ashesofblackroses - Tumblr blog

ashesofblackroses · 20 days ago

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Oh, the angst! This has got me feeling all the feels.🥹 Such an amazing first chapter, I’m utterly hooked.

The scarred bite mark she has is revealing of the abuse she has suffered. I feel unspeakably angry on her behalf, she deserves so much softness and love lavished on her. Curtis is caring and gentle in comparison to the horror she has obviously experienced, so I’m hopeful that he can provide this for her.

Can’t wait to see where you’re going to take this incredible premise, so can I be added to your taglist please?

Still Life 1

Pairing: Alpha Curtis Everett x Omega Female Reader

Word Count: ~2.8k

Summary: Curtis has been volunteering as a foster alpha for three years now. He's never seen a case this bad...

Warnings: Angst (with an eventual happy ending), past abuse (not Curtis), alpha/beta/omega dynamics, physical scarring, extreme sexism, adult themes, explicit language, All of my work is 18+ - Minors DNI

Dividers by me this time!

Series Masterlist

Masterlist

A/N: Well, this is for all of you who thought you'd seen the worst angst I could possibly do. Sorry for how much this one's gonna hurt!

Big thanks to @paperweight91 and @bigtreefest who both read so much of this and helped with structuring and world-building. And huge thanks to everyone who showed so much enthusiasm for this idea. I'm so excited to share this story with you!

Any comment, reblog, or ask to let me know what you think will be greatly appreciated. And if you need to come scream at me, that's ok too!

As always, thank you so much for reading! 💜

Nzzzz Nzzzz Nzzzz

It took a moment for Curtis to pull himself out of sleep enough to realize the incessant noise was his phone vibrating loudly on his nightstand. It took another moment for him to pull himself together enough to answer it. “Hello?” he croaked.

“Morning, Curtis,” a harried voice came through from the other end. “This is Yona from the Omega Welfare Center. I'm so sorry to call so early, but we've had kind of a crazy night here and we're in need of several emergency placements.”

That had him waking up. “What happened?” he asked, seriously, sitting up in bed.

She sighed, all of her exhaustion coming through. “A traditionalist compound a couple hours away got raided by the feds and ATF. They prepared for some omegas, but… There were a lot more. Kids too. It’s been all hands on deck at all five omega centers in the state. We’re over capacity, so we’re just trying to place anyone we can immediately.”

“Shit,” Curtis mumbled to himself. Traditionalist communities popped up on the news every once in a while, populated mostly by alphas on a power trip. But this one sounded bigger than most. He looked at his clock. It was just past five. “I’ve got room for one,” he said. “And I can be there in an hour.”

“Thank you, Curtis. I’ll see you soon.”

Fifty-five minutes later, Curtis was checking in at the center, his second coffee clutched in one hand. He’d been volunteering there as a foster Alpha for about three years. Mostly short-term placements. His longest one was just over a month. He provided safe touch, grounding, and a sense of security to omegas who needed to get back on their feet. He’d help them through heats when necessary, never knotting them, but whatever else they might need. Often, it was just his scent. It made him feel good, to be able to help these omegas, offer a positive alpha experience to omegas who hadn’t had many.

He’d worked with a few different case workers during his time. Yona had been the main one for the past year. He’d never heard her sound like she had that morning.

Even just at the front desk, he could sense how much more chaotic it was here than usual. He could hear babies screaming beyond the office door, endless anxious chatter. The entire building reeked of omegas in distress. It made his nose itch and his skin crawl.

After a few minutes of waiting, Yona came and got him. “How bad is it?” he asked the omega as she hurriedly led him down the hall.

She showed him into a small meeting room as she answered, “Really, really bad. I’ve never seen anything like it. None of them are talking, but from what we can gather, most of them have spent their entire lives in the compound. No IDs, no papers. Figuring out who they are has been nearly impossible. And as terrible as it may have been, their whole world was ripped apart in the last twenty-four hours. No one feels like cooperating. We hope you might have better luck as an alpha.”

“You think they'll talk to me?”

She shakes her head. “Just the Omega we're placing with you. They've all been taught never to trust outsiders, but they've also been raised to see Alphas as the ultimate authority. So, it's worth a shot.”

He nodded, slowly. “What do you need?”

“Just basic identifying information for now. So we can see if she even exists in any sort of governmental system. Then we can go from there.”

“If you don’t have any information, what makes you think I’ll be a good fit for her?”

“Honestly,” Yona said, with a helpless shrug, “you only have room for one and she doesn’t have any pups. That’s it. Listen, I know this isn’t how we normally do things and I’m so sorry I’m just throwing you into it without any preparation, but we’re really desperate here. They’re all high needs, high risk. There’s no existing support network for them, and there are more of them than we have room for. So we called all of our most experienced, most dependable alphas first thing this morning so we can focus on the ones we have room to house here. I know it isn’t fair to you but–”

“Hey,” Curtis interrupted. “It’s ok, I understand. I’ll take care of her. I promise.”

“Thank you,” she breathed out, a small fraction of the tension she’d been holding bleeding out of her shoulders. “Ok, I’m gonna go bring her in.”

She slipped through the door and Curtis leaned against the table in the center of the room as he waited. He took a deep breath and tried to focus on putting together a to-do list. He had two sets of nesting supplies always ready, one with his scent and one without. In the next few days, he’d try to figure out if there was anything else this omega wanted for the nest. He’d gone grocery shopping the day before, so his pantry was stocked, but he’d see if there were any favorite comfort foods he could grab in his next shop. He needed to rearrange his work schedule, push back some deadlines so he’d have time to get the omega settled. He had no idea what they’d be bringing with them, so a shopping trip for toiletries and clothes would probably be necessary. Depending on the omega's state, maybe he'd be able to get the shopping done on the way back to his house. He glanced at the time on his phone. Shit. Depending on what was open.

At movement right outside the door, he stood at attention. Yona came back in with you right behind her. He took a good look at you. You wore a rumpled long-sleeved floral dress that went down to your ankles. It was faded like it’d been washed too many times. Your eyes were fixed on the tennis shoes you wore, which had probably been white at one point, but now were discolored and looked like they didn’t fit quite right.

There was a little hand-written number ten pinned to your dress. He wanted to raise a judgemental brow at Yona, but if none of you would say your names, he supposed Yona and her team had to come up with some way to keep track of you all.

He had to stifle a gasp when his eyes landed on your neck. There was a large bite scar over your mating gland. Unlike the neat and pretty, well-healed ones he was used to seeing, yours was deep and jagged, red and white, scar tissue bubbling up where your flesh had clearly been torn. This didn’t look like a mating bite. It was the sort of bite meant to inflict pain. What sort of alpha had you had??

Your eyes stayed on the floor, your expression blank but your scent said so much – panic, sadness, terror, relief all jumbled together. He wanted to reach out and touch you, his alpha instincts were going haywire, but he kept his hands to himself.

“This is Curtis,” Yona said to you. “He's the alpha who's going to look after you until we can get all this sorted.”

You didn’t react at all, just stood there, stiff as a board with your eyes on your shoes.

He stayed where he was, conscious of giving you space. “It’s very nice to meet you,” he said, as gently as he could. Then, with a glance to Yona, “Can you tell me your name?”

Your face scrunched up and the fear in your scent spiked but you didn’t say anything. He sighed. Shit. He really didn’t want to have to use an alpha command with you right now. That could be disastrous for any dynamic he tried to build with you. But they needed this information. He really, really hoped you wouldn’t make him force you.

“Omega, what’s your name?” he asked as firmly as he could, hopefully without scaring you. “I need to know.”

You closed your eyes tightly and he thought he saw the smallest little head shake. There was another moment of silence and he looked at Yona nervously. But then, you said it. So quietly he almost didn’t catch it. But you said it. Out of the corner of his eye, he saw Yona frantically scribbling it down, but his focus was completely on you.

He tried to keep his sigh of relief to himself. “That was so good. Thank you. You’re doing so well,” he said, keeping the praise soft, hoping you could scent how pleased he was with you. “When were you born?”

