#my love for masochist steve just took over completely

[fandomfluffandfuck]

I don't know who else to tell 🫣🫣 Steve feeds my little pain kink so much 😔 he looks good bloody 😳😳😳😳

Anon, have you been spying on my AO3 history?

You can tell me this shit aaaall day 😘

I just worked my way through "The Least Difficult of Men" from isozyme. It's a stony fic (and I bet that one anon from the other day will be baffled by that 💀💀). Typically, stony isn't my cup of tea, no disrespect to the people who prefer the drink, BUT I am weak, weak, weak for masochistic Steve, and the tags drew me in. How could I resist? And I have not been disappointed at all! It is so fucking good, I finished it a little bit ago and there's so much visceral ✨️pain✨️

The imagery in that fic fuck.

I think a lot about Steve in general--let's be real--but I think a lot about the faces Steve makes specifically, and lately, I've had Steve's face in (consensual, of course) pain in my head.

Who wouldn't want to see that pretty face contorted in pain, enjoying it perversely. Taking something that should be so awful but feeling it so good. It's intense and hot and stinging and painful, but god, it hurts so good.

So good.

Imagine...

((stucky masochism/sadism below the cut))

Imagine Steve, struggling beautifully underneath the weight of the biting sensations he's being made to feel. Controlled and commanded. He's strung up, restrained, and totally helpless to the assault Bucky is waging on his body. Steve's arms are stretched out to his sides, straight, so he can feel the strain in his muscles every time he breathes--heaving, chest expanding, then contracting, shoulder blades shifting, muscles over his ribs rippling, his stomach clenching. The ropes coiled around his wrists tightly paint red across his fair skin. He doesn't need to move, so his ankles are also bound, not as wide--he can stand, but it's not so easy on him. That's part of why he keeps tensing and squirming. But it isn't the whole story. He's squirming and tensing, his muscled body tight, because Bucky keeps hurting him.

Oh, God.

Steve chokes, his blue eyes welling until they glisten like jewels. He's so close to overflowing, nearly sobbing, but not yet. He can hold out for longer... right? He won't start crying yet?

But-!

Bucky's fingers are delightfully, horribly cruel--scratching deep lines in his fair skin until he looks like he's been mauled by a wild animal, lines down his back and across chest and up his thighs, lines underscoring his desire; slapping bruises across his ass until his poor backside is nearly purple, throbbing with heat; biting and pinching his hips so they're dotted with fingertip bruises like obscene flower petals; twisting his nipples until they get puffy and swollen, abused hotly; thumbing the slit of his pulsing cock until Steve feels raw and achy, leaking all over himself, making a mess. All of that torture and more. So much more that Steve can't fucking keep track of it all. It's so overwhelming. He can't--

He doesn't--

He doesn't know what's happening. He just knows that it makes his nerves all burn and crackle with an inferno he can't get anyway else. Nothing else sets fire to him so completely.

Nothing feels like this.

Fuck, he doesn't know what to feel because it all feels so good. It's so overwhelming in every way. Steve doesn't know where to look. He can't look at Bucky with that evil, gorgeous smile on his face--all teeth, dangerous and divine. He can't look at nothing, focused somewhere out in front of him, because then all he has to go off of is the way his skin sings.

And he can't fucking look down at himself because then all he sees is the evidence of how far he's willing to go for pleasure. The evidence of his pure depravity written across his skin as if he's a book. If he dares to look down at himself and feel the throb of flooding arousal, his teary and blue, so blue, eyes find hazily that his skin is blushing. He's sweating so much that he's glistening. Glowing red. And, Christ, his nipples are so red and hard over his round pecs that move with his gasping chest. His chest! Steve squirms as much as he can--his chest is scored with marks. Below that, if he can keep his blurry eyes open, his stomach is tight with lust, but his eyes skim over it much easier to stare down at his weeping, twitching, throbbing cock. He couldn't be harder if he tried.

Jesus.

Pain takes him from every angle, but it sharpens and deepens until he's wailing when Bucky flicks the head of his cock. Bright. Bright. FUCK. It's so bright and awful and good. White hot, teeth-gritting pain that cuts through him. Slices into his chest and makes it so he can't breath. The sensation viciously rips up from his cock into his belly and, and, and--

Steve screams when he does it again. Flicking the overly sensitive head of his dripping cock.

He's sobbing.

There's no choice in it. Sobbing. Steve can't choke it down or bite it off. He's sobbing whether he wants to or not now. He doesn't have a choice when he's burning alive, relishing in it. Maybe he's insane but, GOD, it hurts so good that he never wants it to stop. Clenching his fists until the bones in his hands creak.

Flick. Flick. Flick.

Ah! AH! AH!

It hurts so bad that he wants it to stop right now. Never. Stop. Don't. He cries harder. He moans louder.

Steve struggles so hard under the eating, all-consuming sensation that he loses his footing, gasping, the ground disappearing beneath him with a terrifying suddenty. Heart thudding in his chest like it might speed out of control, rising into his throat.

Scrambling with muscles melted, Bucky has to help Steve back to his feet to give him what he craves. More pain. More pleasure. More torture--merciless and so goddamn perfect.

Bucky. Bucky.Bucky.Bucky that's all Steve has besides glorious pain.

Bucky.

Bucky is so good to him. Marking him up, stripping him down completely to his bare bones, killing him by how alive he makes him feel.

Bucky is so good to him.

Bucky could use an implement on Steve rather than his hands, something, anything--a crop, a flogger, a paddle, vampire gloves, clothes pins, clamps, anything. Anything. But he isn't. He's taking Steve apart with his bare hands, making him whine rustily and cry desperately and ache for a taste of mercy.

Using nothing more than his hands to leave his mouth hanging open, sobbing, squirming pathetically weakly, sweetly garbling, "h-hurts! AH! It huurts!" when he can't take it anymore, he's gonna fucking cum. It's so much. So good.

Bucky cocks his head to the side, "aww," he clicks his tongue, pouting at him as he steps in closer, intentionally rubbing his thigh against him so Steve can feel the raw head of his dick catch Bucky's pants, the friction making him want to scream all over again, muscles tensing and quivering, wrecked, "it hurts, does it, baby?"

Steve moans low in his throat, exhausted in the best way, hanging his head, barely nodding.

"Poor thing," Bucky wraps his arms around Steve's neck, playing innocent while pressing his knee to Steve's heavy, tight balls. Totally unrelenting as he flinches and sings for him, crying out in pain.

"Nnngh!" Steve whines raggedly, stretching to get onto his toes. The pain of his balls getting smashed against the thick, corded muscle of Bucky's killer thighs is, is... it's gonna, yeah, God, it's gonna kill him. He's gonna die. He's gonna cum. Now. Bucky is ruthless, making him hurt deliciously everywhere. Fuuuck.

#asks #fandomfluffandfuck #i wasn't trying to write a little bit for this #but #look #my love for masochist steve just took over completely #steve rogers #bucky barnes #stucky #fic rec #big sub steve #dom bucky #masochist steve

[kalee60]

Wondering if you have any thoughts about beefy bucky? And maybe any thoughts about any thoughts that Steve might have about beefy bucky? For a cheeky anon 👉👈

Hoo boy Cheeky Nonnie... Do I have some thots about this??

*ahem - clears throat as it's a little thick for some reason... err - yes, yes I do... Many in fact...

Just to clarify - you mean...

Or even...

I thought so...

Oh - Cheeky anon - you are speaking my language! So I had set out to tell you my thoughts about Beefy Bucky...but Steve came screaming into the room, panting and excited, a light shining in his eyes and suddenly it was all about him... maybe one day I’ll get my say...

This got away from me slightly - hope you enjoy Nonnie! 😘

~*~*~*~*~

Steve tried to not stare, tried to be respectful like his ma taught him, tried to be the responsible adult, hero that he was. He was the paragon for truth, the beacon of all that was good, but all that ran through his head as he looked at his best friend, his semi-recently unbrainwashed best friend, was Bucky’s large frame manhandling him to the bed and doing unspeakable acts on Steve’s body.

He was past caring what these acts might be, he’d be open to anything, try anything - not having had much experience due to time or inclination. But as he sat in the mission brief and watched Bucky playing with a pencil, unintentionally snapping it between his chunky fingers, looking around sheepishly in case someone told him off for breaking SHIELD property - Steve thought about those meaty fingers wrapped around a specific part of his anatomy. A part he knew couldn’t snap off (he’d tried when jerking off - not intentionally, but sometimes he twitched hard in the heat of the moment - and he had super strength after all).

From Steve’s vantage point, a few yards behind Bucky’s immensely broad shoulders, he found his breaths coming in quicker, wondering how it would feel to be picked up and slammed into a hard surface by Bucky, to have all that unrestrained strength pushing him - up against his body. Steve shivered, knowing that, yes, Tony and Thor and the others with the use of their powers or suits could pin Steve for a few seconds - but Bucky - he’d had a similar serum as Steve and it gave him thoughts. 

Would Bucky be at the same level of strength and power, were they evenly matched in every way? And if Steve begged on his knees staring up at Bucky - would Bucky relent and finally give him all he’d been dreaming about since he was sixteen?

Steve didn’t know. But he fantasised about it a lot.

Bucky had always been bigger than Steve, had always towered over him when they were kids, and Steve fit under the crook of Bucky’s arm, snug and nice, knowing that even before the serum, Bucky could have had his way and Steve would let him - even as feisty and independent as he was. But oh god, given half the chance, in a million different ways Steve would have let him.

But then the war happened, Steve had the serum and everything changed - he lost Bucky, had lost his better half, his true north, and that was when Steve lost hope. Until the Winter Soldier appeared - no, when Bucky appeared. Hope welled eternal in Steve for the first time in years, and to now have Bucky before him, it was a dream come true and he was scared to do anything to break the bubble that was surrounding them in case he scared Bucky off again.

So through hungry eyes, Steve watched Bucky closely, helped Bucky with the holes in his memory as best he could, ignored the lack of compassion that sometimes came through, and tried his best not to ogle Bucky’s new physique.

It was hard.

Extremely hard.

Because Bucky was built, he was wide, he was thick and it made Steve jittery inside.

He was unable to hide the most basic of reactions when they sparred, growing stiff the moment Bucky threw Steve over his shoulder like he weighed nothing to land on the mat roughly before straddling him, hand gently around his throat and a smirk on his face. And Steve had to scramble to the toilets for a moment alone - each and every time. Images of Bucky’s muscular thighs either side of his stomach fodder for a slew of fantasies and he only ever felt a little guilty when he came, hand shaking around his dick and Bucky’s name on his lips.

But it was undeniable that Bucky had changed - his quick smiles gone, humour buried away with only a glimpse here and there, but Steve knew Bucky, his Bucky was lurking somewhere in the depths, and Steve was slowly teasing him to the surface. So it would be completely unfair to foist his desires on his friend - a friend who'd never indicated that he liked Steve on a romantic level.

So Steve sat behind Bucky in the briefing, letting his mind wander, allowing his gaze to rake over the back of the too tight dark blue henley, Bucky’s shoulders taking up more space on the chair than Steve’s did - and he watched. 

Steve’s eyes traced the lines of Bucky’s wide stance as he moved in the chair, watching the toned muscles shift under the shirt and he couldn’t help lick his lips, only to look up and find Bucky stalled, stopped in his tracks staring over his shoulder at Steve with something deeply shadowed in his eyes. And Steve had been caught, caught staring like a man dying of thirst and Bucky the only person in the world that had a trickle of water left.

Standing up hastily, Steve fled - heading towards his room on the thirtieth floor, not knowing if the briefing was over or not, not really caring - he’d walked out of them before - it was only a safety meeting about new protocols that Steve himself had helped to create, but he couldn’t sit behind Bucky and stare at his bulk any longer. Bucky might have already realised where Steve’s thought’s had been, and he needed a moment to agonise over it.

He’d only just made it to his hallway, sprinting up the stairs as it was quicker than the elevator, when a huge solid hand grasped his arm, yanking to slam Steve up against the wall and suddenly two very intense blue/grey eyes were staring at him, pinched at the corners, questioning. Steve was no longer concerned about being called out - he was too busy sweating heavily at the sheer muscle Bucky was showcasing by pinning him to the wall, and he flexed, trying to move, but Bucky - oh fuck - Bucky had him. Steve would have to exert a lot of energy to break the hold, and his knees buckled.

Bucky grasped him, holding him upright as he sagged, “hey pal - you okay? What in the hell is going on?”

Steve managed to get his knees to lock long enough to hold his weight, and Bucky wide-eyed and concerned held him trapped. Held him aloft in his strong arms, his flesh one just as huge and muscular as his metal one.

“Yeah I’m alright,” Steve ground out. And he was, mostly - except for the tenting in his cargo pants, something that if Bucky stepped in less than an inch would feel pressed against him in all it’s post-serum glory. And Steve shouldn’t have thought that - what had it done to Bucky if the rest of him had grown so thick.

Bucky exhaled slowly, then looked up at the roof and Steve watched the sinews dance under the skin of Bucky’s neck, the wide hefty expanse of muscle that had to be at least twice the size as before. Steve wanted to lean forward, nip at the jutting Adam's apple, lick it, suckle it and have Bucky tense the muscles so that Steve could trace the hardness under his stiff tongue.

Words escaped him before Steve knew what was happening. “You’re so big.”

Immediately his face flamed because the words didn’t come out like a question, or a matter of fact statement - it was breathy, whispered with reverence, with a tone that couldn’t be disguised - Steve sounded horny for Bucky, and shame welled up.

Shutting his eyes, Steve shook his head, trying to get up the strength to break free of the large hands holding him, but Steve was learning he was a masochist under Bucky's control, Steve wanted it, no matter how he got it - all of that power and force bundled into the man he’d been in love with all of his life, it was too much.

“Open your eyes, Stevie.”

He was powerless not to, not when Bucky called him that.

Bucky’s long hair had fallen over one side of his face, and he peered at Steve, a small frown between his eyes as he worked something out in his head, Steve having seen that puzzled expression many times, usually directed at the coffee machine or at Sam, until suddenly like the dawning of a new day - his face went slack. 

He’d realised something, something big. And Bucky stepped forward, closer, the entire length of his body now against Steve, and although Steve was still a little taller than him, he felt as small as his teenage self while Bucky held him aloft using just his body, and it was only then that Steve realised what Bucky was pressed against and… oh…

What was now pressed against Steve in return.

“Buck…” he said brokenly.

“How long?”

“Errr…”

“How long, Steve?” The demand came with a tightening of hands on his biceps and Steve groaned at the pinch, the pressure, and Bucky threw his massive flesh arm across Steve’s collar bone instead, restraining him, and Steve just about came on the spot. It was too much, the sheer strength, the sheer size of Bucky was making him quake like a teenager with too many uncontrollable hormones.

“For as long as I can remember.”

“Jesus,” Bucky swore and let go, Steve slumping against the wall, and Bucky took one step away, Steve had ruined it - ruined everything.

“Well, are you coming or not?”

Steve looked up at the order in Bucky’s voice.

“Where?” he croaked.

“Your room, it’s closer - I’m going to nail you to your bed and make you scream Stevie Rogers - I have one vivid memory of before the war, and I know it was just a fantasy. And right now... right now I want to make it a reality.”

Bucky strode away, intent in each step and Steve watched the sway of his thick hips, the delectable peach-like ass he wanted to sink his hands and teeth into, and Steve stuck to the spot, couldn’t believe what was about to happen.

“I’m not going to ask twice.”

Steve jumped to attention, and had never ran so fast in his life.

#stucky #mywriting #this ask was not intending to go down this path... 🤷 so sorry??? #cheeky anon - this was a BRILLIANT ask and thanks for being patient until i had time to put a little something together for you! #steve x bucky #Steve is pining #Steve has thots #beefy bucky

[bruhstories]

Good Night’s Sleep

Summary: Bucky joined the Avengers and Y/N gives him a warm welcome. Pairing: Bucky Barnes x Reader (Avenger!Bucky AU) Warnings: (oh boy, this is gonna be a lot of warnings) language, loss of virginity, unprotected sex, fingering, oral sex, slight masochist!Reader - you know what, it’s a filthy, shameless smut, you get the idea Word Count: 2287

A/N: just fuck me up man, just give me my own personal Bucky

Bucky had gladly been accepted into the Avengers initiative after the effects of his brainwashing have been reversed. Tony's been keeping an eye on him, not trusting the assassin yet. Nat, Clint and Sam were more than happy to have a new teammate and, in the case of Steve, an old friend back, while Bruce and Thor were seemingly indifferent to him. And then there was Y/N, the woman who got under his skin, the woman who got his attention the moment he stepped in the Avengers Tower. She captivated him in every aspect, with her radiant smile and her positive attitude. She was so pure and outgoing, with a laughter that was so sweet it made him forget his crimes. Bucky was lovestruck by her, but his feelings didn't seem to be reciprocated. Sam picked up on Bucky's little crush and made it his goal to annoy him, while Nat told him to lower his standards because she was way out his league. Y/N was a new member as well, she joined the Avengers a bit sooner than Barnes, when S.H.I.E.L.D. was called in for several bank robberies. At first, Fury didn't want to bother with meaningless robberies, until he found out that the criminal was never detected by the cameras or the security guards. She was like a ghost and they found out why when they caught her - Y/N could turn invisible and pass through almost any kind of material. They set up a trap, caught her and invited her to join S.H.I.E.L.D. and ultimately, the Avengers. She accepted gladly, her optimistic and good nature conflicting with a life of stealing and robberies. But she had to do what she could to survive.

And Bucky was smitten.

Unlike Steve, who'd found love in Peggy, Bucky never experienced falling in love. Sure, he slept around, girls threw themselves at his feet back in the day, even now, but he didn't want any other girl, he wanted her, and she wasn't an easy prey. Some nights he couldn't sleep because of her. He dreamt of her, in positions she'd probably never experienced, he wondered if she was a virgin. She seemed like a virgin. That very thought would keep him up until the morning. He wanted to take that away from her, he wanted to break her. But then, he'd feel guilty. Still, he imagined her, sprawled on his bed, moaning and begging for more. Cock in his hand, he wondered what were her kinks, wondered how she'd look with his hand around her throat - she would call him all kinds of things: daddy, sir, master. That was his breaking point, that was what made him climax. Bucky groaned, desperate to feel her under his touch but knowing he could never have her. The assassin washed his hands and left his bedroom. He needed a drink and Stark had plenty of those.

Inside the lounge room, Y/N watched a movie. It was very late, but she couldn't sleep. Startled by the door swung open, she peeked over the blanket and saw a very tense Bucky. Unbothered by the TV, he made his way straight to the bar and poured himself a glass of whiskey. He downed it, shrugged and took the bottle with him. "You okay?" A sickly sweet voice asked before he could leave. The man felt a shiver run down his spine and his blood cold. "Bucky? It's 3 in the morning. Are you alright?" Y/N asked again. "I'm fine." He finally said. He wanted to leave, really, but his body couldn't move anymore. "Are you troubled by nightmares?" "Sort of." He wasn't lying, technically, he was awake because of his dreams. They just weren't nightmares, even though he wished they were. "You can sit with me if you want. I can't sleep because of nightmares either..." She confessed.

Fuck fuck fuck.

As if on autopilot, his body moved towards the couch and sat down after Y/N moved over. She handed him a part of her blanket and they both sat in silence. He was afraid to even accidentally touch her, let alone do it intentionally. "Drink?" Bucky offered her the bottle. "Sure, why not." The woman shrugged. Their fingers touched when she took the bottle and Bucky shivered once more. She noticed and clicked her tongue. "Do you have a problem with me?" Y/N abruptly asked him. "What? No!" The man cluelessly tried to assure her. "Then why do you act so cold around me? I thought it's because I'm a girl but you don't have this problem with Nat. Have I done something?"

Yeah, you exist.

"No, doll, I've met Nat before. I guess I'm not used to being part of a team and meeting new peop-" "Bullshit." Y/N cut him off. "You didn't know the others either yet when you're around me you always seem so tense." "Alright, you caught me. I've never been around such a beautiful woman." Bucky half-confessed. That seemed to shut her up. "Oh." She replied, blood rushing in her cheeks. "I didn't think you'd consider me pretty." "Beautiful." He whispered. "What?" "Nothing." "See? You're doing it again!" Y/N pouted and folded her arms across her chest, visibly upset by his attitude. Bucky shook his head and took the bottle from her. "Just because you think I'm pretty doesn't mean you can't talk to me!" "I didn't say pretty, I said beautiful." The man rolled his icy blue eyes and took some sips of whiskey. "Pretty, beautiful, whatever. It's not an excuse!" "It is when it's driving me insane! You probably have no idea how tormented I am by you, by your Y/E/C eyes, your smile, your voice! That's what's keeping me up at night, Y/N, that's why I haven't had a single good night's sleep since I came here." Bucky confessed a bit too much. Doe eyes gazed into his. Y/N bit her lower lip. She was a virgin, yes, but she couldn't deny the fact that she wanted to be ravaged by him, because she felt the same way since she met him. "I'm sorry. Shit, I'm so sorry-" Bucky was beginning to apologise. "Do you dream of fucking me?" The woman took him completely by surprise. "Wh- I- what?" The assassin sipped more of the whiskey, avoiding her question. "Do you want to fuck me?" She asked again. "What am I supposed to answer?" "It's a simple yes or no question. For example," Y/N leaned closer to him, "if you were to ask me this question, I'd say yes."

Fuck fuck FUCK.

Bucky felt his heart rate go higher. Not to mention he felt his bulge growing. "Fuck yes." He whispered, his lips almost touching her. "Then fuck me." She crushed his lips in a sloppy kiss. Bucky kissed back, he kissed her back with so much hunger for her touch that he bit her lip, small droplets of blood running down her skin. "Y/N, I'm sorry. I don't want to hurt you." The man pulled back. "I do." Y/N licked the blood. "I want you to hurt me. I don't want you holding back." "Aren't you... a virgin?" Bucky sighed. "I am. But I don't want to be one anymore. And I want you." She removed the blanket, her nipples protruding through her white tank top. "Please... please have me." Y/N begged the man. "Jesus, I won't be able to stop myself if you keep begging like that." He kissed her again, his metallic arm holding her neck. His other hand slid under the tank top, cupping one of her breasts. She moaned under his touch pulling his body closer to her. "I don't want you to stop." Y/N managed between kisses. That was enough to drive Bucky mad with lust. He moved from kissing her lips to kissing her neck and collar. "You know it's gonna hurt, right?" He asked her.

She nodded and removed her tank top, revealing her perfectly round breasts. Bucky did the same, and Y/N took a moment to admire his chiseled body. Hastily, she removed the rest of her clothing, ready for his cock, but Bucky had other plans. He buried his head between her thighs and ever so slowly licked her clit. She was already so fucking wet, but he wanted to make sure his cock would slip in easily. "Oh my God! This feels so good!" Y/N yelled and Bucky laughed, the vibrations from his laughter sending more small shock waves through her body. "You're gonna gave to be a good girl and keep quiet." Bucky told her before inserting a finger between her folds. The new sensation was shocking at first, but she quickly grew accustomed to it, only moaning in pleasure. Another finger entered her and Y/N threw her head back, but still wanting more. "Bucky, please... I need- ah!" "What do you need, doll?" He sneered, lazily licking her clit. "I need you!!" She breathed. "Y'already have me. Be more specific." Bucky corrected her, painstakingly slowly thrusting his fingers in and out of her wet pussy. "Oh, please, don't make me say it..." The woman innocently whimpered. "You have to earn it. If not, I can stop-" "N-no, don't stop! Please, Bucky, I want your cock!" Y/N shut her eyes and bit her lip in embarrassment. He stopped, removed his shorts and hovered over her. "Open your eyes, Y/N. There's nothing to be ashamed of." The man assured her before rubbing her clit with the tip of his hard member, droplets of precum leaking from it. "Are you sure you want this?" "Yes, yes! Please fuck me, make me yours!"

