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beefromanoff · 11 months

Text

Going Under Ch. 4

summary: Bucky Barnes is assigned to head the security detail of an internationally beloved singer named Gianna as his next mission.

characters: Bucky Barnes x OC

soundtrack: Going Under - Evanescence, finally coming into the story! honestly a little shook at how well the lyrics match the story. literally the entire inspiration for this concept.

warnings: fluff, pop star fantasy x love story, set in an AU where the Avengers reunite after Civil War, pre-infinity war, slight angst, hurt/comfort, lonely reader/OC.

author’s note: this is my first ever fanfic, so please be kind! I have so many chapters written but not edited, so prepare for spam. enjoy xoxo

chapter list/links - xo ________________________________

chapter 4

Today’s rehearsal was short, and Gianna was already back in her room, feeling restless. She had woken up tucked into her bed, although she knew she’d fallen asleep on the bus. The flutters in her stomach turned as she daydreamt about strong arms and blue eyes tucking her into her bed, but she shook her head to clear it. Letting herself long for one of the three people she saw every day, someone who was contractually obligated to care for her, was not acceptable.

He probably had to carry me upstairs, it’s his job. Don’t be dumb. Gianna scolded herself as she sighed and began to brew some of the lackluster hotel coffee. Not her first choice, but the rain poured outside and she didn’t feel like dragging herself into the public eye to get anything better. She wanted to write some new songs, to pour out her heart and soul onto paper and create something beautiful. The only thing she didn’t like about being on tour, second to the grueling schedule, was the lack of creativity. The same songs, performed with the same choreography, and the same costumes, night after night. She missed the artistry of songwriting that made her fall in love with her profession in the first place.

As she sat in her hotel room, strumming her guitar, she heard a knock at the door. Assuming it was Tom, she padded over to the door and opened it to a pair of blue eyes looking at her.

"Hey, G. I heard you through the wall. Mind if I join you?" Bucky asked, his voice hesitant. “I come bearing gifts.” He smiled sheepishly down at her, and as the door opened wider she saw the cardboard tray holding two lattes.

Gianna smiled warmly, motioning for him to come in. "Of course not. I'd love the company, and maybe the coffee even more," she said, winking at him. “I knew broadening your coffee horizons would benefit me.” Bucky chuckled as he sat at the chair across from her bed.

“How’d you sleep?” He asked, leaning back in the chair and taking a sip of his hazelnut latte. Gianna took her place on the edge of the bed and smiled. She felt warmth spreading through her and couldn’t tell if it was from the coffee or the sudden attentiveness from Bucky.

“Really well, although I must have sleepwalked, considering I don’t remember coming up to the room last night.” She teased.

“Oh man, sounds like a pretty serious issue. That’s at least 20 stories you traveled.” He dodged the question with a joke of his own. “I’m going to have to start patrolling outside your door at night so you don’t sleepwalk back to New York.”

Gianna laughed. “I’m assuming I owe you some thanks?” Bucky waved her off.

“Don’t mention it. I figured you could use the rest. I’m tired after just watching the tour,” he raised his eyebrows at her.

“Oh come on, you’re an Avenger, you’re telling me you couldn’t dance around for a couple hours?” She giggled. “I have the easy job. I’ve seen you all on the news.”

Bucky chuckled, appreciating her humility. “Ah, it’s not all saving the world. It’s mainly training and briefings. Stark works us hard. Likes to keep us prepared.”

“Just in case you get assigned to high-octane missions like this one?” Gianna teased, sipping her latte and keeping her eyes locked on his.

“Actually, this is the first mission of this kind I’ve been assigned to. Non-combat, long-term…it’s unusual.” Bucky answered honestly. “Usually missions are a couple days, maximum, and involve some kind of uh, offensive action.” It wasn’t a secret that he had a violent past, especially with the highly publicized pardon he’d received, but he still didn’t exactly want to advertise it to Gianna.

“I hope it isn’t too boring for you…” she trailed off, only half joking. “You don’t seem like the type to listen to my music.”

Bucky laughed softly. “It’s been a nice change of pace, actually. It’s been fun not getting shot at or jumping out of planes. And I’m a big fan - I even have a poster of you back in my room at the compound.” He joked in his usual dry style.

Gianna blushed. “I’m glad you’re enjoying it. It’s been really nice having you on this tour…I like the privacy of a small team, but it does get lonely. It’s been fun having someone around all the time. Maybe I’ll add you to my personal payroll when the tour is over.” She looked up, green eyes sparkling.

“Oh yeah?” Bucky cocked an eyebrow. “What would the job description be?”

“Well, 24/7 companionship for sure. Coffee runs would be a must. I also want to be tucked into bed every night, I don’t care if there’s an upcharge for that.”