You gave up your birthday a little more easily, but you left off the year.

“That’s great. Thank you. Do you know how old you are?” he asked, maintaining his gentle tone, knowing it was possible that you didn’t.

For whatever reason, it was that that finally got a reaction out of you. You looked up at him, so he could finally see your eyes, and snarled, “I’m not stupid!”

There was a beat when no one did anything. Curtis and Yona just stared at you in shock. The snarl was frozen on your face until it suddenly disappeared and your eyes got wide. Before he was able to process any of what was happening, you’d dropped down onto your knees. “I’m sorry,” you whispered. “I’m sorry, Alpha. I’m sorry. I’m so sorry. Alpha, I’m sorry.” You just keep repeating that in a constant stream, your head tucked to your chest.

Repeatedly mixed into that jumble was a number. It took Curtis a few moments to realize it was your age. You were answering his question. He quietly repeated it to Yona, then dropped down to his knees as well so he could be closer to your level. “Hey, hey. You’re okay. You’re alright. You didn’t do anything wrong. You’re right. You aren’t stupid. I can already tell how smart you are. It’s okay. I’m not mad.” He wanted to reach out and touch you, wrap you in his arms, even, comfort you however he could. But he was too afraid that that’d make you panic even more. That was a boundary he couldn’t cross. Not yet. He stayed down there, whispering reassurances to you for as long as it took for you to stop apologizing, and a few extra minutes for your breathing to calm down. Once you seemed like you were back in the present moment, he moved to a crouch. “Think you can stand up for me, honey?”

You nodded, but you were back to keeping your eyes downcast. “Yes, Alpha.”

He wanted to tell you that you didn’t need to call him ‘Alpha,’ that ‘Curtis’ was just fine. But that could wait until you were a little more comfortable. Once he had you home, maybe. He could already tell that picking his battles was going to be important.

“Thank you,” he said as he stood up to his full height, and you did as well. “You answered my questions so well. You gave me exactly what I needed.” He looked to Yona to see if there was anything else.

“Do you have any questions for me or Curtis?” she asked you.

You shook your head, emphatically, hunching your shoulders. The room filled with the scent of fear again.

“Okay… that’s fine,” Yona said, and he could tell how much she hated this. “Well,” she turned to Curtis, “I’ll go get the paperwork and then you two can get home. I’ll be right back,” she said to you, then left the room.

This was happening too fast. In normal circumstances, you would have already been at the center for a few weeks, at least, with access to mental health professionals, life skill classes, and support groups. He’d be the last step before going back to the real world. You’d be ready to spend time with an alpha. Ready to work through processing positive physical attachments. Ready to learn how to share space with someone who wasn’t a threat to you. You’d be ready to slowly take steps into the world, with him there to support you.

You had backed yourself into the corner now. He could see the way every single muscle in your body was trying not to cower. You weren’t ready. You were nowhere near ready. But with all the resources for at-risk omegas pushed to their limit by this raid, what would happen to you if he didn’t take you? As insufficient as it might be, his help could be all you’d be able to get. This wasn’t how it should be, but he’d do everything he could for you.

Yona came back in and he watched her take you in, sighing at your state. He knew she was thinking the same things he was. “Ok,” she said, handing him the packet of forms to sign. “No changes since last time. You know the drill.”

He nodded as he grabbed them and sat down at the table, getting to work signing where he was supposed to. As he did, he felt your eyes on him as the scent of your apprehension filled the room.

Yona called your name. “Let’s go outside for a minute while Curtis finishes up.”

You both left quietly. This, too, was part of normal procedure. She was asking if you were sure you were comfortable leaving with him, telling you you had the option to say no, getting your verbal and written consent, and giving you cards with all the emergency numbers on them. He was afraid this situation might stretch the legal definition of informed consent. Based on everything he’d seen so far, he couldn’t picture a scenario where you’d say no.

Nothing about this felt good, but everyone’s hands were tied. And he knew that he’d do everything he could to keep you as safe as possible.

A few minutes after he’d finished signing the last page, you and Yona came back in. A worn knapsack hung from your fingers. It was small, confirming Curtis’s suspicions that you didn’t have much in the way of clothes. Alright, that was priority number one.

Yona had a thin folder in her hand that she immediately passed to Curtis. “The regular information, along with her schedule of appointments for the next few weeks, both doctor and therapist. And the card for the agent in charge of the investigation into the compound, in case anything pertinent comes up.” Then she turned to you with a small box. “I’ve got a couple packets of suppressants for you. Do you want them or do you want Curtis to keep track of them for you?”

Your eyes cut to him suspiciously then flitted back to the floor. “Alpha,�� you muttered.

“Okay,” Yona said, handing the box to Curtis as well. Then she clapped her hands together, her face set in grim determination. “I won’t keep you any longer then. I’ll see you both next week.”

On the way out of the center, Curtis was all too aware of the way you walked exactly three steps behind him, one step to the left. That wasn’t just old-fashioned, it was archaic. He’d never seen an omega do it in real life.

At his truck, you looked at the truckbed in a way that made him worried you might try to ride back there, so he opened the passenger door for you and waited for you to get in. He resisted the part of his alpha instincts that wanted to buckle you in. And after a gentle request, you did it yourself.

As the two of you hit the road, he reached over to turn the radio on. He tried to move slowly, but you still flinched. “Want some music?” he asked quietly.

You didn’t respond, so he found an oldies station and left the volume low. His plan for the day had shifted a bit. You definitely weren’t ready to go shopping. That was fine. There was nothing that couldn’t be delivered.

About five minutes into the drive, the strong scent of your tears filled the cab. He looked over at you. You were huddled against the door, as far away from him as you could get. Your face was pressed against the window, so all he could see was the back of your head. But he could hear your sniffles and he could smell your distress.

It took everything in him to not pull over right now and reach over to comfort you. Pull you into his arms. Rub soothing circles on your back. But he knew that would do more harm than good. His touch wouldn’t be welcome. Yet. You weren’t ready.

And god, he wasn’t either. He wasn’t ready for any of this. But damn it, he was going to try.

Tag List is open!

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ashesofblackroses · 20 days ago

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Wow! This is such an incredible depiction of obsessive, yearning desire.

Steve is utterly in her thrall and his acquiescence to her cleaning up for him is practically him getting down on his knees for her. For upright, truthful, honourable Steve to bend his principles like this says it all about his craving for her.

The dark reader was such an interesting twist on the usual mafia trope of the Avengers character being the dark soul, and I loved it.

Stellar😉work, as always.😍

For your event!!!

Steve + Mob AU + ”Would you really do that for me?” + nefarious

Thank you ☺️❤️

Thank you for sending in a prompt to my event, Siri! This took a bit of a turn in my head but I hope you still enjoy it. I had a lot of fun writing it.

Malogranatum | S. R.

soft dark!Avenger!Steve Rogers x mob boss!Reader | 2,417 words.

Explicit - 18+ only. Dark romance with themes of obsessive love. AU - canon divergence & mob themes.

Story Content Warnings: Explicit sexual fantasies, obsessive/unhealthy dynamics, cold-blooded violence, murder, organized crime, discussions of human trafficking / modern slavery, references to mythology including biblical mythology, soft dark Steve Rogers, soft dark Reader.

Read the tags and warnings and do not proceed if anything about them upsets you. Your media consumption is your responsibility.

Reader is female, no description of appearance beyond a mention of her wearing heels, dress, and makeup. No use of Y/N. I imagine she's somewhere in her late twenties, early thirties, about the same age as Steve - but it isn't mentioned in the text.

Notes: There is something about the dark side of canon Steve that continues to enchant me, and my take on the prompt I got was born out of that curiosity. I enjoyed playing with a darker Reader character and the themes of a more obsessive, unhealthier love that is still born out of shared views of the world. I hope you enjoy, and of course, I am always excited to hear from you so please leave a comment if you can spare the time and energy.

