No... I knew he stopped loving me."
A moment passes and Jane hands you a napkin and tops off your drink, "You know, we can laser the stretch marks off."
"Jane!" You can't help but laugh, "What? No."
"A mommy tuck, they have those."
"God no." You wipe your nose, "You're right, about Bruce."
"I'm usually right. He's the one who insisted on taking you to the hospital from my understanding."
"Yea." Gratefully you took your glass and sipped.
"He's the one who funded your cross-country adventure as well."
It wasn't a question but fact and you were reminded yet again how brilliant but scary the woman was. No doubt she picked apart your every word you had uttered the first night and went out to find answers. "Who's your Canary?" Jane smiled, "Drink and spill the tea."
"Thor offered Bruce a position here." She says to distract you, it worked.
"What?" Did you hear her right.
"More for me of course, I want to pick his brain. He's absolutely brilliant."
Leaning in you whispered, "You want to see him naked."
"Please," Jane scoffs, "I'm happily married to an absolute God of a man." She tries.
You grin, "He named his cock the Hulk and the rumors are all true."
Her eyes grow wide, "You slut. Drink, we need something stronger." She turns and waves to her butler - there were several - and without a word the man was off. "After we talk about cocks and how you know, just know I know you left breadcrumbs for them to find you. Petty and devious, I love it, I'm still waiting to see what you do to that asshole and his bff."
A frosted bottle of vodka clinks on the table and a new jug of freshly squeezed orange juice, "Pride is a man's downfall." You say and watch as two new sets of glasses were set down and the Butler poured drinks, "I'm in a state he can't cross into and surrounded by gorgeous powerful men." Handing over a glass to her and holding yours up you say, "To happy hunting."
Glass met glass with a clink and Jane's eyes lit with mischievous glee. "I'll talk to Thor, I've always wanted a wife!"
In the penthouse above standing with the breeze gently ruffling his hair Thor leaned against the railing listening, his anger had simmered to exasperation at his wife's words. It was going to be an interesting coming year.