With her pleas echoing inside his head, Bucky slowly slid half of his cock inside of her, the stretching sensation making Y/N writhing in pain. He stopped, but she dug her nails into his skin. "Don't you dare stop, Bucky! I told you not to hold back!" She slowly moved her hips closer to his. The man obeyed, and with one swift thrust, he was in her. Y/N wrapped her legs around his waist, not allowing him to pull back, and tightly gripped his shoulders with her thin fingers. Bucky started moving. The moans that escaped from her lips turned into sobs, but for some sick, dark reason Bucky liked it. The problem was that she liked it, too. She liked the pain. "Harder!" Y/N almost ordered him, surprising the assassin again, but he gladly thrusted harder. In a very short time, the woman got used to the feeling of his cock inside of her and they found a good pace. "Fuck, you're so tight... You like it, doll?" Bucky whispered in her ear before nibbling at her earlobe. "I fucking love it!" She moaned, her Y/E/C eyes rolling with lust. The pain slowly dissipated, replaced only by pleasure. The assassin's metallic arm covered her mouth, not wanting her screams to wake the other Avengers up, and the gesture only turned her on more. In their frenzy, Bucky realised he was close to his orgasm. He didn't want to cum in her, so he quickly pulled out, earning only protests out of Y/N. "Shit, Y/N, I'm gonna cum." As if he just said a magic word, the woman got up from the couch and kneeled in between his legs. "Wait, what are you doing?" "I wanna suck your dick..." She whispered seductively, her innocent eyes gazing into his. Bucky nodded, bracing himself for the feeling of her hot mouth around his cock. The woman licked her lips and sucked the tip of his member, slowly moving down his shaft. He couldn't stop the moan that escaped him and Y/N grinned as she picked up the pace. "Faster, fuck, suck it faster!" Bucky ordered her, feeling his climax closer. She bobbed her head up and down when suddenly he grabbed her head and held it in place. Hot liquid shot from his cock and Y/N swallowed it eagerly before he removed the softening member out of her wet mouth. "Your turn." The assassin sneered and swiftly picked her up, placing her on the coffee table in fron of the couch. He spread her legs and ate her out, intoxicated by the sweet smell of her. It didn't take him long to finish her off, her legs shaking from her orgasm, juices dripping down her ass. Bucky wiped his mouth with the back of his hand and rested his back on the couch. Y/N, still on the table, whimpered and moan, still amazed by how good that was. "W-was that just like in your dreams?" The woman mewled trying to get up. "So much better. I just didn't expect you to be..." "Be what?" She asked with a smile, flipping her Y/H/C hair back. "A dirty slut." Bucky chuckled. She responded by blushing and hiding her face behind her palms. "Really? You're still embarrassed after this?" "I'm sorry, I didn't think you'd say that." The man gently grabbed her hands and looked her in the eye. "You better get used to it, doll, 'cause I'm never letting you go." He kissed her on the forehead.

They walked to the dormitories, with Y/N holding onto him, her legs wobbling from the effort. "Hey, um, do you wanna sleep with me? Just sleeping, no sex." She asked. Bucky nodded and entered her room. It was the first time he ever went inside her room and he got a feeling of comfort from it, despite being almost identical to his. Y/N dragged herself to bed, followed by him. She rested her head on his chest and immediately fell asleep. Bucky lazily brushed her hair with his fingers before dozing off. Finally, he'd have a good sleep.

#bucky barnes #bucky x reader #bucky barnes smut #mcu fanfic #mcu smut #mcu x reader #mcu oneshot #bucky smut

[madasthesea]

A Far Green Country

Suggested listening: (x) (x)

“FRI, how’s the kid doing?” Tony asked when he had a moment to breathe between killing aliens.

“Peter’s heart-rate is high, Boss, and he hasn’t moved in almost a minute,” FRIDAY reported.

“Is he hurt?”

“Karen isn’t reporting any injuries.” Well, that was something, at least.

“Patch me into his baby monitor feed, just the audio,” Tony ordered, eyes still scanning the battlefield in front of him.

“You’re... you’re going to be ok,” Peter was assuring someone, his voice shaking. Tony’s heart plummeted.

“You’re pretty new at this, huh?” said a female voice. Her words were thick with pain. “I’m a nurse, Spidey. I know what a fatal wound looks like.”

“FRI, give me Karen’s analysis of her injuries,” Tony muttered. Instantly, a chart pulled up on Tony’s HUD, flashing red in all the areas she was hurt. There was a lot of red. A broken spine, broken collarbone, one leg pinned with rubble, and the worst part, a long splinter of wood piercing her abdomen, perforating her large intestine.

She was right. She was going to die.

“Hey, don’t say that,” Peter chided gently. He had the same diagnosis Tony did. “What’s your name?”

“Nicole,” she said. Tony dove toward a rogue alien, blasting it with both repulsors. Black Widow sprinted past him, a pack of the creatures chasing her; Tony twisted in midair and followed, picking them off one by one.

“Nice to meet you, Nicole. I’m Spi—I’m Peter.” Tony squeezed his eyes closed for a brief moment. Peter would never compromise his identity, not if he knew there was any chance of her getting out of this alive.

Nicole seemed to realize it, too, because she let out a small sob.  

“You-you have to tell my fiancé, ok? Jonathan. He, uh, he’s got brown hair and-and glasses, and you have to tell him.” Her voice broke.

Tony mechanically dodged an attack, blocked a hit meant for Sam. His mind was with Peter, in whatever devastated apartment he was crouched in with a dying woman.

“I will,” Peter vowed. He sniffled and Tony swallowed hard. He wanted to go and find Peter, pull him away from the scene so he didn’t have to see this. No one should have to watch someone die. But he couldn’t. Peter would never forgive him from depriving Nicole some comfort in her last moments.

“Give him this. He... won’t believe you otherwise.”

“This is the Evenstar. From Lord of the Rings.”

There were only a handful of aliens left. Tony landed by Steve, helped him with a small herd of them.

“Yeah, he got it for me at comic-con. Where we met,” Nicole said, chuckling breathlessly, only to cut off in a small cough. “So, Spider-Man’s a nerd?”

“The biggest,” Peter assured her, and Tony could picture the reassuring smile he would be giving under his mask, the way his eyes would be filled with tears.

“Good. Te-tell him that I’m going to a far, green country.”

Peter sobbed. “Ok. Ok.”

“You crying for me?”

“Yeah,” Peter said, unashamed.

There was a small moment of quiet, where she seemed to comprehend the importance of a superhero, kneeling at her side, crying for her loss. “Thanks, Peter,” Nicole whispered.

Peter hiccuped again.

“Don’t you have some aliens to be fighting?” she asked.

Tony had to stop himself from cutting in, from telling Peter that they were done, that Clint and Sam were taking care of the last couple right now. That Peter shouldn’t leave her.

“I can stay. It’s alright,” Peter assured her. Because he never would have left. Not when someone needed him.

Nicole whimpered, her tears audible through Peter’s comm. “Thanks, Spidey.”

Tony listened as her breathing quickly got worse, as she started gasping in pain. Peter gently shushed her, reminding her that he was there.

“Squeeze my hand as hard as you need, ok? It won’t hurt me.”

There was the sound of wet coughing, interspersed with pain-filled cries.

“Hey, Karen,” Peter said quietly. “Play “A Far, Green Country” from my study playlist.”

“Of course, Peter,” Karen replied sympathetically.

Soft cello music began to filter through Tony’s earpiece. He stood still, watching in a detached sort of way as ambulances and firetrucks started arriving to the scene of the battle, as people began to peek out of their hiding places.

“Hear that, Nicole?” Peter asked. “Just focus on the music, ok? It’ll be ok.”

“I love... this one,” Nicole murmured.

The music crescendoed. Her ragged breaths slowed.

She was dead by the end of the song.

Tony listened, jaw clenched, his own eyes surprisingly damp as Peter started sobbing, the sound muffled like he was covering his mouth.

He went on to the team channel.

“Can you guys handle clean-up? I need to get Spidey out of here,” Tony said, his own voice soft in the aftermath of what he heard.

“Is he hurt?” Steve asked quickly.

“No. No, just... it’s his first big battle. He’s in shock.”

There was a moment of silent understanding. They’d all gone through the same thing the first time they had fought in battles that were more destruction than preservation, more dying than saving.

“Make sure he eats something,” Nat said over the line, and that’s all the confirmation Tony needed. He switched to a two-way comm.

“Hey, Pete,” he said softly. He heard sniffing, the sound of Peter wiping his tears away.

“Mr. Stark. Sorry, where do you need me? I can be-“

“Stand down, kid. Fight’s over.” He couldn’t make himself talk above a murmur, like speaking any louder would be the final straw before Peter lost it completely. “We’re getting out of here. Where are you?”

Peter rattled of a quick address, but then hesitated. “I... I’ll meet you in a few minutes, ok? There’s something I have to do.”

Tony flew over to where he was anyway. He stood in the shadow of fire engine, watching as Spider-Man crawled down the side of a partially destroyed building. There was a crowd of onlookers standing behind a police cordon, their faces pale and scared.

Peter walked over to them. There was a man with brown hair and glasses in the second row of people. Tony almost wanted to look away.

Instead, he watched. He watched as Peter carefully led him a few feet away, as he held out the necklace Nicole gave him and delivered her message. He watched as the man’s face crumpled, as tears spilled over, and finally, as his knees gave out.

Peter caught him. Lowered him to the ground and held on, hugging him on his knees, his own shoulders shaking with sobs.

Watching him, Tony felt his heart clench in nearly physical pain. It hurt to see the man mourning his lost fiancée, but for some reason, Peter’s grief affected him more. He wanted to go over and comfort him, wipe his tears away. The need to make Peter feel better was so strong he almost couldn’t stop himself from flying over that second.

He knew he needed to let Peter have this moment, this first step toward acceptance, this chance to be his own person for a moment, to let the world see the same kindness and compassion and heart that Tony saw in Peter every single day.

He just wished it didn’t come at the cost of Peter’s innocence. He just wanted Peter to be happy. More than anything in the world, he wanted Peter to be happy.

Oh, Tony thought as that realization sunk down into the pit of his stomach and took root.

I love him.

A few other onlookers had come forward and taken Jonathan by the arms, assuring Spider-Man that they would take care of him.

Pressing pause on his epiphany, Tony stepped out of the shadows. Peter turned to him like a child looking for his parent in a crowd.

“Hey, bud,” Tony said. “Ready?”

Peter nodded, his breath still catching. Tony picked him up, making sure Peter was secure, before carefully taking off.

When they got to the tower, Peter waited until Tony set him down gently on his own feet, then walked forward without speaking, his shoulders slumped and head bowed.

Tony stepped out of the suit and followed, watching carefully. Peter sunk down into the nearest chair, a stool at the breakfast bar. His hands scrabbled weakly at his mask, unable to find the seam. Tony came closer and stilled Peter’s hands with his own, then tugged the mask off with one hand. He set it on the counter, then smoothed out Peter’s wild curls.

Peter’s face was pale, the redness around his eyes stark against his dark irises. He trapped his hands between his knees to try to hide the shaking, but Tony had already spotted it.

“Nat made me promise to feed you,” Tony said, his voice loud in the quiet of the penthouse. “What’re thinking, kid? I can do boxed mac and cheese, frozen chicken nuggets, or good old PB&J. Or all three, if you’re a masochist.”

Peter carefully didn’t look at Tony, probably trying to keep him from noticing his red eyes.

“I—” His voice was hoarse. He cleared his throat and tried again. “I’m not really hungry.”  

“Not an option, kiddo. Sorry. How about I get you some juice to get that blood sugar up while I get cooking, alright?”

Tony rounded the island, busying himself with getting Peter some of the cranberry apple juice he liked so much, turning the oven on to start preheating. The kid needed some protein to make up for all the calories he burned fighting.

When he looked over his shoulder again, Peter was sitting with his head on his folded arms, his face hidden. Tony’s heart plummeted. He could still hear the echo of those muffled sobs, the sounds of a kid who thought he was too old, too strong to be crying, but who was too heartbroken not to.

Tony would never judge the kid for crying. He knew Peter was strong, he knew it possibly better than Peter himself. He also knew how overwhelming and horrifying your first battle, your first loss, could be. He hated that Peter felt the need to hide his emotions, his incredibly empathetic and tender nature from Tony.

Standing on the opposite side of the counter, he reached out and ran his fingers through Peter’s hair. Peter’s breath hitched just a little, and he slowly raised his head until he could look at Tony through the fringe of his lashes.

Tony seized the opportunity and slid his hand down to Peter’s chin, raising his head further. There were no fresh tears on Peter’s face, so maybe he hadn’t been crying after all. He still looked devastated and wrung-out.

He didn’t know what to say in the face of such innocent, honest grief that wouldn’t sound cheap and patronizing.

“I... I’m really, really proud of you, Pete,” he finally murmured.

There was a flash in Peter’s eyes, a single heartbeat where he thought Tony was mocking him. Then he slumped, his jaw pressing further into Tony’s hand.

“Mr. Stark, I... there was this woman,” Peter said, his voice gravelly. “I was trying to clear an apartment building and I found her and, and she was hurt really bad. And I didn’t want to leave her but I knew you guys needed me—” Peter’s eyes flit to one side, as if too ashamed to look at Tony, “—and I didn’t know what to do so I... I stayed. And I held her hand. Instead of coming to help you. You could have gotten hurt and it would have been my fault, but I just kept thinking if it had been me I wouldn’t want to be alone and she-she died, Mr. Stark,” Peter hiccupped. His eyes were full of tears again, and suddenly Tony could picture it so clearly, Peter kneeling by a stranger’s side and crying even while he comforted her. While he played music to distract her from the agony and fear.

“Oh, Peter,” Tony sighed. He came around the counter and pulled Peter in by the shoulders. Peter buried his face against Tony’s sternum, sniffling.

“Firstly, it’s not your job to look after all of us, ok? That’s why there’s a team of us, so we all can keep an eye on each and no one has to shoulder all of it. We were all ok, we were looking out for one another. Sometimes you get busy and can’t help for a bit, that’s fine. And you did a great job today, buddy, you really did.”

Peter’s fingers tentatively grasped Tony’s t-shirt and his heart constricted.

“Secondly—” Tony once again raised Peter’s face to meet his eyes. The kid looked desperate, fervently listening to any shred of wisdom Tony might bestow on him. “You never, ever have to apologize for being compassionate. That’s something you can’t learn, kid. You either have it or you don’t, and you have it. I wish I was as empathetic as you.”

Peter looked up at him, half hope and half doubt, and something in Tony’s chest settled.

How had it taken this long for Tony to realize that he loved him?

When Tony reached up and squeezed the back of Peter’s neck, his touch was gentler than it had ever been before.

“Why don’t you go take a shower before the rest of the circus troupe come and screw up the water pressure?” Tony suggested.

Peter nodded, swallowing. Tony kept a hand on his elbow as he hopped off the stool, just to make sure he was steady. Then he watched as Peter slouched off to his room, the Spider-Man mask drooping dejectedly in his hand.

His mind buzzing, Tony carefully spread the chicken out on a pan and put it in the oven, making sure to put on a timer. Then he slumped in the chair Peter had just abandoned and thought.

He had never been great about recognizing his own emotions. It had taken Afghanistan for him to realize that Rhodey and Happy were his family, that Pepper was much, much more than his assistant that he liked to flirt with. He’d kept them at a distance on purpose, too self-absorbed and miserable to let himself have that small piece of happiness.

Maybe for the kid’s own good, Tony should have done the same thing with Peter, but he couldn’t seem to make himself. Because Peter... Tony liked everything about Peter. His optimism, his enthusiasm, his uncompromising morals. He liked the way the kid got lost in his work, the way he fell asleep during movies, the way he talked a mile a minute to his AI when he was nervous. He liked the way Peter made him act—the responsibility and softness and sometimes silliness that the kid brought out in him.

He tried to think back, to a time before he loved Peter and found he just... couldn’t. Obviously there was one, but now every memory was so colored with fondness and bone-deep admiration that he couldn’t find a before and after. Every time Peter was there in his memories, there was love. The two words were almost synonymous. Now that Tony had connected them, they couldn’t be separated.

He felt the same palpable adoration when he thought about Pepper, but where Pepper was a fire, burning constant and steady and familiar in his sternum, Peter was an eternal sunrise. Bringing the promise of light, of warmth, of a new beginning. Infinite possibilities about to unfold and Tony loved every one of them; he loved the Peter that had just been sitting in front of him, sweat curled hair and fidgeting hands, and he loved every version of Peter that would come—the exhausted college student, the nervous new father, the CEO or inventor or doctor.

Now that he recognized the feeling in his chest that he got whenever he so much as thought of the kid, he felt full to bursting with it. It was a surprisingly good feeling.

Peter walked back into the room, his hair curling and damp. He looked a little less worn out, a little more like his usual self. He’d just need time, Tony knew, to recover. He never stayed down for long.

Tony found himself smiling as he watched Peter comb his fingers through his hair. The room seemed brighter with Peter in it.

Gosh, he was a sap.

“Perfect timing, kiddo,” Tony said as the timer started beeping. He got up and pulled the chicken nuggets out of the oven, serving them up onto a plate. “Ketchup, right?”

“And mayo,” Peter reminded.

“Ugh, that’s right.” Tony pulled the condiments out of the fridge, wrinkling his nose.

“It’s the best way to eat them, Mr. Stark,” Peter insisted as he busied himself mixing the two on his plate until there was a puddle of pink sauce next to his mound of chicken nuggets.

“So you say,” Tony said as he sat down next to the kid. He was happy to watch Peter eat, pleased that Peter seemed to perk up as he did.

After a moment, Peter pushed the plate toward Tony, silently offering. Tony stared at the food for a moment. He couldn’t remember the last time he had something as childish as chicken nuggets, especially the cheap frozen brand that Tony had seen in May’s freezer a couple months ago and purchased in an attempt to stock up on “Peter food.”

Peter was watching him, amused. Finally, Tony shrugged and picked one off the plate. Peter’s barely noticeable smile grew a little bit, and he rotated the plate so that his ketchup-mayonnaise monstrosity was closer to Tony.

“Ugh, fine,” Tony groaned. He dipped the chicken into the sauce and popped it into his mouth, just so that Peter would stop saying “Don’t knock it ‘til you try it, Mr. Stark,” all the time.

It was, actually, really good. Dang it.

“Well?” Peter asked, feigning innocence.

“Yeah, alright, fine,” Tony conceded, rolling his eyes.

Peter beamed at him.

Tony loved that, too.

#I liked this until like five minutes ago #and now I do not but I'm posting it so I'll stop working on it and do other things #Tony Stark #Peter Parker #MCU #brotp: speaking of loyalty #Irondad and Spiderson #my writing #fic

[darkficsyouneveraskedfor]

Eye for an Eye: 5

Masterlist

Warnings: non/dub con sex (oral, intercourse), violence, blood and death.

This is dark!Steve and explicit. 18+ only.

Summary: Tensions build between the reader and Steve.

Note: I think I did okay here. Mob!Steve is back and he’s got a fight on his hands and he’s gonna fuck shit up but not without his number one lady at his side so let’s go. <3 Let me know what you think with a like, reply, or reblog!

The car ride was silent. Tense. You didn’t look at Steve as he sat beside you. Bucky drove with one hand, his left arm in a sling. He refused to stay back despite his boss’ orders. Their argument was as short as your own with the mafioso. The days bloodshed had put all on edge.

Steve’s fingers tapped against the leather seat and you stared out the window. The city passed unnoticed by your distant eyes. Had you really traded one tyrant for another? You were a fool to think Steve any different than Charlie. Both liars. Both wore masks to hide their true face. They played with others to get what they wanted.

You glanced over at him. His gold hair slicked back. His jaw set as his eyes bored into the seat in front of him. The little twitch along his cheek, the wrinkle in his forehead. Was he still mad at you or anxious for whatever covert meeting he had planned? You turned away and crossed your arms.

The car stopped in front of a restaurant. You knew the place, a favourite of Stark’s. You could guess who awaited you within. You sighed and rubbed your temples. You got out as Steve did the same, his door slammed right before yours. You looked over the car at him. He barely acknowledged you as he rounded the hood and grabbed your arm.

He guided you to the door and opened the door. He shoved you ahead of him. You wriggled free of his grasp and drew away from him. He sneered but said nothing as he waved you on. He stopped at the front desk where the hostess stood patiently. He gave Stark’s name was quickly led into the dining room. 

You limped along as he shot you a sharp look. A warning. Not here. Not now.

You were led past the diners in the dim room and to a set of stairs behind the kitchen. You ascended to the private rooms and proceeded to the one at the very end. The hostess knocked once and opened the door for you. You followed Steve into the smoky space.

The door clicked behind you as Stark looked over from the table. The young kid, Peter, sat beside him, and the scarlet-haired woman, Natasha, stood by the wall. Another figure sat at the table. His grey-streaked hair and finely groomed goatee familiar as you came closer. He turned to watch you and Steve enter and his brows flicked up in recognition.

"Strange," Steve greeted pointedly and looked to Tony.

"Rogers," Strange stood and nodded in your direction, "Y/N."

"Stephen," You returned. The last time you'd seen him, you'd been on Charlie's arm at Strange's annual New Years party. 

Steve pulled out a chair for you wordlessly and sat as you did. Strange waited until you were seated to return to his. Tony looked around and sighed. The tension was almost suffocating.

"Well, who wants to begin?" Tony said as he crossed his arms. 

"Begin? I'm sure Strange isn't keen on crossing his own blood. I can't imagine there's much to say." Steve scowled. "We should send his pinky to his cowardly little nephew. Better yet, the whole hand."

"No need for that." Strange intoned. "That little mutt's already mauled my hand."

Steve glanced at Tony and back to Strange.

"He hit the kid. Then he hit my men again this morning. At the same time I expect he hit yours," Tony explained, "And Strange's."

"Is he fucking stupid?" Steve scoffed. "A masochist at least."

"A bold move but he is family," Strange remarked. "It'll take a lot more than a failed ambush for me to declare war."

"But you're here," Tony countered.

"I am. But not to talk to you," Strange's serpentine eyes focused on you. "You don't know my nephew. You are his enemies. I will not betray my own blood on the word of his foes."

Steve glanced over at you and you gulped nervously. "I'm afraid I'm not very much of an ally to him these days." You said.

"So I've heard," He crossed a long leg over the other. "But I'd like to hear your side of it." He looked around at the others. "In private. Straight from the horse's mouth without the bit in."

He gave a terse look to Steve who gave a low growl. Tony nodded and gestured to the kid and Natasha. "Pete, Nat, let's go." He stood. "Rogers."

"How do we know this isn't some ploy? Charlie sent men after her this morning? Who's to say he hasn't outsourced the bounty." Steve didn't budge.

"Jesus," Tony huffed. "Strange, do you mind if Nat remains. An unbiased referee?"

"I see no issue with that," Strange leaned back and stared at Steve.

Steve shook his head and stood. You avoided his gaze as he reluctantly followed the other three men out of the room and Nat stood vigil against the wall. The door closed and you stared at the table.

"You knew about her for a while, didn't you?" He asked and you nodded. "So why now?"

"Sometimes it takes a gun pointed at your head to make you see sense." You lifted your eyes and met his. "Steve tried to barter. Charlie didn't. He would've let him kill me."

“So you’re Steve’s girl now?” Stephen prodded.

“I’m staying alive,” You returned. “If that means playing another part in this tragedy, then so be it.”

He nodded and a grin slowly spread across his face. “I always told Charlie you were smarter than he thought. Smarter than him, even.” He leaned on the arm of the chair and stroked his chin. “I don’t hold your slights against Charlie to heart. He had many of his own in turn.”

“So...what did he do?” You asked.

“Tried to lift a shipment coming into the city. Did a poor job trying to frame Stark and his buddies. Killed one of mine; got it out of one of his that he’s planning another three days from now.” His lip curled and his grin became a snarl. “He’d kill his own mother if it got him more money. Suppose I won’t feel so bad breaking the news to her knowing that.”

“You’re gonna work with Stark?” You lifted a brow.

“Well, I haven’t decided that yet, but I’ve already put the word out that I want Charlie’s head.” He said evenly. “But these things are easier with...help.”

“Why aren’t you talking to them then?”

“Because I wanted to ask you if it’s worth it.” He replied. “I know I can’t trust them, not really. Just tell me they weren’t planning the same shit as him.”

“They only want Charlie,” You held his gaze. “I only want Charlie. He tried to have me killed, goddamn if he thinks I’m not gonna return the favour.”

Stephen thought and dropped his hand as he sighed. “I always wanted to love him, for my sister’s sake, but I always knew this would happen.” He said glumly and looked over his shoulder at Nat. “Go get ‘em, will ya? We’ve got some stuff to sort out.”

-

The meeting was almost a stand-off but at the end of the two hour tug-of-war, an accord had been forged. No part of the triad was completely happy, but none were entirely unhappy. They had a common enemy, a goal, and a plan. And they’d split the spoils evenly.

Steve led you out. This time he didn’t drag you and instead you trailed him. Bucky was parked just down the street and greeted his boss with a grunt as he opened the door for you. As you slid across the back seat, he looked over his shoulder and tilted his head. You shrugged and he looked back to the windshield.

“Take us to the house,” Steve ordered as he slumped back against the seat. “Then head back to the bar and make sure everything’s been cleaned up. And for Christ’s sake, get some fucking sleep, you stubborn asshole.”

Bucky scoffed and turned the engine. He pulled out into the congested New York traffic and Steve stared out his tinted window. You watched him. He looked tired. You felt tired. You tore your eyes away and peered out your own window. 