Malogranatum is one of the Latin forms of the word 'pomegranate'

I do not own anything Marvel related. This is an unofficial fan work. No copyright infringement intended. This is a work of fiction. Any similarity to actual persons, living or dead, or actual events, is purely coincidental.

No one except you could look so perfectly nonchalant when stepping over a dead body while wearing five-inch designer heels.

A woman like you didn’t belong in a dump like this — it had hardly been a three-star hotel when it had been in business use, and what was left now had been deemed unsafe years ago. Now, the lobby was musty and covered in dust and grime, and now, thanks to Steve himself, blood.

As always, you were immaculate; no smudge on your blood-red lipstick, no stray hairs sticking out of your hairdo. A trench coat was draped over your shoulders, revealing a well-tailored dress underneath as you walked towards Steve. You could’ve as well been on your way to attend some upper-crust cocktail party.

“I should’ve known you’d come,” Steve said through gritted teeth.

Your security detail — a colossal blond man whom Steve had never heard utter a word, dressed in a sharp suit that seemed to only highlight his bruteness — stopped behind the body you’d just stepped over. The body was resting with his face down, and the man turned it over with his foot.

Steve looked away. His vision was still flashing in red, wine, maroon. Behind the shield that was fastened onto his button-down-covered arm, he clenched his fist tighter. He, too, was in civilian clothes — it hadn’t been intended to come down to an ambush at all, let alone with just him with no backup. It had been supposed to be a simple stakeout, a covert operation that’d determine if he would come back with reinforcements.

It hadn’t been intended to come down to a dead body and another at the brink of it.

“I keep tabs on my enemies,” you said, glancing at the still-living man on the floor — now reduced to a whimpering mess curled up in a fetal position on the filthy rug.

“Me included?” Steve scoffed.

“Are we enemies, Captain Rogers?” you said as you stepped closer to him. “I see no reason why we should be.”

“I could have you dragged into the Tower just for the fact that you are here.”

A half-smile curved your lip up. The expensive, intoxicating note of your perfume drifted up Steve’s nose as you reached him. He inhaled it; it covered the thick iron stench of blood.

Blood that still dripped from the edge of the shield that he’d strapped back onto his arm.

“Again? If not even Romanoff can find anything to incriminate me… I’m starting to think you have a crush on me, to be so eager to lock me into an interrogation room and get up, close, and personal.”

It certainly wasn’t a crush, whatever it was that kept him up at night ever since he had started running into you.

“What about this situation is funny to you?”

“In my line of work, you develop quite the sense of humor,” you chuckled.

“Work, you call it?” Steve said, and you gave him a smile full of secrets.

“Pays the bills,” you said, shrugging as you craned your neck to examine the still-breathing man on the ground.

His whimpers had turned into gargled sobs, his shoulders shaking as if he was having some sort of seizure. Steve still didn’t know how hard he had hit him — he had caught the sight of him, standing here and laughing with his henchman, and everything had gone blind, scorching white, a supernova burning down everything from its path.

“What are you here for? I imagine a businesswoman such as you is much too busy to simply be here to chitchat. Did you come to gloat?”

“And why would I do that, when you have solved a pesky problem for me,” you said. “Have been trying to figure out a way to take him out of the game without a risk for collateral damage.”

“To you?” he replied, even as he knew what you were talking about by the tension of your jaw.

“To them,” you said, nudging your head up towards the ceiling.

He wasn’t sure if the people had heard the commotion downstairs — but even if they had, they wouldn’t have dared to ask questions. Steve wasn’t sure how many had been lured in in total, how many had already been sold to the highest bidder, and the thought summoned a newfound cloud of red mist into his head.

“Well aren’t you the beacon of morality, defender of the innocents,” Steve scoffed. “I know how red your hands are. I may not be able to prove it but I know.”

In reply, you rested your eyes on the bloodied shield and the bruises, already healing, on Steve’s knuckles, and he gritted his teeth hard enough to bite through iron.

“What are you doing here?” he continued, grasping for some edge into his voice.

He stepped closer to you, leaning into your personal space, and he heard your security detail shift before you held out a hand, signaling the bodyguard to stand down.

You looked at Steve, your eyes bright, your mouth slightly parted, and Steve remembered the Sunday school stories about the beauty of fallen angels, of the temptation of sin, of the redness of that cursed apple.

How sweet would the first bite of damnation taste on his tongue?

“I’m here to propose a deal,” you said, as if Steve’s presence or the violence that brimmed in his body, threatening to spill over, was having no effect on you at all.

“A deal?” Steve raised his brow. “Let me take a wild guess. You make this go away, and I become your little puppet.”

“I am simply offering to take out your trash,” you said, a smirk dancing on your lips. “No strings attached.”

“What do you get out of it?” he said, and you raised your brow in turn.

“You get to keep doing what you’re doing. He’s not the only one with similar ambitions; there is yet bigger fish in the sea. And I cannot… devote all my attention to this matter, as I do have my business to run.”

“And conveniently, less hands grasping whatever cake it is you’re splitting among yourselves in the shadows means a bigger slice for you. I’m supposed to believe you’re some sort of a Robin Hood, huh?”

The words had a bite to them, but he had poured over your case enough times to know that while you were no moral beacon, no Robin Hood, you did have a code of ethics. It certainly didn’t align with the moral of the law, but the compass that guided you was there. If the intel was right on you, you were good at avoiding what you had called collateral damage.

A sudden chill overtook your features.

“You know there are lines I do not cross,” you said.

Breathtaking. Beautiful, and treacherous, like the night itself. Steve swallowed past his dry throat. He shouldn’t be entertaining any of this, and whatever it was that had gotten him so tangled with you, he should nip it in the bud.

Too late for that.

“He should get a fair trial just like anyone else,” Steve said to bring his thoughts back to the matter at hand. “Regardless of if he’s a rabid animal or not.”

You tilted your head, quirking your brow. Steve forced his eyes to stay away from the tendons of your neck, forced himself not to wonder if the column of your throat held places that’d make you moan if he feathered them with his lips.

“Oh no, Rogers. He is quite human. No other species on earth is capable of such calculated cruelty.”

You huffed as if the thought amused you, and Steve knew that you were right. Perhaps that was what today had been. His cup finally spilling over, and all the lava that had gathered over the decades taking down everything that laid on its path.

“And I will face whatever consequences that come for me, too,” Steve continued to avoid acknowledging your words.

He tried to push the sound of breaking bone out of his head, tried to pretend there hadn’t been a part of him that had cherished every punch, gloried in the righteous violence. The SHIELD had been on these bastards for months on end, and he remembered every disgusting detail of their deeds. And when he had finally been given a chance to strike, alone, he had found himself desiring not for justice but for revenge.

“They’ll toss you onto the Raft,” you said. “And what for? For dishing this scum a small portion of what he’s been serving to others.”

Steve jolted; victory flashed in your eyes as he did.

“How do you —”

“I told you, Rogers, I keep tabs on my enemies,” you replied.

“I thought you said we are not enemies.”

“I wasn’t talking about you,” you said, and for a moment, your face grew entirely serious. “There is something fishy going on at SHIELD. I don’t know what it is yet, but it’s there.”

Steve drew a breath at that. The warning… He didn’t want to admit it but something about it seemed to hum in tune with some instinctual thought in the back of his head.

“You have people on the inside.”

“You say that like you’re surprised,” you said, and the smile was back.

“I am not,” he said, the words delivered with the smallest hint of a smirk in the corner of his mouth.

You took a step closer, almost close enough for your chest to brush against his. You tilted your head softly to the side, as you spoke quietly almost into his lips, and something just as all-consuming as the rage he had felt earlier shot through his veins. He could barely stop himself from leaning closer, reaching for your mouth with his, as your perfume wrapped around him.

“Our interests align, Rogers,” you breathed. “I would hate seeing my plans fall apart just because of something like him. An unfortunate incident; a little slip-up; an occupational hazard, almost. They might give him a fair trial but you will never get one. Is he really worth throwing away all the good deeds you could do, all the lives you are yet to save so you can rot on the Raft in martyrdom?”