He laughed and leaned his head back. This new flirtatious territory was innocent, but he feared he was enjoying it a little too much. It was a long assignment, but it would still come to an end.

“What are you working on?” He gestured to her guitar, changing the subject.

“Oh, just messing around. I had an itch to write, but I got to playing around and realized I have nothing to write about.” She stared at the empty notebook on the bed next to her. “I’ve been recording and touring since I was signed when I was 17. I don’t have friends, I don’t date except when my publicist tells me we need to sell a love song, and I hardly have a life outside of hotel rooms and tour buses.” She shrugged. “I don’t have a story to tell.”

Bucky studied her eyes before looking down, studying his coffee cup held between his right hand and left metal one. “Sometimes it’s better to have no story to tell than one you never want to be told.”

The silence hung in the air between them as Gianna tried to gauge if this was him giving her permission to ask about his past. Bucky was trying to figure out if he would grant it.

“I don’t know what happened to you…but I am sorry. I know bits and pieces, and that was enough to make me sick to my stomach. I can’t even imagine what else there is, things that didn’t make it online.” She kept her eyes locked on him, careful not to overstep.

He raised his blue eyes to meet hers and sighed. “I’ll tell you whatever you want to know. Just please, don’t think of me differently. I’d rather have you wonder about my past than know it and be afraid of me.” His eyes pleaded with her.

Gianna breathed out slowly, wondering what could make her afraid of the man who’d shown her nothing but steadiness and safety over the past few weeks. “I promise.”

“Alright…well, uh, let’s go back a little ways. What do you know about the war?”

With that, Gianna set her guitar aside and perched with a pillow in her lap, hanging on Bucky’s every word. They stayed in the room for hours, low voices and trembling hands and more vulnerability than either of them had planned for.

Gianna listened intently, feeling a sense of empathy and mild understanding. She knew what it was like to feel dehumanized and used by the corporations that owned her. In her case, it was her record label. The things asked of her paled in comparison to the horrors Bucky had been tasked with as the Winter Soldier, but the sentiment was the same. Existing to serve a purpose. Being important as long as you were useful. They both felt that their lives were controlled by external forces, forces that defined who they were and what they stood for. Tears silently streamed down Gianna’s face as she listened.

As Bucky’s story neared present day, Gianna crept over to him, sitting on the floor and resting her hands on his knees. She looked up at him, seeing tortured eyes looking back at her. She slid her hand to his cheek and guided his face up from the ground.

“You are the strongest person I have ever known.” She gave him a soft, but assuring smile. “Thank you for trusting me.” Her thumb rubbed back and forth across Bucky’s cheek just in time for a lone tear to fall from his eye. She brushed it away and dropped her hand back to her lap.

Bucky ran a hand through his hair and took a deep breath, relieved that the gruesome details were out in the open and that she hadn’t run screaming, demanding new security. The biggest hurdle with meeting anyone new, romantic or otherwise, was the inevitability of them finding out about his murderous past. That usually put a damper on things. He preferred to avoid new connections altogether.

Gianna stiffened, straightening up and reaching for the pen. “Wait-” She snatched the notebook and handed it to Bucky. “Write this down.”

She started strumming the guitar and sampling out various verses. He stayed quiet, watching the gears turn in her head and wrote when she told him to, scratching and revising along the way as she worked through her own creative process.

Sitting together, Gianna wrote the beginning of a beautiful song, one that spoke to their shared experiences of feeling used and dehumanized. It was a cathartic experience, and as Bucky watched her work, he regarded her with a newfound sense of closeness. He saw her in her element, beautiful even with her hair tied up and her fatigue evident in her face. She chewed on the end of her pen and blinked, almost in disbelief.

“I think we just wrote a song.”

She took the guitar and rested the notebook in front of her, beginning to play. Her voice was softer in the hotel room, more intimate. Her acoustic performance was just as powerful as her vocals in the stadium.

Now I will tell you what I've done for you

Fifty thousand tears I've cried

Screaming, deceiving, and bleeding for you

And you still won't hear me (going under)

Don't want your hand this time, I'll save myself

Maybe I'll wake up for once (wake up for once)

Not tormented daily defeated by you

Just when I thought I'd reached the bottom

I'm dying again

I'm going under (going under)

Drowning in you (drowning in you)

I'm falling forever (falling forever)

I've got to break through

I'm going under

Blurring and stirring the truth and the lies (so I don't know what's real)

(So I don't know what's real and what's not)

(Don't know what's real and what's not)

Always confusing the thoughts in my head

So I can't trust myself anymore

I'm dying again

I'm going under (going under)

Drowning in you (drowning in you)

I'm falling forever (falling forever)

I've got to break through

So go on and scream, scream at me

I'm so far away (so far away)

I won't be broken again (again)

I've got to breathe

I can't keep going under

I'm dying again

I'm going under (going under)

Drowning in you (drowning in you)

I'm falling forever (falling forever)

I've got to break through

I'm going under (going under)

Going under (drowning in you)

I'm going under

Gianna trailed off on the last line and looked up at Bucky. He had gone pale, eyes locked on her. He stood up abruptly, his large frame looming over the bed.