You dreaded your arrival at his house; it reminded you of the cold, stony mansion Charlie had abandoned you in. You were anxious at the thought of being alone with him. Would he speak to you? Would he replay the scene once more? His hand around your throat as he used you. Or would he lock you away and leave you alone?

You were about to doze as you finally pulled up at the manor. You sat up with a jolt and clumsily opened your door as Steve climbed out on the other side. You stifled a yawn in your elbow and closed the door and watched Bucky drive off. The moonlight reflected off the dark cobbles as the sky grew darker and darker.

Steve nudged your arm. “Come on,” He grumbled. “It’s been a long day.”

You looked at him for a moment before you turned and headed up to the house. He exhaled heavily and followed. You ascended the steps and he reached around you to let you inside. You could feel his warmth despite his iciness. You entered the airy foyer and crossed your arms across your chest.

“Let’s go,” He started up the stairs. You followed reluctantly. When you reached the top he turned and grabbed your arm. You flinched. He frowned and released you. “Take a shower. Relax.” He said quietly. “I--” His eyes searched above your head. “It’s late.”

He cleared his throat and passed you. He waited for you at the door of his bedroom and you quietly entered ahead of him. He closed the door and crossed the room to the cabinet in the corner. He took out a bottle of dark scotch and you looked over at the bathroom. You left him and locked yourself in.

The shower whined and chased away your thoughts. You stepped under the stream and let it wash away your stress for a time. When you stepped out, it all came rushing back. Your hips were tender from being pinned against the sink and you sat on the edge of the tub to take the weight off your ankle. You stared at the door, longing to keep it between you for the rest of the night.

The handle jiggled but didn’t turn and the rap of knuckles against the wood bounced off the tile. 

“You okay?” Steve asked. “We should talk.”

“I’m fine,” You called back as you stood. 

Your ankle was worse. You’d left your crutches back at the bar. You clung to the towel and unlocked the door. Steve was already pacing along the foot of the bed. He peeked over at you and nodded. He forced himself to stop and sat on the end of the mattress.

“When you’re ready.” He spread his fingers across his thighs and you crossed to the armoire where Cindy had hung your allotted wardrobe. 

You pulled a silk nightie over your head and hung the towel on a hook inside the door as you turned back to Steve. You limped to the armchair and sat heavily.

“I’ll have Bucky bring your crutches in the morning,” Steve said. His tone was soft, repentant. “You okay?”

“You gonna ask me a dozen more times until I confess,” You retorted.

“I’m sorry, I was angry.” He looked down as he spoke. “Frustrated, worried. You could’ve died.”

“And so that was your response?” You hissed. “And now, what? You got what you want from Strange and everything’s just dandy, isn’t it?”

“You threw a drink on me in front of one of my men. You know that’s how these things work.” He finally tore his eyes from the floor. “You were Charlie’s girl long enough to know--”

“I’m not your girl.” You snapped. “I’m your hostage.”

He went silent and stared at you. The same venom darkened his eyes as before. He didn’t like that. “Could’ve fooled me, sweetheart.” He growled. “You seem happy enough when I’m inside you.”

“Don’t be disgusting,” You scowled. “Sex is...sex. It’s meaningless. You said it, I was Charlie’s girl, I know I’m nothing but an ornament on your arm and when I’ve fulfilled my purpose, I’ll be tossed out just as easily.”

“You think I’m like him?”

“I know you’re like him. I saw it in that mirror. The look in your eyes.” You breathed. “You’re worse. I’d rather lay beside a man who won’t even touch me than a man who sees me as nothing more than a possession.”

He nodded and stood. He paced the space between you as he thought. “You don’t know me like you knew Charlie, not yet,” He stopped and crossed his arms as he glared at you. “But you will. And even when this bullshit is all over, you’re still going to be mine. Not my hostage, not my toy, mine. My woman. My rock.”

“Shut up, Steve,” You rolled your eyes. “Don’t try to butter me up with promises. You’re all the same, you think diamonds and furs can buy loyalty. All that gets you is a warm body in your bed.”

“I mean it,” He stomped towards you and you pressed yourself to the chair. He grasped the arms of the chair and leaned over you as you looked up at him. “If I just wanted your body, I’d be done with you by now. That day Charlie refused to barter, I’d have tossed you out to the wolves, naked.” 

He lifted a hand and framed your jaw with his large fingers. Enough pressure to keep you still. “That night in the kitchen, we both knew it. I wasn’t going to kill you.” He inhaled and his eyes turned smoky. “You in that little nightie, on your knees, tied up. What a fucking beauty.” His hand slipped down and gripped your neck. “A king needs his queen.”

You blinked, your eyes glossy as tears threatened. His warmth was a prison as he loomed over you. “So when Charlie’s dead…”

“Oh sweetheart, did you really think that’d change things between us?” He smirked and his nose touched yours as he leaned closer. “I’ve already claimed my prize in this fight.”

You tried to push him away and he caught your wrists. He wrenched you up to your feet as you struggled against him. “Steve. Goddamn it.” You exclaimed.

“You don’t even know what you got, sweetheart,” He let go of your wrists and scooped you up in a single motion. 

He slung you over his shoulder and turned so quickly you saw stars. He carried you to the bed and dropped you onto it with a jolting bounce. You tried to kick him away and he grabbed your ankle, sending a pang up your leg. You cried out and he pushed your foot away from him.

“Go on then. Get up and see how far you get on that,” He mused as he eyed your swollen ankle and tugged his tie loose.

“Steve, please, I’m tired,” You pleaded as you sat up. “We can talk tomorrow. I promise.”

“I’m done talking,” He flung his tie across the room and unbuttoned his cuffs. “You’re not gonna listen to me anyway.”

He undressed silently. Angrily. He left his clothes to wrinkle on the floor and climbed up on the bed. All but his briefs. You crawled backward, away from him and he caught you around the waist. He drew you against him, his arm around you as you squirmed. He strained as he reached back and pulled the chain on the lamp.

The room was left to the shadows as his other arm snaked up your back and he nestled your head against his chest. He held you to him as the moonlight shone in slats across your bodies. He didn’t move, just clung to you. Kept you snug against him as he heartbeat evened out and you drowned in his scent.

“I am sorry,” He said quietly. “You know that, right?”

You exhaled as his words lingered in the air. He stroked your back soothingly with his fingers and you tried to resist the lull that descended upon you. You couldn’t recall the last time Charlie had held you like this. You closed your eyes and pressed your forehead to his collarbone.

“I don’t know,” You whispered. “I just don’t know.”

-

You didn’t recall falling asleep but you were smothered in a deep slumber. You stirred when Steve woke but he merely patted your shoulder and let you roll over and doze again. You were half-asleep when he finished dressing and kissed your temple softly. You were exhausted, so much so that your worries were muted.

You woke again when the door opened and you fell flat on your back to look up at the broad figure moving toward the bed. You grumbled as your vision cleared and the bed shifted beside you and wood clacked together. Bucky stood over you, his left arm still in its sling.

“Heard you needed these,” He said evenly. “I told you to keep the weight off.”

“Bucky?” You rubbed your eyes and sat up. “Uh, thanks.”

“Steve’s downstairs.” He answered your unspoken question. “Getting things together. Suppose the others are in as much of an uproar.”

“Okay,” Your voice was brittle through your dry throat. You took the crutches and swung them over the side of the bed. You draped your legs off the edge and Bucky grabbed the top of the left crutch and held it steady.

“You should get dressed before you head down,” He remarked. “He’s got every goddamn crony he could dredge up down there. Even talking to Atlantic City.”

“Atlantic City?” You repeated dumbly as you stood and hooked your arms over the crutches.

“Maybe splash some water on your face, girlie,” He chuckled. “Christ, don’t tell me he had you up all night.”

You frowned and he pressed his lips together. “Sorry, it was a bad joke...I shouldn’t have--”

“You’re right to think so,” You muttered. “What else am I to him?”

“Now, doll, I didn’t mean it like that,” He followed you as you awkwardly shuffled around the room.

“But that’s what you think of me. I’m not that stupid.” You opened the wardrobe and shook your head. “Maybe I should just stay up here, where I belong.”

“That’s what I thought of you, but I don’t think that now,” He came up beside the armoire and leaned on the door. “You didn’t have to pull that trigger. After the way I was to you, you’d have been better off letting them finish me.”

“Adrenaline. Self-preservation. Barely a valiant intent.” You pulled out a green blouse. “I see the arm’s still in tact.”

“Hurts like a bitch but it’ll be fine,” He assured you. “The pink one with the bow. Wear that one.” He took the green blouse from you and hung it back up. “It’s a much better colour for you...and it’ll drive him crazy.”

“Didn’t think you were the type for fashion,” You commented and took the pink shirt off the hanger.

“I’m not, but I love to watch Steve squirm,” He grinned. “Man’s been tearing himself apart all morning...too afraid to come up here himself.”

“You’re lying,” You accused as you reached for a pair of black pants.

“Go for a skirt,” He backed away and sighed. “Something that shows some leg.”

“You take a knock to the head or something?” You asked wryly.

“After yesterday, you better make him suffer.” Bucky’s voice turned stern. “Don’t let him lie to you. You’re not his, he’s yours.” He shook his head and gave a soft chuckle. “You don’t even know how tightly you’ve got him wrapped around your little finger.”

“Bullshit,” You spat as you dropped the clothes on the bed.

“He lost his temper. He does that, makes dumb decisions. Needs a good crack on the head for it but he’s sorry for it.” He said. “I’ve been friends with him since we were kids in Brooklyn. He’s never been like this for a girl. Never given one the time of day for an argument. ‘Til you.”

“So what, I go down their, flash some leg and...everything’s better?”

“No, you go down there and help him win this war.” Bucky neared the door and rested his hand on the handle. “Show him who’s really in charge.”

-

The house was noisy. The foyer was a flurry of bodies; guns toted back and forth; voices echoing off the marble. You wore a single heel, your other foot wrapped, as you tried to seem lithe on your crutches. The slit of your skirt along your right thigh made you shiver as you strutted past the bodies.

The wide archway of the dining room greeted you and you stopped just inside as you searched out the single familiar face. Steve was at the head of the large table in the midst of conversation with two men, Stark’s boy, Peter sat at his elbow.  He turned and his eye caught yours. He blanched and signaled for the men to shut up as he stood.

“Sweetheart,” He called and the table went silent.

The other men hesitantly stood as Steve gestured you closer. He moved his chair over and had another set alongside it. You dragged yourself across the long room and he bent to kiss your cheek as you neared. He helped you sit in the other chair and set aside your crutches before he took his own. He dismissed the men he’d been chatting with and turned to you.

“You look amazing. Well-rested.” He took your hand and kissed it.

You stared at him and tilted your head. You measured him. Behind his stoicism was an unusual uncertainty. You glanced around the room and smiled. “Peter, how’s the shoulder?”

“Better, Ma’am,” He answered properly.

“Ma’am,” You chuckled. “Please, I’m not that old yet.” You turned back to Steve coolly. “Any word from Stephen?”

His forehead wrinkled as he considered you. His lips curved just slightly as he replied. “He’s keeping quiet for now. Not let Charlie catch wind of his new loyalties. Let him think that he doesn’t know about his little play.”

“Good,” You pushed your shoulders back and the wide neckline stretched across your chest. “That’s a start.”

“A start?” Steve repeated.

“Charlie’s gullible but he’s not a complete moron.” You explained. “Word of mouth, that’s fleeting. Action, though, that gets the point across.”

“I don’t follow.” Steve leaned in, his hand tickled along your arm. You kept stiff, unyielding to his touch.

“Charlie almost killed your number one man. He’s proud, overconfident. But you gotta catch him entirely off guard.” You explained. “Call Strange. Get some of his men down to the bar. When this is done, you can rebuild it.”

“The bar?” Steve frowned.

“Place is a dive anyway and I hear fire is cleansing.” You smirked. “And convincing.”

-

You spent the day at Steve’s side. You basked in his penitence. In his confidence in you. With Charlie, you were expected to be silent. To listen to his genius as his yes man fed his ego. That was the difference between the men, you realized. Respect.

You didn’t stop until it was late. Almost midnight. Steve waited for the news of the ashes. The bar was gone but the ploy worked. The whole city would be aghast at such a hit against Rogers. As big a blow to Stark. A second hand victory for Charlie.

He called it a night and a dozen men stayed to secure the property. His new headquarters made him even more vulnerable. The bar was an easy distraction before. You yawned when he stood and stretched. His hand fell on the back of your chair and he pushed it back.

“Let’s go to bed, sweetheart.” He purred.

You looked at him. He was anxious. He thought you might refuse. “Alright,” You said at last. You saw the relief wash over him as you reached for your crutches.

“Leave them,” He kicked the crutches over and scooped you up. You squeaked as he held you bridal style in his arms. “You’ve done enough work today.”

“Steve,” You warned and gave him a sharp look.

“Just...wait.” He cooed as he carried you through the foyer and up the stairs. You stayed quiet as he continued down the hall to the bedroom. He kicked the door closed behind him. “Let me apologize, please. Just let me.”

“You did...”

“But you’re still hurt,” He neared the bed and set you down gently. He laid beside you and cradled your face as he dipped his head down to kiss you. “I’m so sorry, baby. You deserve so much more. You deserve everything.”

He kissed you again, deeper. His hand wandered down your neck and over your chest. He played with the bow at your waist. He grabbed you and rolled you against him. He didn’t part as he intertwined his body with yours, his lips hungry as he devoured you. You tried to resist but it was futile. From the moment you met, he had a way of getting to you.

You pulled away and gasped. He pushed against you and wiggled his hips. “Do you forgive me?” You batted your lashes and bit your lip. It wouldn’t be that easy. “No? Well I’ll just have to keep apologizing.”

He nudged you onto your back so that he was on top of you. His hand was between you, crawling lower as he followed it. He tugged your skirt up and moved his knees between yours. He nuzzled your chest and inched your shirt up slowly. He bared your lacy bra and dove into your cleavage. He nipped and teased your skin as you held your breath to keep from moaning.

He reached beneath you and blindly unhooked your bra. He sat up and drew both shirt and bra over your head and up your arms. He was back on you in an instant. He took a nipple in his mouth as his hand played with your other. You trembled as you fought to keep your moans silent.

His hand drifted down your stomach and along your skirt. He pulled up the hem and shoved his hand between your legs. He rubbed you through your panties and you dug your fingers into the blankets below. He kept his mouth and fingers moving as your body tensed against him.

He replaced his mouth with his other hand and kissed a trail down your stomach and delved beneath your skirt. He pulled your panties aside and his cool tongue surprised you. You clapped your hand over your mouth as you squeaked and you felt him smile against you.

He lifted his head and looked up at you. “You forgive me?” You shook your head and kept your palm against your lips.

He kneaded your chest with one hand as he bowed his head again. His golden hair was visible just past the skirt bunched around your waist. Your single heel slipped off as you bent your legs and spread them wider for him. His tongue danced around your clit and along your folds, more fervent with each twitch and tremble.

You arched your back without thinking and slapped your hand back to the mattress as you core thrummed. You panted as his tongue dragged you closer to the edge. You groaned desperately and as you were about to plunge into euphoria, he stopped.

He looked up at you, his blue eyes sparkled, and he smiled. “You forgive me yet?”

You gasped and reached for his head. “Y-yes, I forgive you--Just...keep going please.”

He snickered and bent over you once more. Your legs came together around his head as you tried to rock into him, your climax rising from where it stopped. You writhed as you clung to him, his hand on your thigh as his other kept your panties aside. 

You orgasmed with a whine and he hungrily lapped it up. He pulled away, out of breath, lips glistening, and a proud grin. Your legs fell away from him and he grabbed his belt buckle. He was quick as he unhooked the metal and undid his pants. 

He rolled both pants and briefs down his thighs to free his hard cock. He bent over you and kissed you again. His lips were sweet and you savoured his touch. You unbuttoned his shirt and felt along his thick muscles as he bent your legs around him. He reached down and guided his cock along your folds.

You hugged him beneath his shirt as he entered you slowly. Inch by inch, you shivered at the feel of him. You wrapped your legs around his as he bottomed out and you arched into him. He snarled and left a trail along your cheek as he buried his face in your neck. He rocked against you as his thick breath seared your skin and you dragged your nails down his back.

“Aw, baby,” He moaned as he kept his pace steady. “Fuck, I’m so sorry. So so sorry.”

You were wild as he moved his hips slowly. Long, torturous thrusts that had you teetering. You drew your hands back and pushed on his chest. He lifted his head and looked down at you as he stilled inside of you.

“Jesus Christ,” You swore and tightened your legs around him. You rolled him onto his back to straddle him. 

You pushed yourself up and sank down to your limit. He groaned in surprise, his golden hair a mess and his face rosy with bliss. You began to move. Faster than he had. Eager. Desperate for another release. You grasped his shoulders as you sped up. 

He let you pin him to the mattress, his hands on your ass as your flesh clapped together. You uttered a series of weak curses as you came again. Your walls clung to him and you slowed as your thighs tingled. 

He gazed up at you as you hung your head and caught your breath. He gripped your hips and began to move you again. You let him guide you and grasped his hands as you rode him. His groans melded with your moans and harried breaths. Electricity flowed through you and you came a third time as your head lolled back in ecstasy.

He grunted as your hands slipped from his shoulders and your fingers tickled along his stomach. He hissed and you felt the warmth within as he coated your walls. He stilled you atop him and licked his lips as he sighed. You fell forward and draped yourself over him. 

He played with your wrinkled skirt and ran his nose along your hair. He hummed in content and found his voice. “I can’t win this war without you, sweetheart.”

#mafia au #mafia!steve rogers #steve rogers x reader #dark!steve rogers x reader #dark!steve rogers #steve rogers #dark steve rogers #dark steve rogers x reader #dark!fic #au #fic #series #mcu #marvel #dark fic #darkverse #dark!verse #captain america

[sebseyesandbuckysthighs]

Three Soldiers and a Baby | Part Thirteen

summary: Three handsome bachelors find their day to day operations disrupted when an unexpected new roommate (who comes complete with a diaper and a pacifier) shows up at their doorstep. How will they deal with this new and baffling responsibility without losing their minds or killing each other in the process?

pairings: Bucky x Reader featuring Steve Rogers & Sam Wilson

warnings: none

a/n: Well that last part was a bit of a doozy huh?? Heh...oh dear. Sorry about that, darlins, but I had to do it! It can’t all be sunshine and rainbows. But I’m gonna fix this mess I made, I promise you! We’re in the endgame now! Nope. Still hurts. 

*warning to mobile users, the “keep reading” tab may not work so apologies in advance*

Part 1 | Part 2 | Part 3 | Part 4 | Part 5 | Part 6 | Part 7 | Part 8 | Part 9 | Part 10 | Part 11 | Part 12 | Part 13 |

| previously |

You looked around the room and noticed that he had done that and more for her. There were baby clothes and toys strewn about the entire place. Even the crib she was sleeping in was the most luxurious one you had ever seen. You were right to trust Bucky with her. “You guys have done so much for her. For me. I don’t know how I can ever repay you for all of this.”

“It’s simple. You don’t have to. It’s been our pleasure.” Bucky smiled, kissing your forehead before resting his against yours. You wanted to stay in this moment forever. Surrounded by the people you cared for most in the world, terrified of leaving this room where everything seemed so perfect and right. Unfortunately, that wasn’t your reality and the hard part was yet to come. You gripped Bucky’s hand a little tighter before turning to look down at your sleeping daughter, then back up into her father’s expressive beautiful eyes.

“Bucky, I…I’m going back home to my parents. And I’m taking Ellie with me.”

The next day when you and Ellie left was one Bucky didn’t want to wake up for. He was speechless after you dropped the bomb on him that you and Ellie were going away again. You said you needed to get out of the city and away from all of this. Maybe then you could rest. He wanted to reason with you, to plead for you to stay, to beg, to scream, but instead he said nothing. There was something in his throat stopping him from being able to do any of that. He thought, you were her mother and had raised her this far, you knew what was best for her well-being. Bucky trusted you. He thought, couldn't he be the one to protect you? Didn't you trust him enough to do so? 

Still, he couldn't find the words so instead he held you in his arms all night as you both slept in his room beside Ellie’s crib and then helped you pack up some of her stuff and get ready to leave. Steve and Sam would be out for most of the day and didn’t know the turmoil Bucky was currently facing. He wasn’t sure if that was a good thing or a bad thing, but he felt like he was powerless to stop it. Like the world was finally letting him know that he didn’t deserve any of this happiness and was ripping it away from him before he got too comfortable. He managed to convince himself that as much as he knew he wanted you, wanted Ellie, he didn’t deserve to have either of you. A small part of him even agreed that this was probably what was best for Ellie. To be far away from the city and back home where she could have a more normal, secure life surrounded by family.

It all happened so fast. After seeing you off into a cab for the airport he practically crawled back into the apartment. Begging that somehow he wouldn’t be able to make it back there and the world would just let him rest for once. Steve and Sam would be back soon and he still hadn’t been able to come up with anything to say them to. How could he? All around the apartment were mementos of the last few weeks blissfully spent with your baby girl and now, nothing. It felt empty and cold. He couldn’t see himself being able to stay here anymore without her. At first you refused, but Bucky was at least able to convince you that you could have everything he had bought for Ellie and he would just have it shipped out to you wherever you were. There was a small part of you that thought maybe Bucky shouldn’t know where you were going, but he already knew practically everything about you, including where your parents lived so you acquiesced.

When the guys got back, they were furious. There was a huge argument and at one point Sam was nearly ready to pound an already broken down version of Bucky into the ground, but the man had no fight left in him. He had just let the loves of his life walk out the door and done practically nothing to stop it. A part of him thought he was a masochist. Taking that sign from the universe that he wasn’t meant to lead a happy normal life with a family. Instead maybe he was meant to live out his days alone, fighting for the safety and security of other people. Yet all he wanted to do was lie down, rest, and maybe never wake up to fight again. What was the point of fighting when you had no one to fight for anymore?

“Why does it hurt so much?” Bucky’s voice was rough and quiet, jagged with the emotions that rampaged through his heart and soul. 

Neither Sam nor Steve knew what to say. They could see just how much this was breaking their friend, how much it was breaking them, but they were otherwise powerless. No words could soothe a person’s soul when their child was taken from them. When their love had gone away with no promise of return. Bucky felt like this was finally it. That this time the universe had finally beaten him down enough that he wouldn’t be able to get back up.

Hours later, the three of them had barely moved from their spots. Bucky had locked himself away in his room while Sam and Steve hung their heads. An electronic beep sounded off from the office room down the hall from the bedrooms. That was where they communicated with the team back at the compound, but at this moment none of them had enough energy to do anything about it. Unfortunately, the beeping persisted and Steve was the one to finally do something about it. Answering the call, an image of Tony Stark appeared on the computer screen before him. Of course it had to be a video call so the man could see what kind of sorry state Steve was in at the moment.

“Jesus, Rogers, what happened to you? Baby keep you up all night or something?”

“What’s going on, Tony?” Steve wasn’t ready to talk about Ellie and worse, he didn’t know what he could possibly tell Tony about the unfortunate situation they found themselves in. Before Tony continued, he insisted for the other two to come in and join them since whatever he had to say pertained to all of them. When Steve told him they were unavailable, Tony, of course, persisted and somehow managed to get all three devastated men into the room. 

“Well you three look like unwiped ass. What the hell happened?”

“What do you want, Stark?” Bucky practically growled at the man who had forced him to take a small detour away from his misery and pain.

“Listen, guys, I talked to Fury this morning and he said something kind of interesting. At first I didn’t think much of it, but then I remembered you saying that the mother wasn’t in the picture for a little while there.” At the mention of your name, all three men instantly perked up and paid full attention to what he had to say. “Long story short, Fury knew about you and the girl, Barnes. From what I gathered, he’s had eyes on you guys from the very beginning.”

Bucky felt his stomach drop and his skin crawl. “What the fuck are you talking about?”

“I’m saying that he’s had agents following the girl around to make sure that she doesn’t, hell I don’t know what she could possibly do. Maybe something with the public image? Maybe it’s cause she was a civ from one of our missions. Naughty boy, by the way, Barnes.” 

“This isn’t a time for joking, Tony,” said Steve.

Tony raised his hands in defense. “You’re right, you’re right. My apologies.”

The three men looked sheepishly between each other, but it was Bucky who was surprisingly the first one to break. “And now she’s gone again.”

Tony looked quizzically at the bearded man and then to the other two who seemed to confirm what he had said. “Wait, you mean she came back? And she left again?”

“Took Ellie with her too, man.” Sam said solemnly, already missing that little girl like crazy.