An ice-cold current in Steve recognized the logic; agreed with it. The man that he struck down would never give someone else anything resembling fair — why should he himself get anything better?

“Would you really do that for me?” he asked.

“You look good with blood on your face,” you whispered as if it explained everything, and maybe it did.

Your hand rose slowly up, your warm fingertips gently brushing along the line of Steve’s jaw. A fresh whiff of your perfume reached his nose — musk, dark flowery notes, pomegranates — and it was the part of him that had walked through the battlefields of the Second World War and lived that made the decision.

He nodded, and your eyes sparkled with dark light.

The crisp taste of apple filled his mouth, and he wanted nothing more than he wanted it — to grab the wrist of the hand that was touching him and pull you into a crushing kiss. He yearned for all the ways he could make you sing his name, make you drip and beg and cry out for him — to make you burn in the raging turmoil of lust that had consumed him these past months. He wanted to keep you on the knife-sharp edge between desperation and bliss, he wanted you to ride him with a blade pressed against his throat, he wanted to be deemed worthy of your bed and worthy of sinking himself all the way to the hilt inside you.

Oh, how sweet it would be to fall from grace just to have a taste of you.

“Give me twenty minutes and call in the cavalry,” you said, and maybe you knew where his thoughts were, but nothing about your voice or your expression was betraying it.

“I got an anonymous tip,” he said, and he was still not moving away from you even as the thoughts were forming.

“I’ll have someone call your work number; untraceable, of course,” you continued. “And when you got here…”

“No trace of them; just signs of struggle and bloodstains.”

He didn’t want to feel the smile that was spreading onto his lips; he knew it didn’t reach his eyes, and he didn’t want it to. It was not a true smile — it was how a predator showed their teeth.

He should not have, and yet he didn’t find it in him to feel regret.

You took a step back and turned towards your security detail, who nodded, understanding some wordless message, and gave the whimpering man on the floor a sharp kick in the ribs. The impact was enough to turn him over — he had no strength for anything other than a pathetic gurgle — and Steve saw your brows rise just a millimeter when you looked at the bloody mess. Another one of those tiny smiles tugged your lips, and then it was gone as you reached inside your coat.

A picture of cold wrath; a goddess of destruction.

The gun you drew was a black pistol with a silencer screwed onto it; an elegant weapon, looking almost sophisticated, and yet deadly like a viper. You extended your arm with the ease of practiced routine, aiming straight between the man’s eyes, and pulled the trigger. Every movement had come with the indifference of inevitability.

You put the gun back where it had come from while your bodyguard threw the body over his shoulder and grabbed the other by the lapels of its coat — as if he was doing a task no different than dragging out two heavy bags of potatoes. He started making his way towards the door, and you turned to Steve.

There was a sleek white business card in your hand, and you slipped it into the chest pocket of Steve’s shirt. Even through the fabric, he could feel the warmth of your hand.

“Pleasure doing business with you, Captain Rogers,” you said, granting him one last smile of a seductress before you followed your security detail out of the door.

Steve stood there for a few minutes, staring at the new stain in the musty carpet. Then took the business card out of his pocket, bringing it up to his nose and inhaling deeply.

It smelled like you.

Thank you for reading! Reblogs and comments keep the fic community alive, so consider leaving one.

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ashesofblackroses · 24 days ago

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Oh, this is just gorgeous! Kudos on your first Ari fic, you’d think you’d been writing him for ages, this is so good.

This is such a lovely take on the friends to lovers trope. It’s just so gorgeous the way Ari kept his passion hidden because he was afraid to lose what he had with her. How he felt flirting with her like everyone else would cheapen the feelings he had for her.

“You were too precious for that, honeybun,”

That line just about flattened me, it’s so intensely romantic. Honestly, you do romance spectacularly.

Oh and I really didn’t have to squint to see the competency kink and it made me very, very happy.🥰

Also, can I please be added to your everything taglist? I don’t want to miss a thing.

What Makes A Home

ex-soldier!Ari Levinson x neighbor!Reader | 2,385 words.

Themes: friends to lovers, idiots in love, competency kink if you squint, neighbors, cozy community.

Reader is female, no Y/N, no description of appearance. Nicknames 'dear' and 'honeybun' are used by Ari for Reader.

My blog is for people 18+ only, minors DNI.

Story Content Warnings: implied smut, Ari being a soldier mentioned, Ari having guilt over his past, some very minor hurt/comfort (the love is requited, they're both just idiots).

Notes: This is a made-to-order fic for the amazing @bigtreefest - I hope it brings you joy and fulfilled your prompt! Full disclosure; I wasn't able to get my hands on the movie, so I had to piece Ari's character together from his scenes on YouTube. My utmost gratitude to @steviebbboi for character consult and helping me be confident about the decisions I made in the planning stages of this fic (all mishaps mine, of course). It is also my first time writing Ari. I hope you enjoy, and all feedback is very welcome!

I do not own anything The Red Sea Diving Resort related. This is an unofficial fan work. No copyright infringement intended. This is a work of fiction. Any similarity to actual persons, living or dead, or actual events, is purely coincidental.

The house that you inherited from your great-grandaunt — who apparently despised you less than her other relatives —is definitely what a realtor would describe as ‘having plenty of potential’. But it really does have good bones, so to speak, and with the current housing market, you definitely aren’t complaining.

And the neighborhood isn’t half-bad, either. The community is close-knit, if a little nosy, helpful to the point of overbearing.

And so, they didn’t miss it when a new moving truck arrived at the house next to yours. The gossip has gone wild — the names of different special services are thrown around in the whispers like candy, even though no one can reasonably know anything about his history. Especially if he has a history as some overseas covert operator, like Mary at the end of the street keeps claiming, he certainly will keep that information to himself.

You are yet to run to him, and so you’re operating on second-hand information about him — which is mostly focusing on the fact that he’s tall and bearded and looks like he could bench press a school bus.

Curiosity may have killed the cat, but you reason that a simple welcome visit isn’t going to end with your untimely demise. You pick a nice Saturday afternoon, check that his truck is on the driveway, and make your favorite snickerdoodle recipe. With a plate of still-warm cookies under aluminum foil, you go ring his doorbell, not entirely sure why your heart is beating so hard. It’s just a decent thing to do.

It takes a few moments for him to open the door, and when he does, you are proud that your poker face holds.

“Hi,” you say to the giant at the door. “You must be Ari. I live in the house next to yours, and I thought I’d come to welcome you to the neighborhood; they did it to me too, when I moved in a few months ago. I brought snickerdoodles.”

You extend the plate to him, and he takes it. He leans one shoulder on the doorframe, and you do not swallow when you see the muscles of his arms move. His hair reaches behind his ears, and he has a nicely trimmed beard. Even in a simple — tight — white shirt and jeans, he does look like a soldier. Not violent but like there is an alertness to him, despite the amusement in his eyes.

“Hi,” he says. “Yes. I’m Ari. And you are?”

You give him your name, chuckling at the fact that you left it out in the first place.

“Nice to meet you. And thank you for the baked goods. Would you like to stay for a cup of coffee?”

He moves aside, gesturing for you to step over the threshold.

And you do.

There were a lot of things you had learned about Ari over the six months since your first meeting, that cup of coffee that somehow hadn’t felt awkward at all. He had a talent for filling moments like that with idle chatter that didn’t feel like it was just there to cover something.

It was just so Ari, how his charm was always on display and yet so inseparably a part of his very being that it didn’t feel like an act. It was just who he was. Of course, he could be a playboy — at least when it came to the charming part, since as far as you knew, there hadn’t been anyone visiting his house besides you.

You were more than certain that a fair number of ladies in the neighborhood harbored a crush. And why wouldn’t they, when Ari was the first to volunteer to any project, cracking easy jokes while he worked and being all charismatic smiles and wide shoulders ready to tackle anything.

It was that restless energy that had drawn him to your house, too. Just like you had turned up to his door that one Saturday, the next week he had turned up at yours, dressed in a flannel and jeans and carrying what looked like a heavy, well-equipped toolbox, pristinely new.