“Oh God, Bucky, I’m sorry, it’s too far, I-” Gianna tossed the guitar aside and waved her hands, feeling ashamed. Bucky stepped forward and wrapped her in the tightest hug she’d been given in…years. She stiffened, taken aback by his reaction. As she realized this wasn’t the anger she thought it was, she relaxed into his arms, kneeling on the bed as he stood beside it and held her. She wrapped her arms around him and leaned into his chest.

“It’s perfect.” His voice was low and gravelly. He leaned back and looked into her eyes, their faces only inches apart. “You have a gift. It’s not just being pretty and dancing on a stage.”

At that moment, Gianna realized that Bucky was more than just her security detail. He was a friend, a confidant, and someone she could trust with her deepest thoughts and feelings. He had spoken to her deepest insecurities and trusted her with his own. She was lost in his blue eyes, realizing she never quite noticed how his jawline was almost dangerously sharp, and his lips were perfectly pouty. She was admiring his rugged handsomeness when the hotel phone rang, snapping them both out of the moment. It was Tom, calling to give her a 15 minute warning before they needed to leave for the venue.

“I guess I better get my stuff together,” Gianna breathed, eyes still on Bucky. He smiled.

“I’ll see you in the hall in ten. Let me know if you want to walk down or be carried.”

Gianna blushed and gave Bucky a gentle shove as she slipped off the bed. She knew that she had found something special in Bucky, something that went beyond the confines of their roles as pop star and security detail. Today was a pivotal point in their friendship, and her mind was on anything but her upcoming show as she shoved her phone into her duffel bag and walked out the door.

#bucky barnes #james bucky barnes #bucky fanfic #bucky barnes x oc #bucky fluff #winter soldier fluff #winter soldier #avengers #sebastian stan

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forthewoolfy · 5 years

Photo

Happy Birthday, Shouta Aizawa! To celebrate, the amazingly talented @standard-fiendart and I will post the first illustration and a long sample of chapter one from our collaboration Dragon Fruit, a fantasy EraserMic AU featuring Dragon Slayer Shouta and Cursed Dragon Hizashi! Dragon Fruit - Story by Standard-Fiend and ForTheWoolfy, Illustrations by Standard-Fiend, Writing by ForTheWoolfy

Chapter One

A Dragon’s Nest

‘When tracking dragons, it’s important to understand the different signs of nesting between age and status. One does not want to wander unprepared into the den of an ancient and territorial alpha, or a cave housing a clutch of eggs and a protective parent.’

It wasn’t easy being a dragon slayer: the hours were long, the job was isolating, the casualty rate was predictably high, and while it wasn’t a thankless job – if anything everyone was always exceedingly thankful – Shouta Aizawa always chalked that one down as a negative. He worked best while on the move, and although it was difficult to turn down the kind offers of a hot meal and a comfortable bed, he hadn’t taken this job so he could settle. (More underneath!)

If a town was safe, there was no reason for him to remain. In the words of a song he’d heard years ago:

‘Twas better to be all alone.’

The sun glinted off his authentic dragon-scale armour as he marched through the small town with head held high, his raven black hair tied in a messy ponytail. A dirty green cape trailed behind him, kicking up whenever it was caught by the occasional gust of wind. The hunting arrows rattled in their quiver, his bow dipped and swayed with every step, and his dark blue robes parted slightly to reveal a worn leather doublet beneath it all.

Every piece of clothing was covered in frantic patches and unruly stitches, while everything he needed to survive weighed down his several bags. At his side hung a sheathed sword, the scabbard made of dark wood, native to his distant homeland, while the hilt was curiously ornamental to anyone keen enough to notice.

He could feel eyes watching him from behind closed shutters, but only a few had the courage to open their doors and mumble some sort of greeting, typically along the lines of ‘Thank the lord you’re here’ or ‘We’ve been waiting for you’.

No, it wasn’t easy being a dragon slayer, but the townspeople were only half the problem.

When Shouta had been a young child, he’d listened to heroic tales of brave knights and vicious dragons, and he’d been drawn into the fantasy as easily as any other youth. In reality, there were no brave knights, but there were plenty of vicious dragons. They came in so many shapes and sizes, with tempers as fiery as the flames they breathed, and the numerous scars than lined Aizawa’s firmly built body were testament to the many he’d removed.

They were beautiful beasts too, majestic and intricate, but he kept that unique observation close to his heart.