“Woah woah, hold on a second. Are you trying to tell me that you guys let them go?”

“I didn’t let her go, Stark. I didn’t have a choice.”

“Of course, you did! Look, I obviously don’t know what the hell has been going on over the past 24 hours, but I’m sure it’s all just one big misunderstanding. Why the hell would you let her go?”

“Fuck,” Bucky felt like he was going to be sick. “I let her go. I didn’t fucking fight for her. For either of them.” Bucky realized now that everything had happened too fast for him, he wasn’t able to think straight. He was so sure that the world was out to destroy him that he didn’t even try to fight back. It was the fight of his life and Bucky had somehow been defeated before he could even take a stand. 

“Tell me everything,” Tony said sternly. “And talk fast!”

After talking to Tony and practically ripping Nick Fury a new one, the three men were in a car and speeding off to the airport. Tony said he would do what he could, but stopping a commercial airline from taking off wasn’t exactly something that could be done without raising alarm amongst the passengers. Bucky was sure that he was ready to shoot the former S.H.I.E.L.D. Director between the eyes for spying on his relationship with you, and worse, for practically scaring you to death and taking away his baby. When Fury mentioned national security and just trying to protect the Avengers or some other bullshit, not even Steve was willing to listen anymore. He assured them that the girl was always perfectly safe and it was just her paranoia that had caused her to make up all this drama. Bucky punched the computer monitor and effectively cut off the video call. 

Now they were on a race against time, trying desperately to catch up to you before this whole misunderstanding went any further. They raced through the terminals, practically flying through the crowds of people who were diving out of the way of what they assumed to be Avengers business. They knew where they were headed, but they just couldn’t make it there in time. It was too late. When they reached the right gate they were just in time to see it taxiing down the runway and off into the air. Dejected and broken hearted, the adrenaline slowly died down as they all stood there motionless. Watching you fly away and out of their lives.

a/n: Well at least that bit of drama has been solved amirite!? Heh...oh man, please don’t yell at me for another cliffhanger. I fix it I fix it! But anyways, I didn’t want to make the whole ordeal some dramatic and nefarious plot so that’s why it went this way. Sorry if that seems underwhelming or lame, but hey, them’s the breaks. 

Feedback is always appreciated, leave it here!

part twelve << part thirteen >> part fourteen

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tags:

@avengerofyourheart | @aboveordinarymusicgal | @absolukeyrh | @abswritesfandoms | @ashlieadelia | @a-lonely-bic | @a-timeheist | @avengersbabe13 | @avengerskeeper | @buckys-other-punk | @captainamericasbeard | @captainwinterfalcon | @crazinessgraveyardsandcartoons | @curvybihufflepuff | @depressedpolishgirl | @desigirlworld | @divinediego | @dumblani | @fab-notfat | @feelmyroarrrr | @gigistorm | @hiken-no-stark | @hv-chw3 | @igotkatiepowers | @izzys-addiction-for-fiction | @jamesbarnesappreciationsociety | @jenlrose | @jesusbriskets | @kazuha159 | @kindnesswins | @kingcarterprince | @libbymouse | @lil-stark | @lbouvet | @mcuwillbethedeathofme | @meanerface | @mileysebschmidt | @miss2001babe | @mizzzpink | @mrsgoodnight | @princessselene04 | @princess-unicorn124 | @rachelle-on-the-run | @rainbowkisses31 | @redqueen1221 | @rraise-a-glass-to-freedom | @rumoured-whispers | @sassylittlesamoan | @scarlettsoldier | @sexyvixen7| @sgtbxckybxrnes | @socialheartbreak | @supernatural-fan-from-lithuania | @sunmoonandbucky | @tanelle83 | @thefridgeismybestie | @theunadulteratednerd | @the-villainsandheroes | @this-is-mycrisis | @unlikelygalaxygiver | @verymuchclosetedfangirl | @xxloki81xx | @ya-lyublu-tebya | @yallneedtrek | @yknott81 | @yourpotatotwiceremooved | @3dsaunt

#bucky x reader #bucky barnes x reader #bucky barnes #steve rogers #sam wilson #bucky barnes fanfiction #avengers fanfiction #marvel fanfiction #three soldiers and a baby #my writing

[asgardianthot]

Aftercare (Steve/Bucky)

Dom/sub aftercare, angst

summary: Steve takes care of his sub, no matter how reluctant he is to it.

word count: 2996

warnings: mentions of BDSM (previous to the scenario), one unintended injury

Steve Rogers was known for many things, but kinky wasn’t one of them…

…one of the things people knew about him, that is, keeping in mind how he’d been working me with chains, spanking me and fucking the living breath out of me for the past hour.

Even though we’d both caught our breaths, I was left devastated on the bed, laying on my stomach as my bare ass was still heated red. I could have moved, probably, but taking in mind my recent submission and dedication, I believed I deserved to act as a ragdoll. So did Steve, who was already retrieving the soothing lotion and rambling about getting me some water or whatever.

“You okay?” he asked for the seventh time.

I sighed from exhaustion, given both by my sore body, and by his insistent question. No, I wasn’t perfectly fine, my back and arms were slightly hurting, my ass and butt cheeks were killing me, the marks left by the handcuffs in my flesh hand were burning, I had a small cut on my lip from biting on it that wasn’t majorly uncomfortable but I could still taste the iron in my mouth, and everything felt as if I’d ran a marathon. However, I wasn’t dying, he hadn’t done anything more than he’d done before and I had already answered to his question the other six times.

Plus, it’s what I loved more than anything. Being roughed up by Steve.

“I’ll have that water.” I mumbled, merely for him to shut up about it.

He nodded with a small smile, rushing to the bathroom to get me what I had seen myself forced to ask for. He came back with his boxer briefs on, still allowing me to stare at his sculpted body, glistening with the lingering of sweat sticking, and I thought to myself it wasn’t too much of a bad view to die looking at.

“Here.” He sat down on the bed where I propped myself on my elbow to drink from his a glass held by his hand, making myself useless.

I stared into his eyes while sipping it at first, thanking him with my gaze, then focused on gulping the water down as I was desert-like thirsty and hadn’t realized it before. Once I was finished, I fell back on my side with a loud puff of air.

“Better?” Steve’s puppy eyes smiled down at me while his hand, one that had been choking me minutes earlier, was now caressing my shoulder with extreme care.

A small grin made its way into my face although I was doing no effort to conceal my tired eyes. So I just closed them and nodded, practically getting ready to take a nap before Steve started to kiss my cheekbone over and over again, with the cutest caring pecks a grown man is able to give. I enjoyed the moment for as long as it went on, until he stopped to check the red marks on my ass.

“Looks painful.” He commented when his palm grazed the irritated skin, and I knew he was hinting the possibility of putting some lotion on it.

“It’s fine.” I groaned, then motioned behind me by tilting my head a little. “My back’s not, though.”

It was meant to be a witty comment, even if there was some truth to it. The sore feeling in my ass and cheeks wouldn’t even become bruises, and I had probably mildly bruised skin somewhere in my body, but the scratches on my back meant my flesh was exposed and therefore the feeling was a bit worse at that specific moment.

Steve hovered over me to check, immediately standing up to circle the bed and examine me from behind. “Damn, I’m sorry.” He said in a low voice, not really feeling overwhelming guilt, to be candid.

His fingertips ran through the red trails, the burning sensation immediate but bearable. The Captain ended up massaging some lotion into it, anyways, even though I told him it wasn’t necessary. And good thing I didn’t try and stop him, for it truly was soothing after all. After laying a few kisses right under my nape where my hair stopped, he covered my corpse-like body with the blankets and returned to his original spot, where he sat next to me.

“You know, you’re kinda pretty.” I mumbled. “When you’re not unbearably annoying.”

Steve rolled his eyes with a smile, moving some sticking hair off of my forehead. “I just take care of you, you masochist.”

I couldn’t help but chuckle. “You seem to love when I’m a masochist.” I said in a high tone, mocking how hypocritical he could be when it come to an activity performed by two people, and one he enjoyed so much, sometimes I forgot it was me who offered it in the first place and felt like he bribed me into it. “You just love being a pain in my ass after… well, literally being a pain in my ass.”

The blonde burst out laughing in reaction to my comment. He always was easy to embarrass, he would blush at the slightest joke or dirty comment, yet turned into something completely different when I kneeled in front of him, mouth open. I’d beg for release and he would spank me to shut me up, but sure, laugh like a toddler when I mention butt sex.

He went to kiss my wrist, lovingly caress the marks left by the cuffs, as he always did, yet this time it wasn’t as easy to move my, up until that moment, motionless limb. When he took a hold of my right wrist, the one arm I hadn’t moved merely out of instinct, the one made out of flesh and bone, the scorching pain made me hiss loudly.

“What?” Steve let go of my wrist, a terrified expression plastered on his face and wide-opened blue eyes piercing through mine, searching for answers.

I avoided his gaze, having trouble putting on a false worry-less face which ended up looking just confused. As I grabbed my own wrist with care, I sensed how absolutely wrecked it was, however being now prepared for the sensation, the pain didn’t take me by surprise and I was able to conceal any outer representation of it.

“It’s fine.” I lied, giving him a small smile, rubbing the skin with harsh metal fingers, which didn’t help.

Steve’s eyes were going nuts, scanning my face, scanning my hand, scanning my body, as if there were something else he’d missed, like a sword dug in my back or something. I could see the worry building up for he didn’t buy my poor acting.

“Let me see.” He insisted, his voice now a little sterner.

I shook my head and turned on my back to rest my head against the pillow, trying to forget about my wrist. I knew he would make a big deal out of it, blame himself, treat me even more like porcelain, as if it were possible. I only needed to heal the bone in question, not discuss it with an overprotective mess of a dom.

The man sat up straighter, still examining my face and torso. “Buck, let me see.”

“Mind grabbing me a sweatshirt?” I asked to derail the topic.

He held a serious and concerned expression, that was beginning to turn into anger, but complied, as he physically couldn’t not spoil me in aftercare, which implied accepting my every request, which were usually little to nothing. When he came back with the item, I received it with my good hand, however had trouble putting it on.

“Let me help.”

“I’m fine.” I raised my voice a little on exasperation, having already said those two words around twenty times before.

Nevertheless, I was not fine, taking in consideration the trouble it meant to slide my aching arm through the sleeves. I made a grimace that was impossible to control, followed by a grunt. Now he was definitely worried.

Not minding my opinions anymore, he walked up to me from the side of the bed and gently lifted my arm, concentrated on the hurting articulation, which happened to burn like a bitch when he held it in his hand. This time the noise that escaped me sounded much more like an annoyed grunt, mostly from holding back the pain but also out of real annoyance towards Steve’s stubbornness and hero complex.

“I hurt you.” He let out, examining the articulation.

I simply sat there, legs dangling off the bed, that big sweatshirt covering me all the way down to my thighs and a dead look on my face. It felt as if he were to yell at me like this was somehow my fault, which excessively-technically, it was; I was the one to always push myself to the limit, but those kinds of things don’t necessarily matter when you’re full of superserum and heal rapidly. Still, the image made Steve extremely upset.

“Was it the cuffs?” he questioned, still not facing me.

“I guess so, it’s where you put it last, didn’t you?” the words came out a tad too sarcastic for anyone’s liking, but I didn’t mean to take them back.

He closed his eyes. “I’m serious, Buck. You’re hurt.” Steve then let go of my hand smoothly to avoid any pain and rested one hand on his hip, more angry-pose than anything, even thought it was hard not to picture him as a model with such a sight. “Not fun-sex-hurt, but actually hurt. I hurt you.”

I rolled my eyes. “Hand me my underwear?” I extended my arm, ignoring his overreaction.

He turned around to fulfill my command, not shutting up though. “This shouldn’t have happened. How did it happen?” he ranted while handing me the item.

“It was just an accident.” I said in a low voice, receiving the boxers and doing my best not to grimace while sliding it up my legs, but failing miserably. “It’s not- agh- a big deal.”

The ridiculous contradiction in my sentence made Steve tilt his head with a sad frown, a mixture between frustration and desperation for my refusal to let him do everything for me, or at least recognize the injury as important. He kneeled in front of me.

“Here, let me.”

“Go away.” I said unironically, however I felt like he received the words lightheartedly.

He insisted, which only made me feel even more humiliated as he tried to hold onto my boxers.

“Gimme.”

“I said go away!” I pushed back, hitting the back of my legs with the bed end and therefore falling on my butt; Steve stood back up and stared at me with a frown that had become much angrier, to which I cooled down and lowered my voice. “Can you stop acting like this? It’s insane.”

“No! What’s insane is whatever you’re doing!” he yelled down at me all of a sudden. “I broke your wrist, Bucky, how the hell do you expect me to react? I broke your fucking wrist!”

The scolding I was enduring had me looking down with shame, and I took the opportunity to lift the item of clothing that still laid right below my knees. I pushed it up my bum and accommodated myself, using my hand as little as possible.

“I didn’t notice.” I mumbled under my breath.

The way Steve’s voice rang across the room like a bark had me frowning up at him with something I couldn’t quite decipher, but walked along the lines of embarrassed and sad.

“What’s next? I choke you to death because you didn’t make me to stop?” he threw his hands out in the air, making a loud slapping noise when they fell at his sides. “I thought you were aware of a thing as simple as a safeword!”

Truth be told, the man had a fair ground to stand on regarding the why he was so disturbed. It was very easy for me to care little to nothing about my well-being. Hell, if Steve hadn’t been there to reach into my post-Hydra emotional hole and pull me out into his arms, I probably wouldn’t even be there in that room to receive his yelling. And my actions only confirmed it to him, the way I copied how reckless he was when it came to missions, how I didn’t mind leaving a wound unattended, the amount of times I forgot my body was mine and not the machine they had told me it was.

Technically, yes, this was somehow my fault for not noticing. Nevertheless, I didn’t want to apologize for something that held me as the primary victim. I was the one who got hurt, meaning Steve shouldn’t had been so tough on me for it.

He broke the tense silence with a puff of air, not raising his voice anymore. “Goddamn it, Buck!” he sighed, followed by his face falling on both of his hands in frustration.

I wasn’t entirely sure if it was caused by a fair mixture of my negligence and his decision to yell at me, or if one of those two weighed more than the other. Yet everything in my body pushed me to comfort him, not allow him to wallow by himself. I stood up slowly, contemplating his still body which barely shook his head a little, and walked to him where I could grab his arm tenderly.

“Okay, I’m sorry.” I gave in, the slightest hint of annoyance in my voice. “I’ll be more careful. But I really didn’t notice.”

Instead of arguing back, Steve pulled me into a hug, which I reciprocated while avoiding any rough motions with or near my hand. He pressed the sides of our heads together and sighed again, this time more painfully.

“I can’t hurt you. I just can’t.” the way his thumb ran up and down my shoulder let me know he was apologetic more than anything. “I’m so, so sorry, I didn’t wanna yell.”

I remembered when I first told him what I was into, and he had thought he wasn’t capable of doing it, cause he didn’t wanna lay a finger on me if it was going to be painful in any way. But then we tried it, and he realized it was a different kind of pain and it very quickly grew on him. He liked playing like that, pretending to enjoy watching me suffer when all he really enjoyed was hear me beg, because it made him feel needed and in control.

He might have been the captain out there, but when it came to us both, he always said he had no say in his feelings or actions whatsoever, like I could ask him the world and he’d steal it from the entire population just for me. I never wanted to exceed those limits, never wanted to take advantage of his will. I even sometimes pretended he never confessed such thing to me.

“You didn’t hurt me, I hurt myself.” I did my best to ease the moment and comfort him. “And it’ll heal tomorrow.”

Steve kissed my forehead, then my temple, then cheekbones, until it led us into a sweet kiss. After staring deep into my eyes, as if we could read each other’s minds by doing it, he led me to sit down on the mattress, where he took a seat right next to me.

“I love you.” He said seriously. “So much, if anything were to happen to you…”

I simply stared down to my hands. “It’s already happened, remember? I can take it.”

Whatever torment he thought he was capable of unwillingly, was nothing compared to the things I had actually endured, and nothing Steve could ever do would even approach anything done by Hydra. He meant safety. I never had wanted to draw the psychological link between Hydra and my kinks, but I was pretty sure it has to do with catharsis, perhaps allowing the person I feel most safe with have their way with me in a healing manner.

He, however, didn’t enjoy any idea that compared him with the people who abused me. I could see it in his eyes when I peaked then looked back down to my hands, which he grabbed with utter care and held in his own.

As he pressed our hands against his chest, I could feel his voice buzzing. “I don’t want you to. I’m supposed to take care of you, not the opposite.” Suddenly, there was a hint of a smile in his pink lips. “You gotta let me take care of you, no matter how annoying I can be.”

We both smiled, him pleased with his reference to my complaints earlier, and me, giving into his warmness. Sometimes I had a hard time fathoming the idea of a person being the embodiment of the concept of haven. He kissed my metal arm, a gesture he didn’t do often but it reminded me he was the only person who knew how sentient it was, how much of a part of me and not just a weapon.

“I’ll get you some painkillers, okay?” he leaned to drop a kiss in my forehead before tugging a strand of hair behind my ear. “A heating pad and some hot chocolate.”

I frowned at the last addition, however a small smirk escaping me. “What’s the chocolate for?”

Steve only smiled as he got up. “To spoil you.”

Somehow he still got away with his own, for I gave into allowing him to pamper me without a single protest. And I figured, I wouldn’t care being looked after like that. When he got back with the promised, I laid in Steve’s arms while he pressed play on our old TV that we could barely use despite being a dinosaur for the likes of everyone else in this century.

And sure, I also figured there was nothing else I would rather be doing.

#stucky #stevebucky #steverogers #buckybarnes #chris evans #sebastian stan #captain america #captain america tws #the winter soldier #smut #aftercare #dom!steve #sub!bucky #fanfic #ao3 #marvel fanfiction #hurt/comf

[lovemesomerafael]

Others Like Me                              Chapter 4:  Knives in the Dark

Chapter 1  Chapter 2  Chapter 3   Read it on AO3

Bucky and Eight decide to stop and have dinner at a brasserie.  Eight’s excited because she’s never been to a restaurant.  In fact, she says everything they’ve done today has been new to her.  It seems like a good idea, except that Bucky has a hard time deciding what language they should speak.  They could speak English and stumble over their orders, just two American tourists, but that’s dangerous because someone might find them interesting.  They could speak Schwyzerdütsch and be boring locals.  That’s dangerous, too, because some overly friendly soul might want to see who they know in common.  In the end, he decides they should speak High German and be standoffish tourists from too nearby to be interesting.  

“I’m no good at this stuff,” he grouses.  “I’m a soldier, not a damn spy.”

“We’ll be fine.  It’ll be fun.  Besides, if anything happens, we’ll just shoot the place up and run, and that’ll be fun, too.”  

Bucky’s smile is as much surprise as it is amusement. “If that happens, will you do me a favor?”

“What?”

“Don’t tell Tony Stark.  He already thinks I’m hopeless at dating.”

“What’s ‘dating’?”

Bucky laughs and opens the door, guiding Eight in with an arm around her waist.  “I can only imagine what he’d say if he heard you ask that question when you’re actually on a date with me.”

“But what’s a ‘date’?”

“Nevermind,” Bucky whispers, not wanting anyone to overhear such an odd conversation and pay attention to them.  “I’ll tell you later.”

 It’s late when they get back to the safe house. Even though they’ve had to be vigilant and careful, it’s been a nice afternoon.  

They haven’t spent the whole time talking about their experiences with Hydra.  For one thing, they’ve been around people much of the time, so they couldn’t.  For another, Bucky needs to go slow.  There’s almost nothing about their experiences that isn’t ugly, or painful, or both.  They’re not reminiscing.  They’re debriefing after a tragedy.  It isn’t easy and it sure the hell isn’t fun, and Bucky finds that he can only take so much at a time.  Eight seems to feel the same; she’s asked to change the subject as often as he has.  Although neither one has been exactly shocked by the things the other has shared, they’ve each had some moments of stunned disgust at the things the other’s been made to do.

One thing’s for sure after this afternoon.  Either Eight’s telling the truth, or she’s the best liar Bucky’s ever seen.

Now it’s getting late, and Bucky has no idea how to approach the subject of sleeping arrangements.  He’s been thinking about it on and off all day, and he’s not coming up with any good solutions.  Well, he is, but not any good solutions that are actually going to happen.  

He’s wandering around the living room and kitchen of the little house, fiddling with things and generally just fidgeting, while Eight takes a shower.  

By the time Eight finishes drying her hair - which takes forever, there's a lot of it - Bucky's got himself completely twisted around.  He's distracted momentarily by seeing her for the first time with her hair down.  He must stare, because she stops halfway to the couch where he's perched on the edge. 

"What's wrong?"

"Nothing," he says. She gives him a skeptical frown, but she finishes crossing the room and sits down near him. 

He's kind of fascinated by her hair, and has no control over his hand, which reaches across her to pick up a lock of the blonde section.

"I like this," he says. 

"Thank you.  I've always had it, I think."

Her slightly dazed look as she reacts to his closeness makes him suddenly aware of what he's doing.  He decides it probably can't get more awkward, so he asks, "Did you talk to Natasha about, you know, sleeping arrangements?"

"You told me to, so I did.  I understand now.  I'm sorry for making you uncomfortable."

Masochistic fool that he is, Bucky asks the question.  "What did she say?"

"She said that sleeping together is considered very intimate.  People even say 'sleeping together' to mean sex.  She said mostly only romantic partners do it, so it would be strange for you, especially since you have a romantic partner.  I'm sorry I didn’t understand.  Where I'm from, sex and sleeping don't go together.”

“I get it.”

“I do think you're very pretty, and I like you.  I would like to have sex with you, but that wasn't what I was asking for.  I just don't know the rules here.  I don't know anything..." she sighs, embarrassed.

And now, in order not to embarrass her more, Bucky has to pretend he’s not embarrassed by what she just said. "There's nothing to be sorry for.  You were just... saying what you meant.  It's fine, and I actually don’t have a ‘romantic partner’.”

“Isn’t Captain Rogers your romantic partner?”  Bucky sees that Eight’s genuinely surprised.

“Steve and I haven't been together for a long time."

"Oh.”  She sounds disappointed.  “When I saw you together, I thought you were in love.  And Agent Romanoff said so."

"It's complicated."

Eight digests that for a minute. Her next words are quieter, almost tender.  "Is it because of what happened to you?"

Bucky nods sadly.  "He really doesn't understand what I am now."

Raising an eyebrow, but still in that soft voice, she asks, "What are you now?"

"You know what I mean.  The things I've done.  What they made me into.  Those things are...  He deserves someone good, like he is.  I'm polluted now.  Rotten."

"Sergeant?"

"Yeah?"

"If I understand what you taught me this morning, then now is when I say ‘bullshit’."

Bucky smiles sadly.  "You understand the word, but-"

"Am I polluted?  Am I rotten?"  She’s challenging him now.

"Of course not, but that's different.  You were a little girl."

"You’re a fool.”

“Gee, thanks.”

“You chose nothing.  You knew nothing.  I saw you, remember?  Your body, anyway.  But the person you are, he wasn’t there.  No one was there.  Reactions. Compliance.  Nothing more.  The one time I saw a flash of you, your…  self, or whatever you’d call it, the fact that you were in there was the whole reason you were about to get emptied.  Do you see?”

“That’s what they keep telling me, but-“

“Look at me.”  He continues looking at nothing, eyes toward the floor but not seeing.  “Sergeant. Look at me.”

Slowly, painfully, Bucky drags his eyes up to look into Eight’s face.  “I’m not like you were.  Yes, I was a child when they took me, but that just means I was easier to break than you were; I needed less erasing and conditioning.  I don’t mean that I didn’t fight.  I did try not to do what they want.  They did unspeakable things to me, and I was ready to die rather than comply.  But in the end, it didn’t matter.  It was still easy to make me do what they want.  All they have to do is hurt the people I love.  So I do what I’m told.  And although I try very hard to make them think I’m as hollow and broken as you were, I’m not.”  

She leans forward, turning her head so he has to look in her eyes again.  “Think about that, Sergeant.  When I'm doing those things, I know that they’re evil.  I choose to do them anyway.  So who is more polluted and rotten?”

“It’s not a choice, when they’ll torture or kill the people you love if you don’t.”

“Then how is it a choice when you don’t even know you’re doing it?”  

Bucky doesn’t have an answer to that.  He knows she’s wrong somehow, but he can’t figure out exactly why.  What he knows is that the evil he’s done has fundamentally tainted him in a way that can never be remedied.  He doesn’t feel the same way about Eight or the others.  Somehow, they’re different.  But he doesn’t know how.  He’ll have to think about that.