“Those gutters are going to fall off the clips soon. I could attach them better if that’s alright with you?”

Stunned, you had nodded. Sure, there was an endless list of things to attend to, and the gutters had been on your mind but then winter had come and you’d been so focused on other things. You had no idea how he noticed, and when you’d asked, he shrugged it off, mentioning something about how he had to learn how to build and maintain things out there, so you’d left the topic at that.

It was the first thing he fixed at your house, but not the last. He gravitated here, looking to do something of meaning, and he refused to hear your suggestions about paying him for the work he was doing — despite the fact that every project he poured himself into was done with the meticulousness rivaling not only someone not in the profession but with a passion to it.

Like the patio you were now sitting on your knees on, holding the plank in place for him so he could screw it onto the beam underneath from the opposite side. You’d made the mistake of mentioning over a shared dinner that you had contacted a contractor to see how much it would be to replace the deck, and he had turned up the next morning with all the necessary materials, in the exact shade of wood that you’d envisioned.

You weren’t certain that you wanted to know what strings he’d pulled to get all that so fast.

“Ari, seriously, you didn’t need to do this.”

“Nope,” he said. “But I wanted to.”

“At least let me pay for the wood,” you said. “You know, I’m a strong independent woman and I do have my own paycheck.”

“And I’m very proud of you, dear,” he said with perfect nonchalance, and you tried to ignore something twisting in your chest at that. “Just let me pick the next five movies for our movie nights and we’re even.”

You huffed, knowing that you’d be in for some underground art movies no one but Ari had ever even heard of but nodded regardless. It was literally the least you could do.

He finished screwing the plank down and reached for more screws from the box on the side — you’d begun earlier today by laying down all the planks to have an even platform to work with, and now it was just the matter of evening out the cracks in between and attaching them to the support structure. His arms moved, and his t-shirt lifted slightly as he bent to the side, revealing a slice of tanned, warm skin at his waist. You forced yourself not to stare.

The thing with Ari was that he flirted with anyone and everyone — except with you. He made the grannies laugh by asking them at the community nights if they were old enough to drink; he had the cashiers at the local grocery store sighing dreamily after him when he departed with one of his famous smiles. Everyone seemed to understand it was all fun and games, and yet you were certain you weren’t the only one here with hopes when it came to him.

But it wouldn’t be you — his complete and total lack of that kind of behavior around you was the clearest sign you could’ve asked for. He saw you in an entirely platonic light, and so you didn’t want to endanger what was a beautiful and genuinely enjoyable friendship with him by asking him if you could be more than that.

Even if sometimes the question, the why not me, burned your tongue and tried to sneak out of your throat. At least then you’d know the reason why he saw you so differently than others.

“Honeybun?” he said, yanking you out of your thoughts.

You swallowed, hoping that the question would go down too, and met his expectant gaze. He’d said something, and it had flown right past you, and now he was staring. God, you could drown in the blue of his eyes.

You were lucky to have him. He was a good friend, caring, attentive. He made you laugh at the worst of days; he was good at coming up with solutions, especially unconventional ones. You had no reason at all to feel wistful at all the nicknames, derived from different baked goods you’d made for him over the past months.

“Nothing, nothing,” you said, lowering your gaze. “Sorry. What did you need me to do?”

You heard a thump as he set the screwdriver down. He reached his hand, two fingers under your jaw tilting your face back up so that you’d look at him. There was that little wrinkle of worry between his brows and you felt a pang of guilt even as the warmth of his fingers was making your skin tingle.

“Are you sure you’re alright?” he said. “We can take a break if you need a few. You’ve been somewhere far away for half the day.”

You quickly shook your head, knowing that you’d already ventured too far close to the line you didn’t want to end up crossing.

“Just a little tired, that’s all,” you said, hearing the flimsiness of the excuse even in your own ears.

He tilted his head and raised his brow; his hand was still there, under your jaw, lingering where it absolutely shouldn’t.

“I know it when you’re lying, honeybun,” he said, one corner of his mouth rising into a smirk. “Spill the beans. Do I need to kick someone’s ass? I’ll do it, you know.”

You swallowed so loud that it seemed to echo in your head like the creaking sound of thin ice.

“No, there’s no need for that. I was just wondering what’s so different about me?”

A flash of something in his eyes, gone so quickly that you could hardly tell it was there to begin with.

“Different how?” he said, strain in his voice, like he was going for some sort of normalcy and failing to grasp it.

Oh no. You had opened some floodgate and now things would be awkward from here to eternity. The only way to save this was to get it all out, and now that the water was flowing freely, there was no stopping the words from flowing out of your mouth:

“Well, it’s not a big deal, but sometimes I wonder why it is that you have this flirt going on with everyone except for me, and I mean, it’s absolutely and totally fine, you just see me thoroughly like a friend and that’s that but with what we have and all the nicknames and all that, sometimes I wish there could be more and I’m just wondering –“

And then you were wondering about nothing at all.

Ari was on you like a shot, his hands framing your face and pulling your lips on his even as he leaned towards you, and it didn’t matter that you didn’t understand. His kiss was a claim laid, one hand cupping the nape of your neck and the other wrapping around your waist even as his mouth devoured yours. He pulled back with his lips still on yours, bringing you to his lap and he was everything, everywhere, his scent and warmth and the softness of his shirt smelling like spring sun and laundry detergent, the taste of him on your tongue, the feeling of his hands mapping your body. It was just him all around you, and you fell into that just as easily as you’d once fallen into a comfortable, shared routine of friendship.

When he finally let your mouth go, you were both out of breath, and you were straddling his lap, suddenly very aware of how his feelings towards you weren’t entirely platonic at all. There was a hint of pink on his cheeks, and his hands came to cup your jaw, thumbs caressing your skin.

“You were too precious for that, honeybun,” he murmured, eyes fixed on yours. “I didn’t… When you waltzed into my house that day, it was the first time it felt like a home. You were the first time I felt at home. And putting on that face… it felt too cheap for you. And I didn’t… I couldn’t lose you. Not you. So I thought I’d be there for you. Take care of you, make you happy, and find my joy from that. When I was out there… I don’t know if I did enough, if I made a difference. I wasn’t sure I even deserved the kind of peace I felt with you.”

“Ari,” you breathed out, tears prickling in your eyes, unsure what you would’ve said even if there wasn’t a lump blocking your throat. “Ari, I…”

His thumb brushed over your kiss-swollen lips, and he shook his head ever so slightly, his gaze aflame with something that could never ever be just friendship.

“But now that I’ve had a taste of you, honey, I’m not selfless enough to give that up. I want you more than I’ve ever wanted anything in my life. I can’t let you go.”

“Then don’t.”

And just like that, his mouth was back, his hands diving down from your face to map the shape of your body, and the tiny moan he breathed right onto your lips sent a shiver down your back. He was holding you by the hips and you tangled both of your hands into his hair, making sure he wasn’t going anywhere without you.

“I think,” he managed in between pushes of his lips. “I think the patio can wait.”

You nodded eagerly, and he stood up with ease that sent a swooping feel of desire into your core, his hands slipping under your thighs so he could carry you. Your legs wrapped around his waist as your arms clung to him, and he made a beeline for the door that led inside.

It was a good thing that after all the work he’d done at the house, he knew exactly where the bedroom was.

Thank you for reading. Please consider leaving a comment, if you can spare the time and energy.

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ashesofblackroses · 25 days ago

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I want to test something!

If you see this post REBLOG it!

DO NOT LIKE! There should be no likes on this post

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ashesofblackroses · 28 days ago

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It should be illegal for something to be as hot as this when poor innocent ladies are preparing to go to bed.(Alone, without Andy Barber, I might add!😭)

This is the good stuff, what a dream.😍 All my feminist principles would fly straight out the window at the offer of being taken care of by this big honey.

I love how you’ve captured Andy’s determination to look after his darling wife in any way he can. You’ve really nailed that combination of strength and softness I’ve always felt Andy has.