He wouldn’t consider this area adequate territory for a dragon, but a slew of reports suggested a beast was setting up a nest nearby, despite the poor conditions. Livestock were disappearing, farmers had found telltale scorch marks in their fields, and a few had even reported seeing a ‘golden serpent’ slipping between the trees. Aizawa wasn’t so sure about that last point: he’d never encountered a golden dragon and he doubted he’d find one around here.

Whatever colour the beast was, hopefully it hadn’t found a mate yet, or else he’d be dealing with two angry parents and potentially young, and there were very few things he hated more than having to slay defenceless fledglings...

However, judging by the amount of livestock that’d disappeared lately, the beast was probably alone, so it was better to deal with it now, before it found a mate and had a chance to breed. Spring was fast approaching, afterall, so time was of the essence.

He reached the field where the most recent sightings had been reported and examined the area, his armour making a rough scraping sound as he moved. The scorch marks were several days old, but that didn’t mean the beast had left the area, especially if it was building a nest.

He removed a thick leather glove and let his fingers brush over the blackened ground, feeling the rough texture beneath his skin. It was impossible to discern whether the beast was male or female, for this pattern could’ve fit either. Hopefully it was the latter, for a male would begin to gather more and more food to attract a mate, and when the livestock ran out, its eyes would turn to the people in the town…

Shouta straightened up and glanced around the paddock, noting the old wooden fencing. He trailed along the field’s perimeter, slowly and methodically, his sharp eyes scanning for…

Bingo.

His boots crunched against the ground as he stopped and ran his fingers over several deep gashes in the fence, where a beast had scrambled over to escape with its kill. Aizawa pulled his glove back on and unfurled a scroll from his belt, steady eyes running over the blotches and fine ink lines. According to the map, there was a mountainous area to the north-west.

Aizawa put the scroll away and examined the claw marks more closely, trying to gauge the size of the beast. It was certainly an adult, but was probably still quite young, which would be both a blessing and a curse: it wouldn’t have a mate yet, but sometimes the younger ones were more aggressive over territory, especially if this was its first spring since coming of age. He withdrew a bandolier of small leather pouches from his bag, each sealed tightly to retain the contents inside. He counted each one and stopped at the fifth, before he pulled out several blue feathers and proceeded to tie them into his hair. The wind brushed through them, fanning out their unnoticeable scent, and he grabbed a handful of dry dirt.

His face and armpits were quickly smeared with the grime, creating dark streaks over his pale skin, and the remainder was purposefully poured into his boots. The feathers and dirt would mask his scent for a while, at least until he found the dragon’s lair amongst the foothills and caverns. A few nearby farmers who’d come out to watch looked at him as if he were crazy, although their faces blanched once he accidentally made eye contact.

Aizawa almost cursed himself. Once he’d habitually looked away from people, to hide his shame, but when working with dragons...

“You see his eye?” one farmer growled in a rough, callous tone. “Boy’s got a demon eye.” The group made some religious signs for protection, but their cruelty was ignored.

Now wasn’t the time to think about that: he had a job to do. He hopped the fence in an impressive leap and started north-west into the forest, leaving the superstitious farmers behind. As he moved, he made sure to run his palms over the trunks of trees. It would rile the dragon up, to have some of its territory claimed by a human, but that was the entire point: they were easier to fight when they were blinded by rage.

It was an odd balance of leaving his scent and masking it, but there was a reason Aizawa was still alive by this point in his career. To kill thy enemy, one had to know thy enemy.

He was surprised by the minimal territorial marking though: there were a few scratches about, and a few trees where bark had been rubbed away by scaly skin, but these were few and far between. This was peculiar, especially for a young adult, who’d typically overcompensate their territorial marking.

Was it a female then? Or perhaps the dragon had been distracted by something…

The environment shifted subtly from the flat forest to rockier slopes. The trees were more spread out here, making it ideal for a wyvern, but that contradicted the other patterns the monster had left. Perhaps the dragon had been orphaned at a young age, and was inexperienced...

In the distance he spied several small cave openings, and a brush of warm wind told him he was nearing the nest: dragons always kept a fire blazing at the heart of their caves. He crested a small hill to find a short drop on the other side, with claw marks raked into the graveled slope. Heat washed up from below, and he noticed the telltale flicker of a flame-cast shadow. In the distance, the sun was already nearing its final descent behind the horizon, the sky painted in luscious hues of orange and red.

It hadn’t taken him too long to find the nest, and that was exceedingly peculiar, despite his dedication to the job. Dragons were usually better at hiding their homes, and even the selection of this area was peculiar. Gravel was an obvious giveaway for claw marks, so most beasts avoided territory with it, not to mention the lack of trees to hide the entrance with. Honestly, judging by the rough markings on the ground, it almost looked like the dragon had recently fallen over the ledge, but a dragon wouldn’t be that inept… right?

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