“I think you’ve had enough of this for a while,” Eight says, putting a hand on his shoulder.

“Yeah.”  Bucky collapses wearily against the back of the couch.

“I’m sorry this is so hard for you, Sergeant.   I don’t want you to feel responsible for what those evil – bastards?  Made you do.”

Bucky can’t help but grin at Eight’s newly-acquired English skills.  

She goes on.  “I don’t feel responsible.  I hate what I’ve done, but it’s what I had to do to survive.  To keep them from hurting or killing my siblings to punish me.  I know where the evil is, and it’s not inside me. It’s them.  I hope I can help you know that, too.”

“Thanks.   It is helping, talking to you.”

She smiles a little, looking down at her hands.  “I don’t know the rules about hugging.  I would like to hug you, if you want me to.  If that would make you feel better.”

“It would.”

They put their arms around each other and hold each other for long enough to take several deep breaths together before getting up from the couch.

"Unless you object, I'll sleep here tonight,” Eight says.  “You're too big for this couch.  You sleep in there."  She points to the bedroom.

"But you'll be cold and it'll be too quiet."

"Yes, but that's how normal people sleep.  So I'll have to get used to it."

Bucky squints.  "You sure?"

"I'm sure.  I put the blankets back on the bed.  I'll just use the one you used."

"No.  At least you should have the extra blankets.  I won't be cold."

He goes in and brings the extra blankets back, setting them carefully on the couch.  He stands, fussing with his hair for a moment.  Finally, he mutters, "For the record, I think you're pretty, too. And I like you back."

"What record?"

Bucky laughs maybe harder than is really warranted, but the question and her adorable perplexity are a nice break from the somber mood of their previous conversation.  "It's just an expression.  It means I just want you to know."

"Oh.  OK.”  She says.  “I had fun today.  I liked walking with you.  But tomorrow I’ll have to figure out what I’m going to do.”

That’s not exactly how he expected – or wanted – her to react to his minor declaration, but it’ll have to do.  “Good night,” Bucky says, and shuffles slowly toward the bedroom.

It takes him a long time to fall asleep, his mind full of questions and confusion.  Even when he does, he’s restless.  Bucky doesn’t think he’s slept more than an hour or two when he’s awakened by a sense of danger, his fist already closed around the handle of the ever-present knife under his pillow.

“Bucky!”  He hears a very low hiss in his ear, and realizes that what’s woken him is Eight, crouched next to the head of his bed.  Her finger is on his lips, telling him not to make a sound.  When his eyes open, she points with three fingers toward the window of the bedroom, then with two fingers toward the door.  He doesn’t see anyone there, but he hears them a split second before he sees a figure peek around the doorframe.  Bucky registers a sharp, silent movement next to him.  The guy’s wearing something on his left eye.

No, that’s not right, Bucky realizes, as he wakes fully.  In the darkness, he can just make out that it’s Eight’s knife that’s now sticking out of the guy’s eye, and he falls to the floor with a thud before he has a chance to cry out.  Eight hands Bucky her pistol, and motions for him to give her his knife.  He does.  

The second guy doesn’t seem to understand what’s happened to his partner, because makes the mistake of looking into the bedroom, too, and gets Bucky’s knife in his right eye.  

Bucky gets out of bed as silently as possible. He’s not wearing much, just boxers.  She’s wearing black leggings and a thick overshirt Steve brought for him, but now that the guys actually inside the house are down, they both scramble into clothes, boots, and their armored vests as quickly and quietly as they can.  Eight retrieves their knives, quickly wipes them off on the shirt she’d been wearing, and gives Bucky’s back to him.

There’s a wall panel in the bathroom that comes off and leads to a hole in the floor.  This is a safe house, after all, so there are options for getting out, and Tony’s email explained them all before Bucky and Eight arrived.  They choose to avoid the doors and windows, because Eight’s indicated there are at least three people outside.  Instead, they slip into the hole in the wall and drop down to the ground under the house before Bucky replaces the wall panel.  

There’s only about a foot and a half of clearance under the house, so they’re on their bellies in damp dirt, looking out through a series of small, grate-covered openings.  They look from outside like ventilation, which is what they are, but the grating is formed so that they can see out, but no one can see in.  It’s also designed on well-oiled hinges so that a person can push their way silently out through any of the grates.  But first they have to know where the bad guys are.

Without discussion, Eight and Bucky have slithered down to the dirt facing in opposite directions, so that they can see the ground on all four sides of the little house.  There aren’t three sets of feet.  There are six.  That makes Bucky feel a little better about this.  Sending five people seemed too easy.  Insulting, really.  A team of eight guys is still not enough, but that’s probably all of them; more would make too much noise.  

For long moments, they watch the movement of the feet outside for an opportunity to escape.  It comes when one of the guys apparently discovers the bodies inside the house and gives a shout, causing two of the others to go in to investigate.  That leaves only one on the north side of the house.

Bucky signals Eight, and they low-crawl on elbows and splayed legs to the closest grate.  With a last look to determine where the others are, Bucky lifts the grate and shoots the lone guy in the throat, hoping he won’t make noise. Unfortunately, he lets out a gurgly whine as he goes down.  They crawl out as fast as they can, and are sprinting for a greenbelt behind the house when someone comes to check out the noise, and the shooting starts.  

Bucky and Eight make it into the greenbelt, fairly confident there are no bad buys waiting in there based on the amount of lead the others are unloading in that direction. 

Bucky's looking for one of two things: cover or transportation.  He sees a rock wall that looks like it might be OK cover in a pinch (and they're in one), so he heads that way and throws himself over it, Eight landing right beside him.  He risks a look over the top between two rocks, while Eight looks in the other direction for options. 

She finds one.

"There's a motorcycle!  Stay here, I'll pick you up."

"You need keys!  Nobody leaves the keys in a motorcycle.  It’s not worth the risk of checking," Bucky advises breathlessly.

Eight pulls a flat, metallic rectangle from her armored vest.  "You need keys.  I have this."  She starts to get up and Bucky pulls her down again. 

"What is that thing?  Are you sure you can start that bike?"

Eight doesn't answer right away, because they both start firing at one of the men trying to kill them, who tries to make it across the open space between the greenbelt and the rock wall.  He jerks and collapses.

"Was that you or me?"  Bucky asks.

"You.  Nice shot."

"If we're stealing a bike, I'm driving," he tells her, taking the metallic rectangle, which is about half the size of a deck of cards, from her hand.  "How's this work?"

"Why do you get to drive?  You're a better shot.  You should cover us."

"It's the rules.  I'll explain later."

"Fine," Eight huffs, handing Bucky the object.  Just put it on the engine.  Use your right hand; it's magnetic.  The engine will start right away.  I'll cover you.  Go!"

Bucky crosses to the side of the house behind them, as low and fast as he can, while Eight keeps the bad guys hunkered down with steady fire.  He feels a little bad about using Eight's naivete against her, but there's no way he's going to be a passenger in this situation.  He mounts the bike and rocks it off the kickstand, then places the metal rectangle on the engine, beneath the gas tank.  The motor starts and he grins as he makes the tight circle to where Eight is. 

He's not wasting time when he's exposed like this.  He slows as he passes her and just grabs her with his left hand by the back of her vest and lifts her into his lap as he goes.  She puts her left arm around his neck and keeps firing as they take off down the narrow, winding street.

Half a mile later, they stop just long enough for Eight to change position so she's behind Bucky.  They slap fresh clips into their weapons, and they're off again.

"Where are we going?" She shouts into his ear over the noise of the engine and the road of the wind.

"Got any ideas?"

As he says that, a car squeals around the curve behind them and they hear gunshots again.

Eight turns around and fires a few shots, coming close, but not hitting the driver. 

"This is why I should be driving!" She cries.

"And this is why I should be driving," Bucky screams back at her.  "Hang on!"

She has just enough time to wrap both arms tightly around him and duck her head before they're airborne.

Bucky had seen a dropoff from the edge of the road they’re on, and gunned the engine as the bike left the pavement, so they land quite a ways from the road in a tree-filled lot that doesn’t have any buildings on it. It’s not really a park, but it’s not a vacant lot, either.  Whatever it is, it’s between the road they’ve been on and a busy thoroughfare, which is where Bucky’s headed.  The car behind them has no hope of following, not only because it gets bogged down on the dropoff, but because it can’t make it through the trees.  

When they reach the thoroughfare and are rocketing through the sparse traffic, Eight starts to laugh.  Bucky can feel it in her chest against his back, and he can hear it.

“I want to do that again!”  She shouts into his ear.  

“Which part?”  He yells back, realizing he’s laughing, too, mostly because she is.  

“The flying part, not the assholes with guns part!”

“Maybe later!”

As they enter a motorway, it occurs to Bucky to wonder whether there are helmet laws in Switzerland, because they’re not wearing any.   And they really should get off this motorcycle. They’re too visible.  They may have lost the assholes, but now they have to figure out where to go.  He takes a random exit, thinking to ditch the bike and steal a car, so they can get out of Lucerne and call the Compound for some help.  

This part’s easy – they have Eight’s device, which it turns out has no name, and they have their pick of cars once they find a residential neighborhood.  It’s so easy, in fact, there’s a bit of a discussion about a black BMW Bucky likes and a gold Mercedes Eight wants.  They compromise and take the BMW, but Eight gets to drive.  

They’re strapped in the BMW, easing down the residential street while Bucky tries to figure out the car’s GPS, when another car comes careening around a corner toward them.  There’s no shooting, but there’s no mistaking that the car is coming for them.

“How is that possible?”  Eight shrieks.

“There’s another one behind us,” Bucky growls, working feverishly at the GPS.  “Fuck!  I don’t know how to work this shit.  You’re the electronics whiz, you shoulda let me drive.”

“Really?  We’re still arguing about that?  Forget the GPS, just hold on!”

It’s a little bit impressive how Eight navigates the front yards of the neighborhood to get around the parked cars and pass the car headed toward them.  The street’s so narrow, the two cars are going to have to do some maneuvering to get out of each other’s way.  It doesn’t give Bucky and Eight much time, but it helps.  They slam back into the street with a shower of sparks and go screaming through the sleeping neighborhood toward a busier street they can see ahead. By the time they get there, the cars following them have begun to close the distance.  

Eight screeches around the corner onto the busier street, and although there’s little traffic this late at night, there’s enough that she’s having to weave around cars.  Red lights and cross-traffic don’t seem to concern her much, and they actually come close enough to collisions that Bucky can see the horror on the drivers’ faces in the oncoming cars a couple of times.  

Now there’s a helicopter overhead.  It’s small and black, with an enclosed tail rotor, and nothing about it looks friendly.  This is going to be a problem.  

The cars chasing them catch up – Bucky’s seen them cause two accidents, and one of them’s been sideswiped, but they’re still coming. At a complicated interchange, Eight decides to get off the surface street and onto the corkscrew of ramps feeding at least three motorways going different directions.  It’s smart, because there are plenty of places where the road above will conceal a quick change of route, but that’s not going to fool the helicopter for long.  Luckily, on the way into the interchange, Eight manages to fake the lead car out, and as she screams onto the onramp at the last possible second, the car is unable to turn quickly enough and rams headlong into the concrete abutment, exploding in a fireball.  

“Think you can do that again?”  Bucky asks.  “That chopper can’t land just anywhere.”

“I got a better idea.  Reach into my left breast pocket.”

Bucky does, and finds an adherent grenade.  

“Make sure you hit the right car,” Eight advises. “That’s gonna leave a mark.”

She slows just enough that the other car catches up and the driver slams their car broadside, but that gives Bucky time to flip the grenade out his window and watch it latch onto the hood of the car.

“Floor it!”  Bucky shouts, and Eight uses all the BMW’s power to pull away from the slower sedan. Still, they’re way too close when it explodes.  The shock sends another car, some unlucky guy in the wrong place at the wrong time, skidding into their lane and into the rear of the BMW at an angle.  They spin helplessly nearly a hundred eighty degrees, and end up slamming headfirst into the concrete barrier at the side of the motorway.

As soon as they shake the fuzziness out of their heads, Eight and Bucky try to get out of the car.  There’s no telling how long they have before more bad guys show up, especially with that helicopter hovering overhead.  Eight’s door is jammed.  Bucky’s, too, but he just uses his left hand to smash the half-open window out, so they both scramble out the window and, as if they’ve planned it, race to the barrier at the side of the ramp.

“Can you jump this?”  Bucky asks.

“They modeled us on you, remember?”  Eight actually smiles before vaulting the barrier and disappearing from sight.  

For a fraction of a second, between squinting at the heat coming from the car he’s just bombed and shooting a quick look up to see where the helicopter is, Bucky grins and shakes his head.  This girl. Then he jumps.

The lateness of the hour is the only reason either of them avoids being hit as they land squarely in the middle of the roadway on the level below.  Eight’s already got her sidearm aimed through the windshield at a terrified couple in an SUV who made the mistake of stopping to help her.  Bucky’s just running toward the driver’s door when the SUV’s rammed so hard from behind that Eight has to leap out of the way to avoid being run over as it hurtles forward.  

That’s when the carful of goons who hit it, and the two other carloads of assholes that come to a shrieking halt next to it, spill out all the doors and come running at them.  None of them have guns.  They don’t think they’ll need guns to capture Bucky and Eight, because there’s a crowd of bad guys and only two of them.  

Bucky and Eight go instinctively back to back, and they’re still armed, but their attackers come upon them so fast that they’re in hand to hand combat before they have a chance to take out more than two each. Some of these guys are just meat, and out of the fight quickly.  Bucky doesn’t bother to do more than punch their lights out and go on to the next one, and Eight crushes a couple of knees and one scrotum before getting to one who actually has some moves.  Problem is, this one has a knife, and he knows how to use it.  Eight has knives, too, but she’s down to three and she has to throw one into the throat of a guy who almost gets between her and Bucky.  

They keep coming.  Bucky’s doing OK; he’s got one hanging off his neck, but that guy’s no problem; Bucky just moves back as he’s trading kicks with another guy, and flips him over the barrier into thin air before taking the wind out of the other guy with a foot to the solar plexus.

He doesn’t see the one who’s been waiting his chance behind one of the stopped cars.  The guy stands with a smug slowness and aims a 9 mm at Bucky as he picks up a guy by the throat and uses his head to knock out another one behind him. But Eight sees him.  She doesn’t have time to aim, just throws the knife as hard as she can in the general direction of his chest as he squeezes the trigger.  She only manages to bury the knife in his stomach, but he’s so surprised and concerned that he forgets all about Bucky while he pulls at it and looks around for someone to help him.

Eight’s now got an attacker on each side, and she’s down to her last knife.  Bucky turns toward her just in time to see one of them rush her.  She grabs him by the arm and uses his momentum to pull him into a punishing knee to his nose, which implodes with a satisfying crunch and splash of blood. Meanwhile, the second one gets close enough to drive his knife between the plates in her armored vest.  She just has time to extend her arm and punch her own knife into his chest as she falls, crumpling, to the pavement.  

Bucky takes a couple of good punches as he tries to process what’s just happened, and he sees as he head-butts one guy and tosses him into another that there’s somebody rappelling down from the helicopter.

Fuck.  This is what he gets for trying to do a good deed.  He takes out two more with a flying cartwheel that lets him break one’s jaw on his way to planting his foot in the other’s face, and that gets him within a few feet of Eight, but there are still at least eight assholes trying to kill him.  The one who’s trying to lift Eight gets an elbow to the larynx, but doesn’t go down fast enough for Bucky, so he also gets Bucky’s left fist to his face and flies backwards far enough to break his neck on the open door of a car.  

That’s when Bucky sees another asshole go flying past him, clear across the road and out into the void beyond the barrier.  He doesn’t have time to wonder at that because somebody’s got him in a chokehold, and it takes him a second to get to the knife on the inside of his shin and deal with that guy.  But once that’s done, he whips around to see Steve – Captain fucking America, who is supposed to be on a plane on his way back to New York - wiping up what’s left of the bad guys like he’s bored.  

“No time,” Steve shouts over the sound of the chopper, “Strap in!”

He points to where there’s a second rope, with a harness attached, looped over the barrier and trailing about halfway to where they’re standing.

“Eight!”  Bucky yells.

“I got her!  Strap in!”

Bucky sees that Steve’s already picking her up, so he sprints to the harness and straps it on as fast as he can.  He looks up to see Sam Wilson working the hydraulic winch in the open door of the helicopter, already hauling Steve, with Eight in his arms, up into the air.  Moments later, his own harness secure, Bucky is lifted skyward himself.  He notes with annoyance that Natasha is flying the chopper. Had she agreed to help Eight the day before, they wouldn’t be in this mess now.

Bucky and Sam grasp each other’s wrists and Sam pulls him into the chopper and slams the door.  Natasha immediately turns the helicopter away from the snarl of crisscrossing motorways and heads it out into the darkness.  Bucky doesn’t care where they’re going, or why they’ve shown up now.  He cares about the fact that Steve’s pulling off Eight’s vest and there is a whole hell of a lot of blood.  

She’s conscious, though.  She’s lying across two seats, using some of the new words Bucky’s been teaching her and some others – in Norwegian, for some reason – that he knows are equally foul.  

“I hate getting stabbed!  And how embarrassing that it has to be in front of you, Captain.”

“Nah,” Steve says, “You were doin’ great.  The problem was you were trying to look out for Bucky.  You can’t do that.  You have to watch out for yourself first, otherwise this’ll happen every time.”

Apparently, Bucky thinks, they had time to bond on the way up to the chopper.  He shoves Steve roughly out of the way and finishes pulling the vest off of Eight, then pulls her black nylon turtleneck over her head.  Holy shit.  Natasha wishes she had abs like this woman’s.

“How bad?”  Bucky asks, looking for himself as Sam hands him a thick towel for the blood.

Eight grunts in pain and winces.  “Hurts.  Probably a collapsed lung again.  I’ll be all right.  I’m sorry, Sergeant.  I was useless back there.”

“We got different definitions of ‘useless’.” He turns toward the front of the helicopter.  “Natasha, where are we going?  She needs help.”

“She’ll get it,” Natasha answers blandly.  “Bruce is on the plane.  He’s got all his stuff.”

“I don’t need help, Sergeant.  Just time.  I’ll heal, you know that.”

“Well, I’ll let a doctor tell me that, if you don’t mind,” Bucky snaps as he continues to do what he can to stanch the bleeding. It’s already almost stopped, but he doesn’t like the way she’s fighting to breathe, or the trickle of blood on the side of her mouth.  

“Been meaning to ask you about something,” he says.

“Yeah?  What?”

“You called me Bucky.”

“What?”

“When you woke me up.  You called me Bucky.”

“Oh, that.  It was quieter.  Those guys in the house were close enough to hear the ‘S’ in ‘Sergeant’.”

“Oh.”

“Sorry to get your hopes up.”

Neither one of them notice the look on Steve’s face, or the tension in every muscle of his body.  They’re focused on each other.

#Bucky Barnes #Steve Rogers #Sebastian Stan #Chris Evans #Sam Wilson #The Winter Soldier #Captain America #The Falcon #Natasha Romanoff #Scarlett Johansson

[lilulo-12fanfiction]

Nothing Breaks Like A Heart 1

So here’s my first Avengers fic. I know I haven’t posted in a while and I have a few stories I need to work on.

Huuuuge thank you to @shreddedparchment for betaing this chapter and helping me clean it up. I’m definitely rusty.

This is not a reader insert but a Steve Rogers x OC story.

But feel free to send requests for reader inserts.

The sound of Nora’s heels echoed down the hallways of SHEILD as she headed to her destination. Ever since she was a little girl the sound of high heels was the sound of power to her. Pepper always seemed to have power in some way over her Uncle Tony. Not in a bad way. He just needed guidance occasionally as Pepper had put it. She appeared exude confidence as she strutted down the hallway with the familiar Stark swagger. She was the poster child for “fake it til you make it” never quite feelingas confident as she looked. This building, the history of the organization was beyond intimidating. Her Grandfather’s and her father’s legacies were looming over her.

As far as the world knew, her father had died in a plane crash. It had been her birthday tradition; her father dropped her off with her Uncle Tony and attended business. Every year, it made Nora’s heart ache that her father spent her birthday away from her. She often wondered if it was to mourn her mother who died in child birth. Tony, however, made every single birthday that Nora could remember absolutely special. He just had to work harder now that both of her parents died on that day. She was 10 when her father passed.

Nora, as soon as she was old enough to really pay attention to detail, always felt that her father’s death seemed off. They had no idea what had caused his private plane to crash. Both her father and Howard seemed to be working on something important before they died and both had died in strange accidents.

She felt the pain of her father’s death deeply still. He had his flaws, he often put work first, but he always made sure that she knew how much he loved her. Tony has feared she’d never get out from under the darkness that over took her once she was gone. She found solace in working with her Uncle. He taught her everything he knew.

“Nora!” Fury’s voice boomed with greeting shaking her from her thoughts. She smiled and hugged him. She was one of the few that brought out Nick Fury’s softer side.

“Good to see you Uncle Nick. Where is he?” She’d been calling him that since she was a kid. Before her father was gone he worked closely with Fury.

“Where he’s been almost every day- in the gym punching bags. I’ll take you down there now.” Nora nodded, a feeling of nerves and queasiness coming over her. What a first impression it would be if she puked on Captain America’s shoes. She trailed behind Fury slightly taking in the facility. It always impressed her no matter how many times she saw it.

Her breath caught in her throat when she saw him. His tall muscular frame was more impressive than photos revealed. She didn’t know him but she felt like she did. Her father worshipped him. She had never really known her grandfather. She was a baby when he and Maria died. But she had heard all of the stories from her father.

She followed Nick into the gym as she carefully studied Steve Rogers. She jumped when he hit the punching bag so hard it flew across the room. She must have let out a squeak because The Captain was giving her a sheepish look. He may have been a super soldier but he had the most innocent face she’d ever seen. He was equally taking her in. She was relatively short, but then again height didn’t run in the family. She had pale skin, high cheekbones and dark curly hair that was past her shoulders. Shiny loose ringlets framed her face. It was her eyes that captivated Steve. They were a pale green, something he’d never seen before. She was wearing a black suit jacket and matching dress shorts with a silk red cami finished off with her stilettos.

“Captain- I have someone here who would really like to get to know you.” Fury looked to Nora. She smiled nervously and approached the man her father had admired so much. She extended her hand.

“Nora Stark.” She watched as Steve’s eyes grew wide.

“Howard-“

“Howard’s granddaughter.” She finished for Steve.

“I didn’t know Tony had a daughter.” From what Steve had heard of the billionaire, responsible parent wasn’t included. Nora snickered.

“He doesn’t. Well not that he knows of anyway.” She saw a rare genuine smirk on Fury’s face.

“Tony’s my uncle and guardian for the past 12 years. My father was his brother. Your namesake actually. He was Grant Stark. Grant Roger Stark. Clearly Howard was a fan.” Nora felt a little flutter as she watched Steve’s face turn slightly pink.

“Nora is brilliant.” Fury turned and smiled at Nora. “Genius like her uncle and father. She has her masters in Computer Science and Cyber security. She helps Pepper Potts run Stark Industries, charms the press when Tony does something embarrassing.” His voice was filled with pride as if he was talking about his own child.

“I think I should be more excited to get to know you instead.” Steve was laughing but he was incredibly impressed.

“Oh please, I have a photographic memory. If it wasn’t for that I’d probably be working at Costco or something.” Nora tried to brush off the compliment.

“Well, I have to get back to work so I’ll leave the two of you to get to know each other.” Nick Fury excused himself leaving a flustered Nora behind.

“So why the interest in getting to know me?”

“Okay well meeting a man that was in ice for 70 years and lived should be reason enough.” Steve laughed at her bluntness and Nora continued. “The reason I came is that I HAD to meet you. Howard was your biggest fan, for lack of a better term. You marked his life. He never stopped looking for you. He thought that you could have survive the crash. Then after a while he just wanted to bring you home. You were his friend and he felt like he somehow failed you. Your bravery saved so many. My father admired you as much as his father did. Once Howard died he continued his search. You were like the family member I never met. You occupied a space in my life and now I can actually know you.”

She turned slightly and Steve could tell she was wiping a tear from her face. Talking about her father always made her emotional.

“Can we get out of this gym? It smells like feet and I’m not into it.”

The super soldier tipped his head back and a laugh erupted from deep down.

Nora always covered her emotions with jokes and sarcasm. She got that from Tony.

“If you give me a half an hour to shower and change we can get out of the building.”

“Sounds perfect. I’ll be waiting outside so Fury can’t try to put me to work.”

Steve watched Nora for a moment from the door. She had changed into a white V-Neck T-Shirt and her heels were replaced with black flip flops and she had an army green baseball cap to shield her face and was sitting on a bench outside of Sheild with her legs crossed reading a fashion magazine.