What a parting line though:

“Well, Mrs. Barber, obviously, I am going to take care of you,” he said, pressing his lips on the inner side of your thigh.

Absolutely amazing.

Thank you for offering to create a hoeliday treat for me 🤭🫶🏻 How about Andy + nice (and if you feel comfortable adding some naughtiness too, feel free!). Thank you so much ☺️❤️

Happy (slightly belated) Hoelidays, Siri! I hope you enjoy this - it is also my first Andy piece!

Simmering

Andy Barber x wife!Reader | romance| established relationship | 974 words.

My blog is for people 18+ only, minors DNI.

Warnings: Allusions to smut / fade to black. I kept debating if this should have the slightest of soft!dark warnings but honestly I feel like that's just Andy being Andy.

Notes: I imagine this is an AU world where Andy and the Reader got married after college. Reader is female, no Y/N, no description of appearance (besides a mention of wearing a skirt), and she is mentioned to have a career in some sort of job where an assistant would be beneficial.

I do not own anything Defending Jacob related. This is an unofficial fan work. No copyright infringement intended. This is a work of fiction. Any similarity to actual persons, living or dead, or actual events, is purely coincidental.

You flung the door closed after you harder than you had intended, sighing deeply as you tossed your keys on the sideboard. Exhaustion lingered in your every vein, muscle, and tendon as you made your way to the kitchen, smiling tiredly as you saw your husband standing by the stove. He had taken off his jacket and tie and rolled the sleeves of his white dress shirt up to his elbows.

“Hello, honey,” he said, reaching an arm out for you and you went gladly. “It’s good to see you.”

He pressed a soft, quick kiss onto your lips before turning his attention back to the saucepan. Something smelled great, like tomatoes and spices, and together with the expensive scent of Andy’s musky, woody cologne, they made for a home.

“Hi dear,” you replied, resting your head against his firm shoulder for a moment, sighing.

“Long day?” he asked, even though he already knew – he worked long hours himself, and yet he’d still been home earlier than you had.

“Unimaginably,” you said. “Do you need a hand with dinner?”

“No, I got this, just go rest a little.”

You left him to his task and dragged your feet to the couch in the great room, collapsing to sit on it. Your head was still swirling with everything that had needed your attention today at work, and it felt like another tidal wave would arrive tomorrow. Sighing, you rubbed your temples, trying to push the headache circling them away.

The couch was positioned so that your back was against the kitchen; but even without looking, you could hear Andy move the saucepan away from the heat and open the fridge. Clinks of metal and glass followed, and then you heard his steps reach behind you. His tall form lingered behind you, and even through your tiredness, some primal instinct reveled in how a man with a frame like that was yours.

“Here you go,” he said, extending one of the fancy sparkling water bottles he insisted on keeping in the fridge to you over your shoulder.

Murmuring a thank you, you grabbed the bottle and took a long sip. It was a good call – after running around the whole day, you were probably dehydrated too, and in any case, the ice-cold water was so refreshing.

Andy’s large hands landed on your shoulders, his thumbs finding the knotted muscles and digging into them, and a rather obscene sound escaped your mouth at the feeling. He chuckled a laugh, but when he spoke, there was a hint of anger in his voice.

“They don’t treat you well enough in that place. How many years have you asked to have that assistant and they still insist on you doing everything yourself?”

‘That place’ being your place of work, of course. It wasn’t the first time that Andy had mentioned something like this, and honestly, as time went on and your requests fell on deaf ears, you were starting to agree. You’d kept an eye on the job listings in your field, but nothing of interest was popping up.

“You know that I could take care of you,” he said, his hands continuing to undo the tension that the day had left behind, his low timber a dangerous thing. “I could provide for you and we’d be more than comfortable on just my salary.”

You let your eyelids fall shut, a serene smile spreading onto your lips as you felt blood start to flow back into your muscles again. This topic wasn’t new, either; Andy had always respected your choice to have your own career, but it grinded him to see you like this after your workdays.

“And what, devote my life to being a doting wife to Mr. Barber instead?” you teased, and he laughed.

“Well, sweetheart, you can dote on me all that you want. But I was thinking more about maybe you’d want to write that novel you’ve been talking about. Or whatever you wish,” he said, leaning down to kiss the side of your neck. “But I like the idea of coming home to you, rested and happy and able to put your time into whatever you want.”

God, his touch felt good. His hands, his lips… You had been hungry when you’d gotten home but now the heat of his body was making you crave him instead.

Would it be so bad to be taken care of?

When the decision washed over you like a tidal wave, you realized that it had been simmering for a long time, and now, you had finally reached your resolution.

“Alright,” you said, swallowing at the weight of the words.

Andy froze in the middle of kissing your earlobe.

“Alright what?”

“Alright, I’ll quit,” you said, your hands trembling at the magnitude of this decision, this leap into an unknown future. “I’ll quit the job. You’re right, it is making me miserable and I’m making myself miserable when you could provide for both of us.”

Andy didn’t reply. Instead, he went around the couch without speaking a word and gently took the water bottle from you before setting it on the end table. He watched you with dark, half-hooded eyes when he knelt in front of you on the couch, a satisfied smile twinkling on his lips.

“What are you doing?” you asked.

He set his hands on your stocking-covered legs, brushing slowly up and moving your skirt out of the way, and you resisted the urge to whine at the way he was looking at you like he was going to devour you. His fingers wrapped around the waistband of the stockings and the panties underneath, tugging them off and tossing them away before lifting your legs to his wide shoulders.

“Well, Mrs. Barber, obviously, I am going to take care of you,” he said, pressing his lips on the inner side of your thigh.

Thank you for reading! I always cherish hearing your thoughts, so please leave a comment if you have the time and energy.

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ashesofblackroses · 29 days ago

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👆THIS, amen to this, so succinctly put. Steve’s ending undid every piece of his previous character development. Years later and I’m still smarting about the stupidity and injustice of that conclusion. Badly done, Marvel, badly done!

If you could fix one thing in the MCU, what would it be?

Bonus points if you link us your OC or Reader fic that you've written to fix it.

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ashesofblackroses · 29 days ago

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This is beyond adorable. I don’t know how you do it but every time you write for this man you make him more romantic.

“I know you always said you wanted to visit,” he said, as he bowed his head to let you put the simple black ears on him. “So I wanted to make that dream come true.”

Honestly, I think my heart has melted.💓

I’m so excited to read more of these wonderful drabbles.

Congrats on your 200+ followers, Stella! You deserve every single one, and more. 😊

For your dream date drabble event, may I request:

Steve Rogers + a day at Disneyland?

I can’t wait to check out all the drabbles you post! 💜

Thank you Rach, you are so incredibly kind! I immediately knew where this one was going when I read the prompt, so I hope you like it!

This drabble is a part of my 200+ follower celebration, Dream Date Drabble Event.

Every Bit As Magical

Steve Rogers x Avenger!Reader | fluff, romance | established relationship | 567 words.

My blog is for people 18+ only, minors DNI.

Notes: I just love the idea of attentive boyfriend Steve who lives to make his SO happy with everything that is in his power.

I do not own anything Marvel or Disney related. This is an unofficial fan work. No copyright infringement intended. This is a work of fiction. Any similarity to actual persons, living or dead, or actual events, is purely coincidental.

After years of working with the Avengers Initiative, you were no stranger to being on the Quinjet, but when Steve had insisted on not telling you the destination, you knew this had to have something to do with your birthday coming up this weekend.

And when he had tied your eyes while you’d been somewhere above an ocean, gently whispering that he didn’t want to spoil the surprise as he’d gently put the soft satin covering on your eyes, you’d barely be able to stay in your seat.

He had led you out of the Quinjet, taking your hand in a warm, certain grip. Okay, honey, I’m going to need you to get in the car now, the seat’s right there, that’s perfect, he’d cooed, and even as you had no idea where you were, you couldn’t have felt safer than you did with him.

When the car stopped, and Steve went round to open the door for you and help you out, you were practically bursting with curiosity. You heard a collection of various languages, sounds of a bustling happy place.

“Alright, honey, we’re here,” he said, and you could hear the pride and love in his voice even before he removed the fabric from your eyes. “I love you. I hope you like it.”

There was a spark in the blue of his eyes, and when he moved from out of the way, you saw the building in front of you. The grand, fairytale-like architecture of the hotel would have been recognizable even if it hadn’t been on your Pinterest boards. The five-star hotel right at the gates of the park stood proud in front of you, looking every bit as magical as you’d always imagined.

“Steve… Is this… Are we…” you managed to get from your mouth, certain that you were going to faint any second out of sheer happiness. “You brought me to Paris just so we could visit Disneyland here?”

You turned to him, eyes wide, and the smug smile on his face told you that you weren’t dreaming. He pulled his hand from behind his back, holding two pairs of Disney Ears. Careful as ever, he set the ones that had a polka dot bow on top of your head before leaning in to kiss your forehead.

“I know you always said you wanted to visit,” he said, as he bowed his head to let you put the simple black ears on him. “So I wanted to make that dream come true. Our luggage – I know, Nat helped me decide what I should pack for you – has been taken from the airport here, and we’re booked for the next five days so that we get the full experience.”

It was all you could do to kiss him at that point; simply leap to him, wrapping your arms around his neck and pressing your lips to his. He was laughing, hugging you to him and gently caressing your back.

“I love you so much,” you whispered when you finally felt like he’d gotten the message. “You are amazing.”

He replied with a smirk and then made a theatrical bow, gesturing towards the entrance of the hotel.

“Your suite awaits, Your Royal Highness. Once we check in, you can bring out the immensely detailed park visit plan I know you have, and I shall await your orders.”

Thank you for reading! I always cherish hearing your thoughts, so please leave a comment if you have the time and energy.

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ashesofblackroses · 1 month ago

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Thank you for this lovely treat. What a beautiful story to read to see the old year out and a new one in. Your take on Bucky is wonderful, tenderness, vulnerability and strength all rolled into one. Loved this.🥰

Happy New Year.🥳

Every Reason - Bucky Barnes x Reader

Rated T for themes - my blog is intended for 18+ only| Angst, hurt/comfort, a little fluff | Established relationship| Everyone Lives/No One Dies AU.

When it's time for the holidays, your ghosts always seem to come haunt you, and at a New Year's Eve party in the Compound, they rise to the surface.

Story Content Warnings: References to past trauma and abuse (not detailed), self-worth issues.

Reader is female, no description of appearance besides a mention of her wearing a dress and makeup.

Word Count: 1,064. | This fic on AO3. | Author Masterlist

Alternate Universe: The Avengers Initiative (AI) continued SHIELD's work after its collapse to corruption, with Steve as the Head Strategist and Tony as the Director. The Avengers are living together in the Tower - Bucky has healed, and Civil War never happened because Tony and Steve worked through their differences like adults.

The soft click of the roof terrace door found its way into your consciousness, and as quickly and discreetly as you could, you wiped your wet cheeks with the sleeve of your coat. The makeup had been set in place with the same spray that Nat used for her looks, which meant that it would not falter even in the face of an apocalypse, let alone with a little sniffling.

Crisp night air surrounded you; the lights of the whole Avenger’s Initiative Campus had been turned off so that the fireworks would get the best possible canvas, and in between the shows, you could enjoy the stars. It was beautiful. Peaceful. Your stomach was full of delicious treats from the grazing board — the biggest that you had ever seen. There was a pleasant buzz of a couple of glasses of champagne in your veins and a pretty dress on your body.

You had every reason to be happy.

It didn’t take an agent to recognize the steps that were crossing the roof, so instead of turning around to check, you used the few seconds to try to pull yourself together.

“Here you are,” Bucky breathed out as he reached you, and you could make out a hint of relief from his tone, which made your stomach twist. “I thought you said that you were going to the bathroom?”

His right palm came to rest on the small of your back, and a part of you thought you didn’t deserve that sort of warmth and had probably worried him on top of it.

“I did,” you said, hoping that your voice wouldn’t sound so stuffy that it would give you away. “I just needed a moment to breathe.”

“It’s pretty loud down there,” Bucky replied, shaking his head. “The party games keep getting wilder.”

You nodded, still keeping your eyes on the faraway horizon, the starry skies that spread out above the forests that surrounded the AI Campus. It was peaceful; a home, just as much as the man standing next to you was starting to be after a few months of going steady.

“Yeah,” you said, your flat tone betraying you and making that mocking voice in your head congratulate you for being some agent.

“Doll?” Bucky murmured, and even without looking, you could imagine the crease of worry on his brow. “Is everything alright?”

He knew the answer to that question — it wasn’t a question, not really, simply a chance for you to save face if you weren’t ready to talk about this right now. You weren’t sure you were, but you didn’t want him to worry.

“I’ll be fine, Bucky. I just. Holidays are hard.”

You whispered the final sentence with a voice so tiny you weren’t sure he would’ve heard the words if it wasn’t for his super hearing. Tears burned in your eyes again, the swirl of disgust and disappointment and anger a maelstrom at the bottom of your stomach. You had thought you had left all this behind; you had thought you’d gotten over it, and you weren’t sure which one you hated more, the ones that had caused you to be like this or yourself for still allowing them to have this power over you. Still, after all the years of no contact, when you had your own life and a career and a beautiful group of friends and an amazing partner, their ghosts lingered in the back of your head.

“Hey, come here,” Bucky whispered, wrapping his arms around you and bringing you to him. “Shhh.”

You buried your face against his button-up; with how hot he ran, he hadn’t bothered to get a coat, and you were immensely grateful for it since it allowed you to feel his warmth.

“It was always bad when it was the holidays. Worse than usual,” you managed to say. “And I hate it that I can’t just enjoy it even now, when everything is fine, and I’m afraid I’ll ruin the mood for everyone else and I’m already ruining your night and you’re so wonderful and I don’t deserve you!”

With your last words, you broke down into ragged sobs, and his arms tightened around you. He pressed his face against your hair and slowly rocked you from side to side, gently, letting the worst of the emotion pass you by. You scrunched the fabric of his shirt into your fists, clinging on to him like he was the only steady thing in the world.

“It’s alright, honey,” he cooed. “I’m right here.”

“I’m sorry,” you sniffed. “I’m sorry I’m ruining your night and being such a killjoy when everything is fine.”

“It’s okay. It’s not your fault. You’re not ruining anything,” he whispered.

You centered yourself on the slow movement of his hand on your back, the heat of his body, the scent of his aftershave.

“You could’ve just told me,” he said, and it wasn’t him scolding you.

The quiet tone shot another arrow of guilt through your chest. You hated the idea of him having looked for you from the compound with a pit of worry in his stomach; you weren’t entirely sure how long you’d been gone, but it had to be at least half an hour now.

“I know the holidays aren’t the easiest for you, either,” you said. “I didn’t want to be a burden to you. I’m sorry I worried you.”

“You’re not a burden,” he said. “I want to be there for you. Makes it easier to accept… that I can have my bad days too.”

“Of course you can,” you said.

Finally, you found enough strength to lift your face to look at him. Even in the dim light, you could still see the blue of his eyes, the handsome face framed by a few locks that had escaped the half-bun on the back of his head. It made you all the more conscious about how your eyes were probably swollen and red.

“Sorry, I’m a mess,” you whispered.

“You’re beautiful,” he said. “I’m here. Even when it’s not perfect. Especially then. I love you, you know?”

It wasn’t the first time he said it but it still made you smile regardless of the emotional turmoil that still rolled its way through your body.

“I love you too,” you whispered. “Thank you for being there for me.”

“Always, doll. Always.”

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ashesofblackroses · 1 month ago

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For Centuries is a work of art and I feel privileged to read it. Thank you for sharing your genius with us lucky readers.

When I started writing For Centuries, I thought it was going to be just a little oneshot or a few chapters, five max. Just a light little snack fic in between longer projects.