She smiled when she saw him walk out of the building. She had one of those smiles that could light the darkest of places. He was excited to talk to someone that shared a link to his past. He had felt so alone. He liked Natasha but it just wasn’t the same as genuine friends, not yet anyway. Everyone at S.H.I.E.L.D. was nice but they wanted something from him, a piece of him. To Nora, Steve must have been the only other connection besides Tony to her father and grandfather . She wanted to know Steve, she didn’t NEED Captain America.

“You changed?”

“Well I try to stay incognito as often as possible. Not easy when you were raised by Tony Stark. Plus I’m not enough of a masochist to try to walk the city in those shoes” she replied effortlessly.

Steve grinned at her. “So where to?” He questioned as she stood up and threw her magazine into the big teal leather bag that was over her shoulder.

“Well from what Nick told me you haven’t really gotten out much. So I thought we could do some walking around the city and I’d show you some of my favorite places in Manhattan. I know a lot of cool places that are amazing that don’t get a lot of tourist action so it’s easier to blend in. It’s nice to be able to do things without public scrutiny. I’m sure you’ll start having people recognize you if they haven’t already. Before you know it you’ll have your very own dedicated paparazzi.” She rolled her eyes and them laughed.

“I’d love to see your favorite places.” He looked at her with an intensity that took her breath away. She smiled when he offered her his arm. Linking her arm within his she lead him down the street to her favorite art gallery.

As they were walking and laughing Nora felt her phone vibrate on her pocket. She looked and saw that it was Tony. She sheepishly apologized to Steve and answered her phone.

“Hi Tone.” Stevd could hear the admiration for her Uncle in her voice.

“Hey kid- where are you?” He sounded tired. He and Pepper had been working non-stop for days.

“Out with a friend” She knew her Uncle held a bitterness towards the super soldier. Tony’s feelings were completely irrational but she knew it was involved with his complicated feelings towards Howard. “Finally came up for air?”

“Something like that. You know I really wish you’d let Happy or one of his guys drive you. What if someone came after you?” Nora rolled her eyes.

“Well its a good thing Rhodey taught me to defend myself. Don’t worry about me. One of the guys drove me and now I’m not alone. Please get some sleep and make sure you eat something.”

“Okay Nori. Be good. I’ll see you in the morning.” She smiled at his use of the nickname he gave her when she was a little girl.

“Sorry about that.” Nora quickly shoved her phone back in her pocket. “Tony and Pepper have been working on a pretty big project. He works way too hard sometimes. They both do.”

Steve waved off her apology. “No need to apologize. Shall we go to this gallery of yours?”

Nora nodded and they continued down the street. She linked her arm back in his with a grin as they headed back down the street.

A while later Nora had snuck them through the kitchen of her favorite restaurant. The Chef was a good friend of hers. While she loved all his cooking, the food on the menu was pretentious and overpriced. He was an artist but needed to pay his dues. He always whipped her up something of his own making. The wait staff knew they were friends and that ensured she’d have a small table all the way in the back of the restaurant and he could flex his creativity.

“You’re about to have the food experience of your life Rogers”

“We’re on a last name basis now?”

“Oh no- you’re not allowed to call me Stark. That’s my uncle and it’s weird. But seriously. Jason is the top up and coming Chef in Manhattan. His food is incredible.”

“Nora Stark!” Jason was walking out of the kitchen to greet her.

“Shhhhh Jay. I’m trying to fly under the radar.” Nora scolded him.

“Damn. Sorry! I haven’t seen you in a while I thought you might be in Cali again.”

Nora shook her head. “It’s nice to visit but you know New York has a hold on my heart. Anyway- Jay this is my friend Steve.”

As Steve gave him a wave, Jason’s eyes grew wide. “Oh shit. Nor are you on a date with Captain America?”

Nora shot Jason a glare. “Why are you so embarrassing? No this is not a date.” Nora’s face was cherry red.

Jason was giving her a knowing smirk. “Nice to meet you dude. Man, being a Stark gets you the hook up. I’ll send one of the girls out with some wine and some bread in a few.” Jason turned and headed back into the kitchen.

Steve was laughing out loud as Nora was burying her face in her hands. “He seemed nice.” Steve was still laughing when Nora finally picked her head up.

She quickly admired how the skin around his blue eyes crinkled when he laughed. She took a deep breath and let out a small laugh. “He’s a straight pain in the ass but he’s a really great friend.”

Steve had managed to avoid talking too much about his past. He didn’t want to talk about Peggy or Bucky. It was too much to talk about with someone he had just met. If Nora noticed he wasn’t sharing much insight she didn’t let on. Instead she told him the story of when Tony was kidnapped and how he built the armor to escape.

“God- I was so devastated when Pepper told me he was gone. I didn’t think I’d survive the loss of him. He and I have been a team since even before my father died. Everything I am is because of him. I refused to believe he was dead. I felt like I would know if he was gone. I know that probably sounds crazy. When my dad died. That day, even before it happened something felt wrong. I didn’t feel that with my uncle. And then he was back and it was like I could breath again. Things have been crazy ever since but I don’t think I would change any of it. I just wish he didn’t suffer as much as he did.”

“It doesn’t sound crazy at all. Some people have intuition like that. Some things just can’t be explained.” Steve could see the emotion on Nora’s face again. She was open and authentic. She was like breathing fresh air. Steve knew this woman would have a place in his life going forward.

It was late by the time they finished eating. Steve had started telling Nora stories of Howard

and she couldn’t get enough. She automatically could see the similarities between her Uncle and Grandfather. Maybe that was why they had such a difficult relationship.

After they had said their goodbyes to Jason and thanked him for dinner Nora pulled her cell back out once they got outside. “I’m going to call one of the drivers we have on call. I’ll have him drop you off before he takes me home. If I walked home this late my Uncle would have a stroke.”

“I’ll wait with you to make sure you’re picked up safely but I can walk.” Steve didn’t want her going out of her way. He would be perfectly fine walking back.

“That’s dumb. Let me drop you off.” Nora rolled her eyes. Before Steve could object again Nora cut him off. “You might as well just give in. I’ve been told I get my stubbornness from my Grandfather.”

“Alright fine.” Steve held his hands up in defeat. They stood in a comfortable silence while they waited for the town car to arrive. Nora couldn’t help but wonder what it would feel like to have Steve’s arms around her and immediately scolded herself silently. Steve was gorgeous to look at, there was no denying it. Yet it was his demeanor that drew her to him. His silent strength made her feel safe. Maybe it was because she had been through so many crazy things between her father and her Uncle.

“Nora- thank you for insisting on meeting me and getting me out of this building. I didn’t realize how much I needed it.” Steve’s voice yanked Nora from her thoughts. She was happy Steve couldn’t see the heat rise to her cheeks again. She offered him a bright smile.

“I mean my motives were purely selfish overall but I had heard that you were having a hard time so I thought it was what my dad would have done. Don’t worry- I’ll be around so much you’ll get sick of me.” Steve reached out and squeezed her hand. Nora felt her heart soar to her throat. She stood for a moment enjoying the feeling of his skin on hers. The contrast between his rough skin on her own soft skin gave her goosebumps.

“Not possible.” He gave her what Nora would soon call his signature smile. Before either of them could say anything else a black town car pulled up to the curb.

“This is us.” Nora’s voice came out in a whisper as she gently pulled her hand from Steve’s. He quickly opened the door so she could get in and slide over. He soon followed and shut the door. Nora gave the driver Steve’s address and then sat back against the seat. Her hand was resting on the seat next to Steve’s. All she had to do was reach her pinky over just slightly so their hands would touch. She felt like a school girl idiot with an obnoxious crush. She wasn’t like this. She had just met him. Yet she was so painfully aware of how close he was to her. His large frame took up quite a bit of space in the back seat. Nora was still deep in thought when they pulled up to their destination.

“When can I see you again?” Steve broke the silence of the car ride. “It’s really nice to have someone to talk to. I really want to get to know you better.” Nora couldn’t help but smile at the hopeful look on Steve’s face.

“Give me your phone.” Nora put her hand out. Once Steve had dug it out of his pocket he placed it in her hand. She quickly added herself to his phone. “I sent a text to myself so I have your number. Call me when you want to get together.”

Steve wanted to lean in and kiss her goodnight. He reminded himself that this wasn’t a date. Nora wanted to connect with her past. She was a friend. He couldn’t help himself from kissing her on the cheek. “Thank you again. Truly. You have no idea how much I needed this. I’ll call you.”

Steve had gotten out of the car before Nora could even react. She had her hand on her cheek where she could still feel his lips. She looked up and saw Charlie, the driver, looking at her in the rear view mirror with a smile.

“I see you had a good night Ms. Stark” she could hear the teasing in his voice.

“Chuck- first of all I keep telling you to call me Nora. I don’t like the formality. Second of all let’s not tell my uncle who you dropped off.”

Charlie smiled at the nick name that Nora had given him. “Your secret is safe with me”

“Not so much a secret but-“ Nora’s train of thought was interrupted by her phone. She looked and saw Pepper’s face smiling at her. She didn’t even have a chance to squeak out a greeting.

“Nora where are you?” Pepper’s voice sounded slightly panicked.

“On my way back to the tower.”

“Okay listen, Phil is taking me to the air port. When you get home, go straight to your room and pack some things, grab your passport and head back outside and wait for Phil. He’s going to come pick you up. Do not stop and see Tony.”

“Pepper, what the hell is going on?”

“Something has happened. Phil will fill you in on the details. Tony is going to need your help but he won’t want you to. So you’re just going to be there.”

“Oh...okay. Have a safe flight Pepper.” Nora was confused and worried l.

“Be safe Nora.” Pepper hung up and Nora leaned back into the seat trying to figure out what possibly could have happened.

As Nora was fielding her call from Pepper, Nick Fury was looking for Steve.

“Fury- what can I do for you?” Steve raised his eyebrows.

“Cap- I have a mission for you.”

#avengers fanfiction #avengers fic #avengers #marvel fanfiction #marvel fic #marvel #Steve Rogers #steve rogers fanfiction #Steve Rogers x OC #captain america #captain america fanfiction #captain america x oc #tony stark #tony stark fanfiction #iron man #iron man fanfiction #steve rogers imagine

[slut4supersoldiers]

Someday.Maybe. Chapter 6

Summary: Throw together a boy and a girl and another boy and 5 middle-schoolers, two adults, a little girl with telekinetic powers, and a monster from another dimension and you’ll get the perfectly strange story.

(AKA: I suck at writing summaries.)

Pairing: Steve Harrington X OC (fem reader) X Billy Hargrove  

Words: 3k+ (this one is long soz!)

Warning: Little bit of angst, Billy’s P.O.V (so some offensive/ nasty thoughts), Strong language

A/n: This chapter is my most favourite so far. Y’all probably know by now that I am a sucker for writing about Billy and this chapter has “Billy’s Point of view” (if that isn’t an incentive then idk what is.) Also: The characters might seem a little confused, i wanted to make them a little nuanced because lets be honest none of us had our shit together as teens.

I do not own Strangers Things nor the GIF.

CATCH UP HERE:

PART I

PART II

PART III

PART IV

PART V

MASTERLIST

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After that day during the summer Steve and I avoided each other like the plague. It started with Steve responding to my greetings with a smile, then a nod, then a glance and finally nothing. He was moving away from me like sand slipping through ones fingers. I began blaming myself. Had it not been for me and my smart mouth I would have still been able to be friends with Steve. But hanging out with him and seeing him look at Nancy the way I wanted him to look at me hurt me in a way I couldn’t explain. The only thing that helped me bare Nancy and Steve was the fact that she made Steve happy.

But the Steve I saw right now was anything but happy.

The boy before me was completely broken. His face was turned away from me but I could see his shoulders shake due to the sobs raking through his body. He was constantly running his fingers through his hair, something I noticed he did when he had a lot on his mind. With some courage I reached out to touch his shoulder.

“Steve.” The nervousness was evident in my voice.

On hearing my voice Steve straightened up and rubbed his nose before turning to look at me.

“(Y/n)” he cleared his throat.

“Are you okay?” I asked.

Steve startled me when he let out a laugh. However, it was not a hearty laugh but more of a melancholic sound.

“Am I okay? No. Apparently everything in my life is bullshit (y/n) so no I am not really okay.” He looked away as the tears surfaced in his eyes again.

“Steve I don’t know what has happened but it will get better.” I put my hand on his shoulder once again.

“Easy for you to say.” He shrugged off my hand.

“What do you mean Steve?” I should’ve walked away but somehow my masochistic, irrational-self did not allow me to do that.

“I don’t understand, you know, Nancy was great. Is great. Things were perfect but then she goes ahead and tells me she doesn’t love me and whatever we had was all bullshit an-

“Steve I am s-

“No (y/n) let me finish.” He raised his hand shutting up me up instantly.

“Then, that day you had to ruin things. I have never had anyone care for me like you did. I know we hadn’t been talking as much as we did earlier but whenever we hung out you always listened, you always paid attention to me and showed appreciation for everything I did and I loved it. I really like it and liked everything about you. But now I hate you because I can’t hate you and Nancy…goes and…she…

He slid down against the car and sat on the ground. I could feel my resolve crumbling as his words began seeping in. I was just as confused as Steve was but trying to make sense of his words hurt me a lot more.

As if things were not terrible enough a sudden movement startled us. Both of us turned our heads to look at Jonathan holding up a very drunk Nancy and hauling her to his car. That’s when I realised that Steve probably asked Jonathan to drive Nancy back.

Steve got up angrily as the car sped away muttering something under his breath. He pulled open the door of his own car and got in.

“Steve you shouldn’t drive. Let me dri-

“(y/n) don’t you fucking get it. I want to be alone. Leave me alone.” His voice came out louder than I had ever heard. I had never seen him this angry. I backed away as he drove away without even a glance in my direction.

I let out a shaky breath as I realised I would have to walk home alone. I wiped at the tears that involuntarily rolled down my cheeks. Wrapping my arms tightly around my torso I began the long walk home.

However, while I was busy wallowing in my misery I completely overlooked Billy Hargrove standing by the doorway looking at the whole ordeal unravelling before him.

Billy’s P.O.V:

Since the moment I stepped into Hawkins I knew life was going to suck. California was paradise. California was home. But just like every good thing in my life my home was taken away from me and instead I had now landed in a town that constantly smelled like cow shit.

I could not let anyone else walk over me or take things away from me anymore. So the day I stepped into the high school I decided to maintain a place for myself above everyone. And it was a cake walk for me. All I had to do was undo a few buttons of my shirt, flash my pearly smile and make the buffoons around me feel like they were my friends. Slowly everyone started flocking around me. I even managed to dethrone the ‘reigning king of Hawkins’ Steve Harrington. 

Still the lack of difficulty was making life boring. I needed a challenge, which seemed difficult considering the fact that every female (both young and old) was throwing herself at me, shamelessly. The only two people who seemed to flock away from the herd were Harrington’s girlfriend and (y/n). Harrington’s girl was never on my radar. As much of an asshole as I was I would never pin for someone who was taken, let alone Nancy Wheeler, the poster girl for preppy.

(Y/n) on the other hand caught my attention immediately. From the Intel I had received from Tommy about the status quo in Hawkins, (y/n) was initially great friends with Steve but her reputation had spiraled down after she started hanging out with the Byers kid, who was far out of the social ladder.

I admit it, I thought she was cute from the first day and as infuriating as her dismissive attitude was, it was also kind of a turn on. The way she squirmed when I’d make a slightly crude comment or how her face heated up when she bit back at me, amused me and made me feel a twitch in my jeans all at the same time. But I wasn’t going to admit that I was infatuated by her, precisely because of her ‘social ranking’. If I had to keep my newly-earned crown I had to follow the status-quo. 

But that didn’t keep me from “giving her a hard time” as I made Tommy and Carol believe. In reality I wanted to crack her and see where I could take things with her. Jeez! Get a grip, man! 

So unbeknownst to Tommy and Carol I invited her to Tina’s Halloween Party.

Now Halloween parties in California meant hot chicks and binge drinking and sometimes if we’d be lucky one of the rich kids would throw a party and invite the whole school. As much as I hated their snooty, snobbish behavior the rich kids always had good booze. Parties in Cali were totally raging.

The Halloween party in Hawkins however was just as terrible as the people here. The girls dressed like they were competing for the crown of “Prude of the year” and the drinks all tasted like girly, fruity drinks or piss. But I’d rather be at this sorry excuse of a party than home listening to Susan reminiscing about Halloween as a child, all the while resisting the urge to not roll my eyes.

The party was still boring and Duran Duran was still blaring through the record player. But the boring party soon became a lot better as my eyes fell on the Keg stand. Fucking finally, something good was happening in Hawkins.

“Hargrove wanna give it a shot?” Tommy asked noticing my excitement.

“Shot? I am about to make a record. I’ll show y’all Hawkins idiots how to party.” I bellowed.

“Well you’re gonna have to break Steve’s record. He is the Keg King. Just last year he managed to do a st-

I completely blocked him out the moment he said “break Steve’s record”. Steve Harrington was everything I hated. He was rich, and almost too nice. And I knew there was no chance there would be another king in my presence.

I didn’t have to say anything to anyone. The moment I moved towards the stand everybody parted to make way for me. And just like that in no time I had smashed ‘Keg King Steve’s’ record. Another easy task.

With the energy pulsing through me I grabbed the cigarette from Tommy’s fingers and took a long drag. “That’s how you do it in Hawkins.” I screamed. The people in Hawkins would now understand what a real party is.

Everybody huddled around me and began patting my back as Tommy declared I was the new ‘Keg King’. Girls began eyeing me as the remnants of beer began trickled down my shirtless torso. I mean I wouldn’t really blame them.

“We have ourselves a new keg king.” Tommy announced once more as we entered the house. Once we walked in my eyes fell on the one and only Steve Harrington who suddenly stopped dancing as he heard Tommy’s declaration.

“He broke your record. He is the new keg king Harrington.” If Steve was not alert before he was now. He came to a complete halt and took off his glasses eyeing both Tommy and I. His girlfriend, who was annoyingly attached to his hip like always, looked at the both of us and walked away rolling her eyes. Before I could say anything to Harrington he had followed his girlfriend towards the kitchen like a lost boy.

“He is so whipped. What a pussy.” Tommy chuckled.

However, instead of agreeing with Tommy and making things worse of Harrington, I halted as my eyes caught the sight of the one person who I was looking forward to see but didn’t expect would show up. (Y/n)

“Yo check it out, Miss Goody two shoes coming over.” Tommy who seemed to follow my line of vision, hollered. I wanted to talk to her so bad. But the thought sounded ridiculous and if Tommy found out I was thinking in such a way the results would be much worse.

So when Tommy menacingly whispered, “looks like goody two shoes needs to loosen up.” I smirked and agreed.

Following my command Tommy walked in front of her blocking her from entering another room, while I stealthily I walked behind her to block her from turning and leaving. When she saw Tommy she halted, I leaned down and whispered lowly in her ear, “Hey, Doll face.”  

The first time I called her that in front of Tommy and Carol they pulled a face and asked me why I called her that, since then I kept telling them and anyone who asked “I love how worked up she gets every time I call her that.” But in reality she kinda looked like one of those dolls that little shitheads play with. What the fuck Hargrove! Focus!

“Billy have you heard of this thing called personal space or did you skip the class where they taught that too?” she turned to look at me. The moment she said my name I could feel all the blood rush down to my crotch. The thought of my name leaving her lips as I bent her over every fucking surface ran through my mind. Hey I am a man after all, cut me some slack!

“Wow doll face, my name sounds sexier when you say it.” I mean it was the truth.

“What do you want Hargrove?” She huffed.

“Why don’t we grab a beer, go upstairs and have a chat about what I want?” I licked my lips gaining hoots from Tommy and his friends. Maybe it was some hormones shit or alcohol or both but all I wanted was to take her upstairs and show her a good time without caring about what anyone else thought.

“Why don’t you go bother someone who actually cares?” the previous hoots by Tommy and and cronies turned into snickers. I clenched my jaw partially out of anger at Tommy and his friends and partially because her dismissive attitude pushed me to try harder. But my reputation was more important to me. I didn’t want to be like Steve Harrington running behind some girl when she didn’t show any interest. I needed a push to get away from this girl in front of me.

So without a thought I grabbed the cup out of Carol’s hand and downed the drink. With the disgusting drink giving me the final push I announced, “Let’s get out of here.” Giving (y/n) one final look I walked towards the backyard.

 At around midnight people began trickling out. Tina, had already passed out on the couch and so had half the people. The rest were dancing to some bubble-gum pop bullshit that was being played on loop. I for one lost all the interest after my encounter with (y/n). Did I love a challenge when it came to girls? Of course. But I hated when they got the last word in. And what’s worse was Tommy had actually gotten a hint about how I felt towards (y/n).

Ignoring his inquisitive behaviour I finally decided to drive back home. After years of partying I had learned to handle my alcohol enough to stay in my senses.

I lit up a cigarette and blew out the smoke as I trudged in the direction of my car. As I was descending down the final flight of stairs my eyes fell on two familiar figures. Steve Harrington and (y/n). Before I could go and intervene I saw Harrington furiously get into his car leaving a distraught (y/n) behind. She wiped her eyes and wrapped her arms around herself.

Maybe it was the fact that I was finally alone or whatever, I wanted to help her. So I got into my car and slowly started trailing (y/n) in the hopes of not startling her. But I was wrong. The headlights and soft rumble of the car made her stop dead in her tracks.

“What do you want Hargrove?” I raised my eyebrows in surprise. She knew it was me without even looking back. Cute.

“A lot of things actually, a new car, some cash, a one way ticket out of this shit hole.” I chuckled as I got out of the car and approached her.

She still refused to look at me. I continued anyway.

“But right now doll face, I’d like for you to get away from this cold and in my car.” I crossed my arms in front of my chest.

“I wouldn’t get in your car even if my life depended on it.” She huffed and turned to face me. Her hair was a little messed due to the wind. Her red rimmed, puffy eyes stared into mine and without even thinking I reached out to cup her tear stained cheeks.

“What happened?” I bent down at eye level with her.

“Huh! As if you care.” She swatted away my hand and began walking in the opposite direction.

Before I could follow her she suddenly turned around and looked at me.

“If I get in your car right now will you stop annoying me henceforth?” She ran her fingers through her hair.

“You got it Doll-face.” I gave her a lopsided grin and opened the door to the passenger seat for her. Pouting a little she complied and got in the car.

Following suite, I got in the car and turned the ignition on and then turned the heat to its fullest. A small sigh of relief left (Y/n)’s lips but she was still shivering and rubbing her hands up and down her arms.

“There’s…uh…a jacket in the back seat if you can just…

Eyeing me a little she reached out and grabbed my denim jacket that was lying on the back seat.

“Why are you being so nice?” (y/n) cut through the silence.

“I don’t know.” And I honestly didn’t. I was Billy Hargrove resident asshole (I’ve heard worse). This was certainly not how I treated anyone in this town.

But there was something about (y/n). Yes it was cliché but with (y/n) I didn’t have to live up to a reputation. She seemed completely indifferent towards me. She wasn’t impressed by the bad boy act so I thought maybe she would appreciate me being…nice. Damn! Hargrove stop turning into a softie. You’re behaving like a wimp.

“It’s because your friends aren’t around, right?” She murmured.

Startled, I looked at her for a second, “(y/n) it’s…I can’t-

“It’s okay Billy! I am used to people turning to me whenever they feel its right.” She sighed and pulled the jacket off. It was hard to focus on the directions she gave me after hearing the sad tone of her voice. When I pulled over in front of her house, she folded the jacket and handed it to me, “Thanks Hargrove.” She smiled.

“Give it to me tomorrow.” I winked at her.

She shook her head and put it on my lap, “Don’t want your friends to get the wrong idea.” She gave me a sad smile. I was surprised at how well she could read me and for a moment I sat there; dumbfounded. Maybe she really was nice and it wasn’t an act. Maybe there was one beacon of hope in this shitty town and I was being an asshole unnecessarily. Suddenly recovering from the epiphany I turned to pull the passenger door shut that she had opened. I ended up trapping her body against the seat in the process.

“For the record I do care.” She furrowed her brows but suddenly nodded as if remembering what she had said earlier.

“Sure. Goodnight Billy.” My name softly rolled off her tongue in a whisper. She held her gaze with me as if expecting me to say something. Honestly in that moment I just wanted to apologize to her for being a dick and feel her lips against mine.

“Good Night (y/n)” She raised her eyebrows in surprise as she heard me say her name, probably for the first time. Without saying much she slowly got out of the car and walked towards her house.

As she walked into the house I grabbed the jacket that she had left, her scent faintly lingered on the fabric. This definitely wasn’t infatuation anymore. That’s when I knew, I was a dead man! 