Said 'snack fic' is now over 200k in its file, and it has become something of my main work right now. It also morphed from tropey historical romance to full-on epic romantasy.

Help.

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ashesofblackroses · 2 months ago

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Everyone should definitely treat themselves to festive gift of reading this, as it’s the most scrumptiously wonderful Christmas fic ever. Perfection.

The Great Christmas Debacle

Explicit | 18+ only | Ex!Steve Rogers x Avenger!Reader, idiots in love, romantic comedy, Christmas Movie tropes. | COMPLETE, 14/14.

The town looked like a Christmas movie set. It was picturesque to the point of looking photoshopped — smiling people walking on the streets that were lined with lovely, aesthetic snowbanks. Snow and ice was hanging off the roofs, and the houses themselves looked like something out of Hansel & Gretel. The place was decked out with decorations, both the houses and the public spaces; lights were hanging above the streets and everywhere you looked, you saw spruce branches, candy canes, Santa figurines… It crossed your mind that, especially with the name, this might be some type of holiday vacation destination for people who took Christmas very seriously but something about the folk walking the streets didn’t strike you as tourists. They didn’t seem to be in a hurry anywhere. There were families and couples on the streets, children pulling old-fashioned sleds behind themselves, and at least three Golden Retrievers with Christmas-themed jumpers.

In short, it was so nauseatingly wholesome that you could hear how Tony, in his feigned cold-heartedness, would describe the place, and just looking at it had you feeling like you were developing cavities.

You and Steve made a good decision when you broke up. It was a mutual, amiable separation - after all, it’s tough to balance being an Avenger (or their Weapons Specialist) and dating. And while it isn't exactly easy to forget Steve Rogers, and he could say the same about forgetting you, it was a good decision.

Too bad the universe doesn’t seem to agree. As you are making your way home from the last mission before Christmas, every single clichéd Christmas Movie Trope is getting thrown your way. Like there was a plan in action to get you two back together.

Can you resist? And more importantly, do you want to?

Story Content Warnings: explicit sexual content, canon-typical violence, arguments, ex dynamics, getting kidnapped, lots of Christmas movie tropes, the song 'Baby It's Cold Outside'.

Notes: I wrote this back in 2022 as a holiday gift to my readers, and I thought I'd make a post here on tumblr to shamelessly promote it since it's my first Christmas here. The fic itself is on AO3, but my work there is accessible to guest users too.

Reader specifics: Late twenties, engineer, works as a weapons specialist at the AI, smart and ambitious and badass. Has quite the sweet tooth and love for coffee. No description of appearance, though clothing choices of Reader are described as feminine (dresses, heels). Reader in this fic celebrates Christmas, but everything is non-denominational. Unless you count Santa as a religious figure (considering the historical Saint Nicholas background), everything in here is secular - some allusions to Christmas time magic are made, though.

Prologue: The Non-Denominational Pre-End-of-December Party (AO3)

AUTHOR AO3| AUTHOR TUMBLR MASTERLIST

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ashesofblackroses · 2 months ago

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I’m so excited about this.😍 I love a Dennis story but they are such a rarity, so this is such a delight to look forward to. That little dark turn at the end is super intriguing. Ari and the family traditions sound…interesting! I can’t wait.🩷

Let Him Loose (Preview)

As promised, here is a preview of what I am working on. A slow build to be sure but it's been a while since I posted something and I'm still working on closing up some fics but life has been extremely busy!

I'll also be responding to those in my inbox - I didn't forget you, I promise!

Dennis Baker x Female Reader

Word Count: 925

Warnings: None for now, just some world building.

He keeps his eyes on the road, lifting a shaky hand to bring the insulated mug to his lips, swallowing down a sip as an 80’s synth pop song plays faintly in the background. Dennis has always been a nervous sort but today he’s much worse for wear, talkative at first about his new promotion until the city became a distant past, the highway stretching longer than before, his silence almost unnerving. His fingers grip the steering wheel tight, a cheerful commercial breaking through as you strain to listen to it.

“Come on down to Delilah’s Discount Deals! Where there’s something for everyone,” the upbeat spokesperson invites before the music starts again.

Enough is enough.

Your boyfriend’s jaw is clenched so tight that you wonder if he’ll break a tooth, placing your hand on his over the gear shift as he looks down under his clear framed glasses.

“Hey,” you begin, seeing him smile for a scant second. “What’s going on?”

“Nothing,” he answers, his eyes going back on the road. “Why?”

“Because you’ve barely said two words since we left?”

“Sorry. Just got a lot on my mind.”

His phone alerts with another incoming text message and then another before he exhales loudly.

“She won’t let up,” Dennis says forlornly. “I’m driving as fast as I can. Why they need me there before tomorrow is ridiculous, it’s not like we’re part of their plan.”

He accelerates slightly, your fingers pressing into the plush leather armrest as he begins to slow.

It’s not a secret that he doesn’t want to see his family for the holidays. He’s been putting it off for months – years even – but a promotion, even one that he had excitedly told his parents, had been a cause for a celebration that ended up becoming mandatory, by his family offering to host you both for the holiday, not taking no for an answer.

There’s not much you know about his family. Ever since you started dating, he’s been careful to navigate how he speaks about them to you. It wasn’t the best upbringing, that much you know as he’s shared that much. He grew up poor, bullied for his glasses and calm demeanor, ostracized for leaving the small town he grew up in for a scholarship for college and never looking back, let alone to visit. His parents, Dennis had told you, were proud people – proud of who they were and where they came from.

It was obvious that Dennis didn’t agree and knowing how stressed he was, it didn’t make sense for you to push the issue, not when you knew that topic is one he still tries to avoid.

“We don’t have to go,” you speak up, Dennis shaking his head slowly, eyes still on the road.

“That won’t go over well. Just better to get it over with.”

“Dennis,” you admonish, seeing him reach for his coffee again. “They’re your parents.”

“I know. They’re gonna love you, you know.”

As much of a comfort as that gives you, it’s the sadness in his voice that almost feels envious. Still, you don’t press, quietly looking at the window as the trees whizz past.

“You don’t seem excited.”

“I’m not,” he answers matter-of-factly, picking up his phone to glance at the text message before he places it back down, a look of dread appearing on his features.

“What is it?”

“My brother will be there.”

“Oh?” you ask, watching him take another gulp of coffee. “You haven’t seen him in a while, right? Sounds like a family reunion.”

“I wouldn’t call it that but sure.”

“What’s your brother like?” you ask, trying to get him to open up. Whatever the text message was, it didn’t please Dennis in the slightest, seeing him turn the phone face down in the cup holder.

“The favorite.”

“The favorite?” you repeat, Dennis still looking straight ahead, his fingers flexing slightly.

“Yeah.”

That’s all the response you will get, you realize, Dennis giving a short shrug. You know nothing about his brother, only that he has one, something muttered when you were first starting to date but the subject was dropped quickly.

“He’ll like you,” he says, almost bitterly. “You’ll like him too.”

“How do you know?”

You sound accusatory but you don’t mean it. Dennis seems so resolved that he’ll be cast aside that you find yourself getting defensive, as if he doesn’t believe you won’t be on his side.

“Because he’s the rugged type. I’ve seen the books you read,” Dennis chides with a slight smile that is gone before you can appreciate it. “He’s like that.”

“Books are books, they aren’t you,” you remind him, flashing him a smile. “Those books don’t have your self-deprecating jokes, your thoughtfulness and care. You know that.”

He smiles finally – a real smile with a flash of pearly white teeth – before he settles back into his seat.

“Just promise one thing,” Dennis says after a short pause, slowing to look at you for a moment. “Stay inside when it starts to get dark when we get there. Probably a silly superstition but it’s important. Promise?”

You want to make a joke but you know better, especially with how serious Dennis has become again. You’ll ask your questions later, when he’s not so agitated.

“I promise,” you recite.

“Good,” he says with a sigh of relief. “My family loves their traditions, Ari even more so. Let’s just ease you in slow so you don’t get overwhelmed.”

“Who is Ari?” you ask.

“My older brother.”

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