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[theonewiththefanfics]

Reciprocated (one-shot)

Summary: College!AU

After being bothered by Brock Rumlow’s incessant pestering of asking the Reader out, she agrees but obviously regrets it. She has a ginormous crush on the star quarterback Bucky Barnes, who unbeknownst to her is absolutely head over heels for the girl and when she needs help getting rid of Brock, he turns into her knight in shining armour.

Pairing: Bucky x Reader

Warnings: legit none

Genre: tiny bit angst; fluuuuufffff

Word count: 2894

   Y/N Y/L/N was the typical college nerd. Her head always stuck in a book, parties never being her scene, but the difference between high-school where she was teased for things like that was that here no one cared. Everyone was too engrossed in their own struggles with keeping up with assignments, having a social life and extra activities. Y/N was even great friends with the captain of their football team ‘The Howling Commandos" Steve Rogers.    They had bonded over their mutual hatred for their non-fiction teacher. Y/N was studying Creative Writing in hopes of becoming a full-fledged novelist one day while Steve wanted to be a sports reporter/ journalist.    “God, her voice is just so annoying,” he’d muttered underneath his breath one time while the teacher had droned on about something. Y/N couldn’t even remember what the lesson had consisted of.    “You should see her in publishing. She doesn’t even know how half the websites we’re supposed to use works.” The girl had muttered back, not really expecting an answer, but Steve immediately whipped his head towards her, a pained expression on his face.    “You have her for publishing!? Oh, you poor thing! I’m so sorry!”    A snort escaped Y/N, while she extended a hand towards the guy. “Y/N Y/L/N.”    “I know. You’re in the top three of every class,” Y/N’s cheeks heated up at the statement, but she wasn’t embarrassed by her accomplishments more so that others noticed it. “Steve Rogers,” he replied shaking her hand.    Y/N smirked, jotting down a few useless notes, knowing that she’ll have to go to the library to find the information herself to actually understand what the teacher had said. “I know. Your face is plastered all over campus. Running for Student President’s seat.”    Now Steve was the one blushing. “Uh, yeah,” he stammered, “thought it might look good on my CV. And I do think that I could improve things,” he quickly added, “at least I hope so. Don’t wanna idly sit around these four years, well now three and not do anything.”

   “Well,” Y/N smiled at him seeing his face flushed from the corner of her eye, “you’ve got a vote from me them.”    And that is how their friendship started. Steve introduced her to his friends and to her surprise all of them were really nice. The football team was completely opposite of what one would imagine, given the movie stereotypes that are seen in movies, especially when communicating with such a hermit like Y/N.    Being in their second year of studying was a lot of fun, except for certain lectures, of course. But what was even worse than a nasal teacher droning on and on about proofreading and editing was Y/N’s social life more specifically- her love life.    It’s not that she hadn’t had boyfriends before, but right now her main concern was her career and her studies. That’s why she found herself slamming Steve’s door open and rushing in, the eyes of his girlfriend Natasha- the head cheerleader and an incredibly nice, let alone attractive girl-, Sam- the vice president of the student union- and Bucky- quarterback of the football team and Y/N’s longtime secret crush- all staring at her with wide eyes.    “Sorry guys,” she heaved out, looking through the peeping hole, “sorry.” She crouched down as if the person or people the girl was hiding from could see her through the wooden door.    “You okay there, doll?” it was Bucky who took away her attention. The guy had started calling Y/N the little nickname the second they’d met. She thought that it’s how he referred to every girl, but little did Y/N know that it was only her.    “Fine,” she slowly slid up to look through the tiny glass hole and seeing that the coast was clear, she let out a breath the girl didn’t even know she was holding. Y/N gently placed down her laptop on the mantelpiece, while sliding her backpack off. Bucky had stood up from the couch and approached the girl taking her jacket off and hanging it.    “Such a gentleman,” she teased while ruffling through her Y/H/C. They were good friends, quickly hitting it off with their mutual love for everything space and science, yet she always kept her distance, afraid to let her true feelings slip. And even though Steve had told the girl many times Bucky couldn’t stop talking about her and that the man was head over heels for the girl, she didn’t believe him.    “Well not helping out such a pretty dame would be a sin.” There it was- that cocky smile, yet at the same time oddly affectionate as he looked down at Y/N. Her heart skipped a beat, but before anything could happen, Steve, pulled her out of the daydream.    “So you wanna tell us what happened or do we have to go beat someone up?”    “What, no! God, Steve stop!” Y/N flopped down onto the couch between Nat and Sam, where Bucky’s place had been. “Remember that guy Brock?”    “Rumlow?” Bucky was leaning on the back of the sofa right behind Y/N his palms clasped on her shoulders.    “Yeah. He’s been pestering me for a while to go out on a date and I just got so fed up with it, and his inability to take a hint, I just…. gave in.”    “And?” Nat was nudging Y/N, while rubbing soothing circles on her thigh, clearly seeing in how much distress the girl was in.    “And he was an asshole! A boring one at that. And now,” she emphasised the word feeling Bucky’s grip on her shoulders tighten, “he wants to go on another date.”    Sam’s eyes almost popped out of his head “You can’t be seriously thinking about going?”    “I may joke about wanting to die and not having a soul, but I’m not a masochist,” she deadpanned while keeping a completely straight face. “I just don’t know what to do! I keep telling him that I’m busy and I can’t but he just won’t stop.”    The room fell silent for a second. Everyone was pondering over what Y/N had said and what she should do before Bucky broke the tension. “Was he the one you were running away from?    “Mhm,” she nodded, feeling the man’s fingers scrape her skull as he massaged her head. Y/N almost moaned in pleasure but kept it to a deep sight. And let’s just not mention the butterflies in a hurricane rolling around her stomach. “I pretended to have my headphones in and to not to hear him, but I can’t do it every time and I just…. wanna die!” Y/N whined pressing her scalp in Bucky’s hands who cradled her head and put a little bit of pressure on her temples, rubbing them in a soothing motion.    He kept on doing his movements more so because the quarterback had fallen for the shy girl way too hard and this could be the only time he got to console her like this, let alone hold her. Then an idea popped into his head. It involved some pretty selfish things as he didn’t think Y/N reciprocated his feelings, but it would definitely get Rumlow off of her back and just the simple thought of Y/N on a date with that ass made bile rise up to his throat.    “I have a plan, but we can do this only,” he looked deep into Y/N’s eyes, getting lost for a second with how the evening sun made them sparkle, “only if you trust me.”    “Buck, you know I do. We've been friends for more than a year now and besides, you're Steve's best friend.”    There came a sound of protest from Sam, but neither took it to heart.    “Tomorrow morning, when you see Brock at any point in time, just come and find me. We’ll probably be by the main campus door; an early practice.”    Y/N squinted not really sure what cogs had started to turn under those long brown locks she just wanted to rake her hands through. “What’s your play here, Barnes?”    “Trust me,” he lent down whispering in a conspiratory tone, sending a shiver down Y/N’s spine, while his own heart threatened to hammer out of his chest, “it’ll get Rumlow off of your back forever.”

***

   It was 8:20 in the morning and Y/N was already on campus. She hadn’t really slept throughout the night, too excited for what was about to happen. Her first lecture started at nine, so the girl still had plenty of time to kill. She’d gone on a coffee run, given the fact that Steve and Bucky would be almost dead, after having to get up at 5 AM for their practice. Barnes’s black coffee still sent tendrils of steam through the plastic lid, while Steve’s latte and Natasha’s mocha had already gone down from scalding hot to ‘just-the-way-I-like-it’.    Ten minutes later and she could hear the roaring laughter of the Commandoes as they made their way across campus, coincidentally enough coming from the other side of the field was Brock, having spotted Y/N.    But it would seem that Bucky truly was a knight in shining armour.    “Doll!” he exclaimed opening up his arms as if awaiting a hug. “If this ain’t the prettiest sight on an early morning, then cut out my eyes and leave me blind. And you brought coffee! Truly you are amazing!” He whisked up Y/N eliciting a genuine squeal more from surprise rather than happiness.    Her Y/E/C eyes saw the two top lawyer students Matt Murdock and Foggy Nelson walk by and her jaw dropped open when Matt laughed out loud at the blind joke. “So true, Buck. You’re one lucky guy.”    “What is going on?” Y/N hissed into Bucky’s ear.    “Relax, doll. Just roll with it.”    Y/N almost wanted to ask ‘roll with what’ when her brain caught up to his shtick. He was pretending they were together. It sent a mix of emotions through the girl- happiness, sadness, bitterness, that this was all a ploy to get Rumlow off of her back and not real, relief that she had such amazing friends and even a wave of jealousy as she realised after this, he’d probably go back to pining after other girls.    Brock’s eyebrows scrunched up in confusion yet he still made his way towards the pair, or rather their group as Steve, Nat, Sam and their friends Tony and Bruce- literal geniuses- had also joined. Y/N handed out the respective coffees trying not to acknowledge Brock’s appearance, but his voice didn’t give her much chance of that.    “Y/L/N. You look lovely this morning. Though what would be lovelier is if you would ditch the loser bunch and come hang out with me.”    Bucky’s grip around her shoulders tightened, the metal plates whirring as they positioned themselves. He’d lost his left arm in a car accident, but Tony’s father- owner of Stark Industries- had specifically designed a new one for him, the two families of Barnes and Stark being close friends. Still, even without an arm, he was the hottest guy in the school. At least in Y/N’s opinion.    “Sorry, we have to head to class,” he shot back giving Brock a mocking smile that was still nothing short of dazzling.    “Hey, hey wait! I think the lady can speak for herself and if you could take your arrogant head out of your ass, Barnes, you’d realise we have a thing going on here and she’d most definitely want to spend her time with me.”    Y/N couldn’t contain the sigh that escaped her as she rolled her eyes and head simultaneously. “There is nothing going on between us Rumlow. I went out with you just because you couldn’t take a hint. And as you might see,” she pointed with one finger, the rest still holding her coffee cup, “I am with someone.”    God, did Bucky love the way it sounded when she said she was with him.    God, how right did it feel for Y/N to say she was with Bucky.    They turned to leave but Brock was relentless. “Come on Y/L/N. I know what you’re doing.”    Y/N quirked up an eyebrow also noting that they were causing quite the scene as more and more students started to pile in for their 9AMs and decided to stop to see how the situation would get resolved.    “You’re playing hard to get. Trust me, I know tons of girls like you, but you don’t have to do that with me sweet-cheeks. Just drop the act and let’s go.”    “The fact that you have the audacity to think Y/N would even give you the time of day to play such games, after so many times she has told you ‘no’, really baffles my mind,” being a surprise to everyone it was Bruce who spoke up. The usually very quiet and scientific boy really looked at Brock as if he had suddenly sprouted an elephant’s trunk.    Bucky knew he had to act fast or this could turn ugly because he could see Brock’s friends from “Hydra”, the local motorcycle gang, approaching real fast.    “Do you trust me?” he mumbled into Y/N’s hair getting a whiff of her shampoo and almost just staying there like that- engrossed in her smell.    The girl’s only reply was a tiny nod of her head. She felt Bucky’s fingers underneath her chin as he lifted it up and for second there existed no one but the two of them. His ice-blue eyes bore into her Y/E/C and she could see, she could swear on everything that she held dear, there was true love in them. And before she could do anything they were closed and his lips were on hers.    A pleasant shiver ran down her spine as Bucky’s hand snaked around to hold the small of her back. And even though the kiss lasted barely a few seconds it felt like an eternity. His lips were softer than she could’ve ever imagined, barely pressing against hers, but as she didn’t pull away a small smirk appeared on Bucky’s face that Y/N couldn’t help but mirror.    When the two separated bashful smiles graced the lips of both the girl and the man. Suddenly a thunderous noise of applause invaded their ears, popping the bubble. Everyone was clapping, some of Bucky’s teammates were hollering ‘finally Barnes’ and ‘took you long enough’ and ‘we thought we might have to go and tell her ourselves’.    “Tell me what?” she looked up at Bucky, once again in that safe bubble, she always felt when around him.    He replied without any hesitation, still holding on to Y/N’s waist as if to reassure him, she was there, they had just kissed and hopefully, she won’t run away. “That I’m absolutely, irrevocably and utterly head over heels for you, doll. Have been since the second Steve introduced me to you and, good grief, have I been dying to kiss you.”    Time slowed down for them. There was no Brock, no “Hydra” or “Howling Commandoes”, no Steve, with a grin stretched across his face so tightly Nat was afraid it would actually split his cheeks open. Nor did they see quite a few people exchange money as pretty much the whole school had bets going on when Barnes would muster up the courage and ask Y/N out or how long it would take the quiet girl to realise that everyone could see her longing gazes that she threw at Bucky, but could not open her eyes to see the same coming from Bucky.    “Well then,” she cleared her throat dropping Bucky’s gaze just to tease him a bit as her lips pulled into a thin line. The man’s face turned into a horrified grimace that he’d overstepped a line and more so than anything, he felt his heart shatter with the fact that Y/N didn't feel the same. “It’s a good thing I’m in love with you too, otherwise all of this would be really awkward.”    “You- what?” he was so confused.    “I said,” she leaned in closer, Bucky’s nostrils filling with her scent as a hopeful look appeared in his eyes, “that I love you too. And that means you’ll be able to get to do this more often.”    “Do what more often?” he was now teasing the girl the same way she was him.    “This,” and Y/N pressed their lips together. Only this time, neither let go.

A/N: I’m a literal mess.. but thank you so much for showing such love to my Bucky one-shot Perfect. It blows my mind how many of you liked it, really from the bottom of my heart, a giant thank you!  ;****

P.S. have any requests or wanna be tagged? drop a message

P.S.S. please tell me what you think

P.S.S.S. please don’t repost without credit :)

#reader insert #sebastian stan #sebastian stan imagine #bucky barnes x reader #bucky barnes imagine #bucky imagine #bucky barnes #steve rogers #steve x natasha #tony stark imagine #tony stark #bruce banner #howling commandos #brock rumlow #hydra #imagine marvel #marvel imagine #marvel #avengers fanfiction #avengers imagine #avengers x reader #avengers #the avengers #matt murdock imagine #foggy nelson #college #college au #natasha romanoff

[bucky-is-a-hero-fightme]

Without Her

I am a monster and I wrote a thing.

^^Completely unrelated: the lower right pic was not my first choice, I wanted something depicting less of the character and more of Bucky, for obvious Reader-insert reasons. BUT TELL ME THAT GUY DOESN’T LOOK LIKE BUCKY/SEB, TELL ME AND ILL FIGHT YOU!

Pairing: Bucky/Reader

Word Count: 1100 approx.

Summary: The aftermath of a man that didn’t have a home for seventy years losing it because of a simple bullet.

Warnings:  ANGST (that shouldn’t count as a warning with me, all I write is angsty as fuck), Mentions of death.

A/N: I am a monster, I know. But please let me know what you think!! Am I as much of a good angst writer as I am of a masochist? Probably not, ‘cause, damn, I love torturing myself writing these pieces, but I’d love to hear your opinion.

“I’ll keep doing this, I think. For her.” Steve whispered, still looking at his hands. Three weeks, and he hasn’t been able to look him in the eye yet. He felt as if Bucky was gone all over again, the old wound of a grief too many times relieved opening again as the loss of the woman his best friend saw himself marrying was taken from them all too soon. But Steve took a deep breath, remembering all those visits to his tiny apartment from Bucky when his mom had died, the arm around his shoulders making him start walking again when another dame got disappointed at the skinny boy; he remembered all of that, and tried telling himself this too, would pass one day. So he continued, “I just…I just keep picturing her voice in my head, You know? I just hear her say that I’m just moping around, ordering me with that smirk of hers to get a grip on myself. I can practically hear her growl and see her rolling her eyes at me, saying that she’s…gone already, but the world hasn’t ended, not mine at least.

Bucky didn’t say anything, and he didn’t need to. Steve knew that what Y/N meant for him was not nearly as intense and as perfect and as heartbreaking as the cheerful girl with the easy smile had meant for his best friend.

And deep down, he knew that Bucky wouldn’t get back from it, probably never. He kept losing her. Every morning, Steve knew she died all over again, because Bucky still hoped to see her smile and the sun tracing her skin when opening his eyes in the morning. He still hoped that this is some kind of sick and twisted nightmare.

And Steve knew, no matter his efforts, there was little that could take a man like Bucky, who had lost so much already, out of that torturous circle of forgetting only to remember with vicious clarity once again.

But Heavens damn him if he was going to let go of his best friend without a fight.

“You can’t keep doing this,” He whispered at his crumpled form. “She would not have wanted this for you.”

That made Bucky's head shoot up, blood-shot eyes meeting the blond's. The muscles on his shoulders and back were as tense as ever, the veins in his neck more notable than ever as the man with the metal arm stood up, towering in front of his friend.

With voice hoarse, Steve did not know if from not talking for days, the heartwrenching scream that had left his throat when Wanda stumbled down the quinjet and fell to her knees three weeks ago, telling them Y/N was gone; Bucky yelled,

“She would have wanted more time, Steve! She would have wanted to finish that fucking book she never got around to read, to plan Wanda's birthday party, to have laugh prints on her face, to grow old, to be happy! She would have not wanted to die!”

“But she did! She did and we have to live with it!”

“No!” The former assassin refused, shaking his head and hands in his long chestnut hair, pulling forcefully as he let himself fall back again to the floor, back to the wall. Steve felt his heart plummet to his feet.

Bucky's shoulders fell, anger and rage falling from his face, replaced by crude pain and grief as he looked up at his best friend, “I’m fucking tired of it, Stevie. Of the pain and the-I…I can’t keep on doing this.”

“But you will,” Steve argued, jaw set and desperate need to keep his best friend with him making his voice more commanding that he meant to. A memory of Y/N tapping his nose and telling him that he should work on differentiating the Captain from Steve when arguing with him flashed through his mind and he choked in grief for an instant, voice faltering before he continued, “You will. You’ll stand up, and tomorrow you’ll wake up again, and she still won’t be there, she won’t ever be there again,

His eyes fell closed for a second when he saw one of the most strong men he has ever met crumble in pain, his shoulders trembling and hands clenching, tears shining in those grey pools of pain and regret.

“But you will get up, and you’ll face the world once again. And then you’ll keep moving. You’ll stumble, you’ll fall, maybe you won’t be able to walk for a really long time. But you’ll stay on movement, and if it hurts, and trust me, it will, let it out. You can’t keep bottling this up and waiting in line to allow yourself to feel pain, Buck. Punch someone, blame me, kill the bastards responsible, destroy a building, burn down a city if you need to, but you need to stop destroying yourself from the inside.

Please, don't make me lose you too.

He held back the words, biting his tongue as he faced the broken man he thought he was getting back to being his friend, his brother.

“And, at the end of the day, you’ll walk, crawl, or stumble back into bed, knowing that the burden is lighter then, knowing that you honored her by being the good, resilient man she loved you for being. You’ll roll to the side, the side she probably never occupied because she most likely used you as a mattress, and you’ll know that there’s one less day to live without our girl. And you’ll keep doing that, repeating the process until your body can no longer sustain itself on the last bits of your love for her.”

Please let me know what you think, even if it is to tell me I suck at writing and should never post again! (Pls don’t tho, I’m sensitive)  :)

#bucky x reader #bucky barnes x reader #james buchanan barnes x reader #bu #bucky barnes #james buchanan barnes #steve rogers #the winter soldier #captain ame #wanda maximoff #bucky angst #bucky imagine #angst #fanfic #reader insert #bucky fanfic #marvel fanfic #marvel #mcu #fuck me i cant

[lady-thor-foster]

Run To You // Sam x Reader P5

Pairing: Sam Wilson x POC Reader, Bucky Barnes x POC Reader Word Count: 2k+ Warning: HERE’S THAT SMUT YOU WERE LOOKING FOR (it’s really brief tho, lmao sorry), fluff, language, angst, FEELINGS, there’s also a brief amount of violence but it’s just Natasha being the overprotective friend she is.

Summary: Things on the Compound escalate. A very angry Natasha and Steve make their disapproval known. Sam finally confesses.

A/N: HOLY SHIT THIS IS THE FIRST TIME I’VE EVER WRITTEN MORE THAN 10K WORDS. I AM S H O O K. Thank you thank you thank you everyone for your kind words. I never could have dreamed this would be received so well. Oh and i actually managed to not go completely over 2k lmao. 

Inspiration: “Was it something I didn’t say” ~ 98º

“I took for granted that you knew, yeah Oh love, the love I had for you, yeah I guess you never had a clue ‘Til it was too late, you walked away … All the words were in my heart Oh, they went unspoken Baby, now my silent heart is a heart that’s broken…”

PREVIOUS CHAPTER // NEXT CHAPTER

There were very few times in Sam’s life where he really and truly cried. Seeing the love of his life in the arms of the man he just barely trusted was definitely one of those times.

Stumbling back to his room, he couldn’t feel anything beyond numbness. There was a gaping hole in his chest where his love for you lived. Everything exploded inside him once he closed his bedroom door behind him. His bedroom that still smelled like you. His bedroom that still had your things in it. His bedroom that used to be yours too.

Spending another night alone Wondering when I’m gonna ever see you again Thinking what I would give to get you back, baby

A lump formed painfully in his throat. Tears stung his eyes and he collapsed to the floor, head in his hands. Soul-wrenching grief weighed heavily on his shoulder. He couldn’t even be angry at you because he was the one who pushed you into Bucky’s arms. Another flash of you and Bucky invaded his mind. An anguished scream ripped itself from Sam’s throat as he pounded the floor. It was a damn good thing that Tony had this room sound proofed from your nightmare days. Sam wasn’t sure what hurt worse: the fact that Bucky was the one to win your heart or that you didn’t seem to love him that way at all.

I should have told you how I felt then Instead I kept it to myself, yeah I let my love go unexpressed 'Til it was too late, you walked away

Sam couldn’t find any energy to pick himself up off the floor. The cold tile soothed his heated skin. His sweatshirt was drenched with tears and snot; his body ached from the discomfort of the floor. His fists were beaten bloody and raw. None of this compared to the agony that made its home in his heart.

Was it something I didn’t say When I didn’t say, “I love you” Was it words that you never heard All those words I should have told you All those times, all those nights when I had the chance to

Sam’s fucked up and masochistic mind kept replaying the scene of Bucky’s hands getting lost under your shirt, Bucky’s lips on yours, Bucky kissing you the way you deserved. His ears echoed with the sounds you made for Bucky. It was a hell made personally for him. Exhaustion eventually took over as Sam cried himself to sleep. He was too little too late.

Bucky couldn’t believe that he finally your lips on his, your hands in his hair, your body beneath him. He couldn’t believe he had you in his bed. It was a dream, it had to be.

Your breathless moans filled his ears; a symphony of ecstasy. Your skin was so soft in his hands, so supple, so silken. He felt your nails dig into his back as he thrust deeper into you, panting heavily. God, you felt so good around him. The coolness of your breath tickled his ear as you held him as close as you could. He could feel himself teetering on the edge of bliss but he fought against it to prolong your pleasure.

“Come on, doll,” he urged. He heard your whimpering response; you sounded so fucking beautiful to him. He could feel you clenching fiercely, squeezing him, teasing him. It was getting harder to hold back. He kissed your lips, swallowing your delicious noises of pleasure. Feeling your heated skin under his fingertips, he teased your nipples mercilessly in urgency. Bucky felt you clamp down and he let out a strangled cry. So close, he was so clo—

“Bucky! Wake up!!” Steve shouted. Bucky jerked upright from the bed, immediately encasing Steve’s neck in a vice grip with his vibranium hand. Once Bucky’s eyes focused on his target, he recoiled in shame.

“Shit! Steve! I’m so fucking sorry. I’m so so fucking sorry!” Steve coughed briefly and rubbed his neck. Shaking his head he waved Bucky’s apologies away.

“S’okay pal. I should have known better than to wake you up like that. You were having some kind of weird dream. I was worried.”

A different kind of shame went through Bucky. He wasn’t sure how Steve would react when he found out Bucky kissed you last night.

“…Buck?”

“Yeah punk?”

“Are you okay?”

“Yeah, punk. I’m fine. Don’t worry about it. Why’d you wake me up anyway? We don’t have training today.”

“Sam and I are supposed to go hiking today. I wanted to see if you’d tag along.”

“Yeah…uh…I don’t think it’s the best idea, pal.”

“Why not?” Steve cocked his head to the side, his disappointment eyebrow already poised.

“I’m just not sure it’s a good idea for me and Sam to be alone in a secluded place right now.”

Steve sighed heavily, “Bucky it’s fine. Sam trusts you now.”

“I guarantee he won’t when he finds out I kissed [Y/N] last night.”

“You did what?!”

Bucky flinched at Steve’s sudden shout. Pinching the bridge of his nose, Steve took a few deep breaths to calm down. He swore one of these days James Buchanan Barnes might just be the death of him. Bucky ran his fingers through his hair anxiously; surprisingly, this was actually going better than he could have hoped.

“Why?” Steve asked simply.

“What do you mean why? I like her; she made it clear she liked me too. She’s the one who initiated it.”

“That’s not the point, Buck. You of all people know how fragile she is. You can’t take just advantage of her like this.”

“‘Take advantage of her’? What the hell, Steve?! Is that what you think I’m doing? You of all people should know I’m not the same man I was when we were younger.”

“You’re right. That was low and I shouldn’t have said that. I’m sorry. I just- I don’t want to see her get hurt.”

“I wouldn’t hurt her,” Bucky stated. Steve quirked his eyebrow at this; Bucky wasn’t a bad guy, he really wasn’t. Steve loved him more than a brother but he couldn’t see a relationship between the two of you working out without someone ending up with a broken heart.

“What about Sam?”

“What about Sam?”

“You know how he feels about her. You said it yourself: he’s not going to react well when he finds out the two of you are together.”

“I love her, Steve!” Bucky shouted red-faced and breathless.

“Do you, Buck? Do you even know her?” Steve asked sadly.

“Of course I do!”

“Really?” What’s her favorite movie? What’s the one thing she craves to eat at 3 am? What are her goals? Do you even know her middle name?” Bucky stared at his best friend dumbfounded. He didn’t know the answer to any of these questions.

“Face it, Bucky. You don’t love her. You love how she makes you feel.” Steve shook his head at his idiot of a best friend and walked away. Bucky had always been a little selfish when it came to women but Steve never could have anticipated him going this far.

Natasha knew the moment she opened her eyes, today was going to be a shitstorm. She didn’t know how she knew but every single hair on her body stood on edge. Something told her James Buchanan Barnes was at the center of it all.

She’d always been the suspicious type, even before the Red Room, so when she found you in the library gleefully whistling, she knew.

“What’s got you so perky today, [Y/N]?”

“Oh…nothing,” you said coyly, “Just a good day is all.” Natasha rolled her eyes at this.

“Spill it,” she all but ordered.

“Come on, Tash. There’s nothing to tell!”

“I don’t have to be a super spy to know that you’re hiding something, babe.”

“Who’s hiding something?” came a chipper Sokovian accent.

“[Y/N],” Natasha said without missing a beat, “she thinks I can’t tell when she’s hiding something.”

“Is this about Bucky kissing her last night?”

“Wanda!” you scolded, “You promised you wouldn’t read my mind!” Wanda held her hands up defensively, shaking her head.

“I swear I didn’t! I went to get some water from the kitchen last night when I caught the two of you going at it on the counter.” You groaned in embarrassment. Unbeknownst to the two of you, Natasha was quietly seething in rage.

“Oh god, I thought everyone was asleep!” Wanda snorted at you.

“So…” Wanda nudged your arm suggestively, “did anything else happen?”

You grinned sheepishly, “No, but I wouldn’t have complained if it did. He was really sweet about respecting my boundaries. Hey…where’d Tasha go?” Both you and Wanda were surprised to find the spy had disappeared during your conversation. This was completely unlike her; Natasha never passed up good gossip.

“I’m sure she’ll be back,” Wanda soothed, patting your arm gently. “So, tell me everything! How did it happen? Who kissed who? Was he a good kisser??”

You and Wanda descended into a fit of giggles as you filled her in on the joys of kissing Bucky Barnes. 

Bucky should have known Natasha would make good on her threat once she found out he didn’t do what she told him. He couldn’t have known she’d hunt him down to a briefing with Tony, Steve, and Bruce just to make good on it. No one was more surprised than he was when she suddenly burst into the conference room, grabbed him by the collar and sucker-punched him in the face. It was this exact moment that an emotionally and physically exhausted Sam Wilson decided to finally join the meeting he was already forty-five minutes late for.

“Oh shit!”

“Romanoff, what the hell?!”

“Christ, Nat!”

The room exploded into chaos as Steve and Bruce rushed over to keep Natasha from quite literally beating some sense into Bucky. Bucky didn’t say anything. Blood gushed from his nose while Natasha fiercely struggled against Steve’s grip in an attempt to hit him again.

“That’s enough!” Steve shouted. Natasha finally stopped fighting but her furious gaze never left Bucky’s face. Steve shared her feelings.

“Does someone want to explain to me just what the hell is going on here?” asked Tony.

“Why don’t you ask Barnes?” she seethed.

Looking from one angry Russian to the other, Tony sighed in resignation. “Barnes, care to enlighten me?”

“Not really,” he mumbled.

“Well somebody is going to explain why she’s going around sucker punching people in the middle of mission briefings.”

“Does this have anything to do with what you told me earlier, Buck?” Steve asked. His disappointment eyebrows were on in full force. Bucky nodded, trying his best to disappear into the seat. Steve sighed heavily and ran his hand over his face. Does the serum protect against heart attacks because he was pretty sure his stress level might bring one on.

“Is somebody going to fill me in?” Tony questioned. Agitation shone clearly on his face.

“Barnes here couldn’t keep it in his fucking pants. He made a move on [Y/N], last night,” she answered.

“What [Y/N]? …Sam’s [Y/N]? The girl he’s been in love with for years? That [Y/N]?” Natasha nodded, rolling her eyes at Tony.

“You know what, Nat? Hit him again, clearly, his common sense missed the mark the first time around.”

“I didn’t know he was in love with her until yesterday!” Bucky cried.

“Bullshit,” Sam snarled. Everyone whirled around to see him standing in the doorway, visibly shaking in anger.

“…Sam, I—I’m sorry. I swear I didn’t know.”

“Tell it to someone who cares Barnes. I should have known better than to trust you.” Sam forced himself to turn around and leave the conference room. It was too tempting to follow Natasha’s lead. He got the shock of his life to see you and Wanda standing behind him with identical stunned expressions.

“….You’re in love with me?”

Oh…shit.

PREVIOUS CHAPTER // NEXT CHAPTER

Tags (let me know if I missed you or if you wish to be added)

@emilyevanston @bellamyblakesgun @sweet-honey15 @amour-quinn @wildestdreamsrps @marvel-lucy @weirdlyobsessedreader @bubblegummunstr @dramaticq @thesmolbear @goody2shoessmut @spinsterlocity @callamint

#sam wilson x reader #falcon x reader #bucky barnes x reader #steve rogers x bucky barnes #run to you #foster writes #my fics #my imagines #my one shots #my stuff #my post

[trippinglynet]

Chris Radcliffe

Chris is a resident of Portland Oregon. From around 1990 to 2000 he lived in San Francisco, and began his time there working at the same company as John Law, who introduced him to Burning Man. He first attended the Ft. Mason gathering, and assisted John Law with the logistics. He would attend Burning Man several years. From SF he moved to New Orleans before eventually settling in Portland Oregon in 2006. He is also the former owner of the Alice Coltrane Memorial Coliseum (a former Hare Krisna center and before than a hang out spot frequented by Steve Jobs). He sold the building in August, 2018.

Chris is a colorful character, and a part of Burning Man history. Here are a few perspectives on Chris:

P. Segal

Among the many colorful personalities that have passed through my life, the affectionate award for No, 1 Shit Disturber has to go to the force of nature known as The Chris Radcliffe. Radcliffe might appear at an event as Chris or Christine, altered or not, but always with a cheerful vengeance.

My first recollection of him was at a Cacophony event, The Charles Bukowski Support Group, organized in “protest” of The Marcel Proust Support Group. It’s unlikely we’d met before, because he’s not the sort you forget; he has been described as a man who sucks all the air out of a room.

One of Radcliffe’s favorite games was starting some totally false rumor about someone and waiting to see how long it took to get back to him. The record was 8 days. He was once driving a cherry picker around town, one of those trucks that elevates sign installers high above street level, and he decided to knock on the outside of Larry Harvey’s Alamo Square apartment windows to bum a cigarette.

In spite of his difficult aspects, he’s a great friend. For years, he made sure I got to Burning Man and back, and later with all the stuff for the café (in the years when it still fit in a single large vehicle). He made mischief there, or was suspected when any happened, and the only reason he wasn’t booted on principle from the desert completely was that he was my friend and transport. He stopped coming of his own volition when suddenly there were too many rules.

The picture of the trash can documents one of the many bizarre adventures Radcliffe talked me into. No one has ever talked me into so much weird shit. That’s a stencil of Proust’s face on a Baker Street trash bin near 1907.

This adventure began when we heard that the writer and philosopher, Alain de Botton, had just published his book, How Proust Can Change Your Life, and was coming to Berkeley for a book signing. I was incensed that someone wrote this book before me. But I admired de Botton for thinking of it first, and it was certainly good, in its way.

Radcliffe showed up at 1907 the night before the Berkeley reading with a stencil he had cut of Proust, from a painting by Dean Gustafson, and said we should leave a trail of Proust images from 1907 to the bookstore where de Botton would appear. There was no other eccentric thing happening that night, so we loaded up some spray paint and a carload of friends in the late night hours, the only time for such things.

We sprayed Proust on freeway overpasses and construction sites, utility poles and dumpsters. Wherever we saw a non-intrusive blank spot along the route, we improved it. And what was the point of that, you ask? Well. It was different. It was an experience. Perhaps one person would see it and decide the time had come to finally read Proust. Radcliffe talked me into it.

The following night, the Marcel Proust Support Group showed up in force at the Berkeley reading. We listened, clapped respectfully, and after it was over, I said hello. The author hadn’t seen our stencils, but he noticed us, and told Lingua Franca Magazine, a few months later, that we were a scary looking bunch of people.

Proust obviously didn’t change de Botton’s life all that much, or he would have found us no scarier than some Proustian characters paid to rough up masochists. I leave it you to decide: does this man, The Chris Radcliffe, look scary to you?

2006 interview by Mateo (note, some may find this interview challenging): Four days from now Christina will become Chris. He's not about to have an operation, rather he's in the middle of a nine-day cycle that won't end until Christina sleeps. When Chris wakes, a day and a half later, the cycle will have begun again. Chris Radcliffe lays back in the chair, motionless but looking like he might just slip off the front. From under a heavy gaze he watches the smoke pour upwards from his hung-open mouth. The teeth of his lower jaw make a steaming grill, while his eyes sparkle darkly in their pink fleshy pools. Just as the gray curl of smoke hits the ceiling, Radcliffe's body snaps forward to deliver the words just formed in his mind, "If I got a parking space in Manhattan, I'd stand in it till I could buy a fuckin' car," he says. I try to find the thread of logic that runs between my question and the Manhattan parking space, but Radcliffe is moving on. "It's not how quickly you can run in high heels, it's how quickly you can turn and stand when it's really going to count." He says these words with a sly look, like he's just handed me the thread I was looking for. He speaks alternately with the elegance and poise of a distinguished lady, or the beer-soaked swagger of an armed iconoclast. Chris Radcliffe is both people busting out of one body, and he loves the dualism. He told me, "Life's great adventure begins just beyond where you're comfortable." We spoke about his adventure from the beginning. Chris Radcliffe spent the Cuban missile crisis underground; he experienced his first boyhood fears in a neighbor's backyard bomb-shelter. But it was just after Khrushchev left Cuba that Chris' real war began. It was on the day that he was sent out to a Catholic military school. "Dad parked me there so he could get a new wife," said Radcliffe. Because his arm was broken on the first day of school, they offered him free tuition to avoid a lawsuit. However, the school soon began efforts to replace Chris with a paying customer. "They put me on disciplinary routine one week after the arm healed. From that point on I didn't get to talk to another kid; I got to eat, march, go to class, and sleep," Radcliffe said with a bitter sadness. "The isolation was so extreme; the distance between them and me might as well have been the size of the Russian fuckin' steppes. After 2-years I wasn't functioning as a human being."

At 10-years old he came home to a new step-mom and two new sisters. Everyone was gone most of the time, and before long Chris was secretly wearing his step-mom's outfits. On one of these occasions he ventured out to stroll in the gardens behind his house. His afternoon reverie was shot through the heart when he saw the stranger. From across the fence the neighbor had seen him, and was laughing his ass off. The young Radcliffe was mortified for 3-weeks, until eventually he realized that the neighbor wasn't about to betray the secret. Soon, summer vacation was in play and Chris said yes to his secret fantasy. The two young daughters of the laughing neighbor asked Chris to play dress-up. "I walked in and they changed me, put make-up on me, changed my hair, I remember looking in the vanity mirror, seeing this different person for the first time; I had 5 or 10-seconds of that shock of recognition," said Radcliffe. He was again interrupted by the stranger; the door opened and the girls' father came in. He complimented his daughters for their beauty; they said "thank you Daddy" and left the room. The neighbor, who had been having sex with both of his daughters, cut a deal with girls. Their job was to get Chris into their room, and into their clothes, in exchange for "time off". "He was gentle but he had me" said Radcliffe. Chris cried and the girls comforted him. They got him to admit that he must have already been interested, which is probably true because Chris returned to play dress-up for about another year. "I was his mistress. I swear to you it was the only human contact I had, and I wanted it so bad I didn't care. I became what ever person he wanted me to be. I don't regret it to this day" said Radcliffe. Chris would come home from school each day; he would go to the neighbor's house to dress-up with the girls, then he would sleep with their father. "When he was done with me I'd be sitting on the front lawn; watching my parents come home; watching his wife come home. I was totally invisible," he said. At the time, Chris was aware of the surreal nature of what was happening to him, but it would be many years before he realized that other queens existed. Radcliffe joined the Navy and was stationed in Millington Tennessee where he attended aviation school. On weekends he rode down to Nashville for a vicarious education in "drag school." He dated different queens, he learned about what they called "the life," and he saw how cruel gay men were to queens in the '70s. "Those bastards in their crew-cuts, their Izod shirts, and tight jeans; they were wearing that uniform of conformity that is so much more of a straight jacket. (They) would piss all over you if you were a queen. You couldn't go into their discos; they'd snatch the wigs right off your head. We were an inconvenient public image for them," he said, with the spittle of contempt balancing on his lower lip, and his boot now pounding the floor. "I'm on top of the food chain," he barked randomly. He moved the spittle from his lip to the sleeve of his leather jacket and lit another cigarette. His face betrays the hard pursuit of good times, and the dangers that are part of this quest show in scars and the busted teeth of his loose smile. After the Navy, Chris moved to Hollywood; he enrolled in UCLA Film School and went into full time drag. "All these queens that I had slept with the previous year were furious; you cannot be our lover and then our competition," he said slowly with a smile, wringing the last drops of pleasure from each word. Chris Radcliffe has a beautiful and dirty smile. Countless lascivious words have passed through his lips, and it would seem that they were all sweet to the taste. Soon he found a quack doctor for a hormone prescription. "The nurse would shoot me up with straight Estrogen and Primarin; pickling my hormonal balance. I remember the first time that I felt that cone under my nipple; it started to swell and develop. Quickly I had tits and I was trying to kill myself on a quarterly basis," said Radcliffe. In those days there was no counter-therapy, and most queens had never heard of an endocrinologist. "We all were on a thread. The mortality rate for my people was 85% before 34 (years old)... that's pre-AIDS; simply the most dangerous way to spend your time," he said of the queen's life. Radcliffe knew there was a great deal of personal power to be gained from these experiences. "I don't believe in a fate or destiny, I believe because I fight the heart of each battle, that my will is the key to victory. I have such willpower that I have to keep it in Ohio where the warehouse space is cheaper," he said. The idea of will-power seems incongruous with a life of drug use and sexual abandon. But what is important for Chris is the will to explore all that life has to offer him, and the courage to truthfully express all he finds. "I want a primary experience of existence. A secondary, processed experience of existence means that you are in a crowd. If you are in a crowd, beware the wolves that do feed on flocks. What I know is that the wolves seldom make a kill, coming across the iconoclastic ram, nyuck nyuck nyuck, Mo, Larry, the cheese is getting away," he said, with a combination of absurdity and gravity in his voice. He collects himself from his sloppy sprawl to affect a new look. He sits up properly and crosses his legs with grace. One hand he rests on the top of his wineglass, the other hand he places seductively on his hip. He drops a subtle wink and turns his head so I can't see him laugh at himself. Chris spent five cruel years of drinking, drugs, and rejection in Hollywood. As a drag queen under the fluorescent light of society's glare, Radcliffe became the subject of ridicule and violence; he had to develop an ability to stop the pain from touching him. He transcended the pain through prostitution. In part, this was because he got paid for being in drag, but also because he found that most of his customers, "simply wanted to go down on me. They wanted a phallus, but they didn't want any of the maleness associated with it." It was a validation of his sexuality from the "straight" world. "I experienced that thing I guess Catholics call redemption. I became the best prostitute in LA. By my nature I thrived in that environment. I prospered," he said.

When the sun rose on Chris Radcliffe's 29th birthday, he was alone, and had been up all night. Chris realized that as a cocaine junky and prostitute, he would not see the dawn of his 30th year. A doctor at the Veteran's Administration Hospital interviewed Chris before admitting him to the drug detox program. There was a problem. "He said there was a virus that apparently I hadn't heard of. He explained the mechanism of death from AIDS; told me that I was in so many high risk groups, the chances were overwhelming that I was already infected," said Radcliffe. The detox program was very expensive and the VA would not make the investment. "The guy closed my file, looked me in the eye and said, 'If I were you, I wouldn't quit partying,' He told me I was already dead," Chris said with wide and serious eyes. Everything changed for Chris on that day. He began to rehabilitate himself while waiting the 30-days for his blood test. He quit prostituting, and he quit partying, at least for a while. He had been to too many funerals, and he now wanted stability. For 30-days Radcliffe held life in one hand, and death in the other. At the VA Hospital once again, Radcliffe found himself frozen in time. The office clerk stood with his back to Chris for several eternal moments as he looked through the test results. He finally slapped the folder shut, turned around and said "Negative!" Chris chose to skip the detox program anyway. Shortly after this fearful month Chris met Susan, an Irish-Catholic accountant from Brooklyn, and during their long conversation that evening, she never mentioned the fact that Chris was a man in drag. He was wearing a beautiful $400 vintage dress, a fur coat, and a pair of pumps. "She was the first person that I had ever encountered like that and I was intrigued," Chris told me. They quickly fell in love and moved in together, and although their relationship provided a measure of stability, within 2-years both of their lives were destroyed. She had a secret alcohol problem and now they were both addicted to cocaine. After seeing how badly she had fared in his life, he made a deal with her. They separated for a year; she went to her parents' while he took a job as a waiter in Big Sur. Chris began to cry when he told me about the Christmas that they spent with her family. He said that, "previously, Christmas and family had a very negative connotation to me." He watched her and her family exchange presents. "I experienced family for the first time in my life. Her Mother and Father (were) all proud, God I wanted that," said Radcliffe as he wiped tears and snot from his face. While in Big Sur Chris received an important letter from Susan; "she told me all the reasons why she valued me," said Radcliffe. He went out that day with a winch and a 4-foot chain saw. "I went up in the woods and I harvested a giant slab of redwood: 12-feet long, 3-feet wide, and 4-inches thick. I used the come-along to winch it out of the forest, and drag it into my van. I sold it and I bought an engagement ring and a wedding ring. I went up and begged her to be my wife," he said. At the wedding, Chris had the DJ play Cole Porter songs. They were married for 10-years. Like so many enchanting ladies, Radcliffe is mysterious and evasive, but just as soon as I reach the limit of frustration and curiosity, he parades his secrets before me with a haughty swagger. His dusty black boots lay down a quick tempo as he speaks, but his lips move at about half that pace. Radcliffe's voice sounds like two basements full of wet smoky gravel. During his years of marriage, Radcliffe developed a very personal relationship with sex, drugs, and drag. "I never screwed around on Susan, except in the mirror," he said. "I'd get a bag of speed as the weekend rolled along, and I'd go into my office, shoot up my bag, feel that warm rush into transition. I'd get dressed, and share my company with a mirror for days at a time. I had the ability to become all the women that I ever desired. I don't have sex for an evening; I have sex for days at a time," Radcliffe said.

Chris met John Law and assisted with the Ft. Howard Installation of the Man. Brian Doherty describes this in This Is Burning Man:

The barge floated between two docks that jutted parallel to it and perpendicular to the shore. For a good video opportunity, they let the barge, with the Man standing in glory, drift back down between the two docks . Cacophonists stationed out on the docks were supposed to tug back on the ropes, keeping the barge berthed so it could return after it floated away from shore a bit.  "The barge started moving down the dock, and I started noticing people on the docks who were supposed to be watching our ropes wandering off to get beer," Radcliffe remembers. "We ended up with only two people holding the rope on one side , three on the other. And we're picking up speed."  "I shouted up to John, 'What do we do now? Go to Tahiti?' Cause we're about to launch this enormous barge into the bay without any hope of getting it back. I grabbed a couple of hammers and I began pounding a cadence on the deck of the barge to get peoples' attention. By the time people ran back to the dock to grab the ropes, we had about ten feet of hawser line left." 

With the Dot Com boom in San Francisco forcing Radcliffe into exile, he set out for New Orleans to prepare an escape route and sanctuary for those who would join him. Most of his friends went to Oakland, but instead he was visited by Hurricane Katrina. Radcliffe built four houses with a gun in his tool-belt, and all of them survived the hurricane. After Katrina, he defended his property from looters seated on a motorcycle in the front yard. He was wearing a dress and clutching an AK47, a pleasure most people will never know. The looting and weapons were not uncomfortable for Chris, however what does cause deep anxiety for him is the global warming that he believes is related to Hurricane Katrina.

"The Russians were supposed to kill me, straight men were supposed to kill me, AIDS was supposed to kill me, drugs were supposed to kill me. Send your cohorts; it's never been a problem for me in the past. But the weather is more than I can I deal with. I cannot contend with the Gaia," said Radcliffe. "We've gone a step too far. Disasters will start to multiply one upon the next; chaos will take its hand. Buy me ten psychiatrists who will call me crazy and I'll fall into their arms. I take no pleasure in thinking I'm right about this," he said. Lately Chris has been living from the sales of his New Orleans properties. "I'm buying $50 nylon stockings now-days. I don't plan to begrudge myself an indulgence here or there," said Radcliffe. He spends his time hunting for new adventures, attempting to build more myths for himself and his friends. "I think it's the most gracious thing I can do," he said. Chris Radcliffe's life has been, from the beginning, a battle to live with total honesty and without mediation from a stunted public opinion. "The hardest, meanest lesson I ever had to cope with was censure," he said. His memory is stocked like a fishing pond by a lifetime of fearless self-exploration. All of his hard won victories are tools in this campaign against fear and censure. "I would be sad to learn that I'll never take a bigger bump at a higher speed. I love my life, but I DON'T recommend it," he said, showing no sign of slowing down.

#Chris Radcliffe

[darkficsyouneveraskedfor]

Witness : 26

Not Right

new moodboard created by @iheartsebastianstan​ Thanks to them and to anyone who wants to create one of their own or some art, I would be eternally grateful. You all are so amazing!

Character(s): dark!Bucky, dark!Steve, too

Masterlist

Warnings: this is a dark!fic, it contains non/dubious-consent elements. Some violence as well at the beginning. It goes without (and with) that this is 18+.

In this chapter, sex and internal conflict.

Summary: The reader feels her world closing in but it might be too late to save herself.

Notes: Okay, thanks to everyone and their patience with this series. Honestly the response has been overwhelming! I love you all so much and it's really meant a lot considering my recent mental episodes. I hate that I have so many issues and they always pop up at the worst times but this series makes it easier to deal with. I know y'all have come for the story and don't need a whole dump here but I think it's a little obvious that I've poured a lot of myself and my internal struggles into this one and so it just means so much more that it has had such a big response. Again, thank you for listening to me ramble and supporting this series! <3 Now, onto actual business here! This chapter has some juicy little tidbits (and I don't mean sex) just something y'all have been waiting for... I hope you all enjoy :) Tomorrow will be the second chapter of Happy Together so brace for some dark!Steve and Saturday will be another one shot requested for the raffle! (Again dark!Steve) so we have quite the line up. Anyways, as usual, comments mean the world to me. It's nice to have feedback and I just love hearing all your reactions and thoughts. :D You guys are so wonderful.

Please, reblog and or reply with your thoughts!! I’ll see you in the next one. :)

As promised, Bucky and Steve left town at noon. You were relieved to see them go but the looming threat of their presence had distracted you from the dark thoughts which now began to rise in the back of your mind. Vague memories of words exchanged; about you, about others. Gill... you knew nothing about her, only that she used to sit at the very desk you were now behind. And, if you were to guess at it, she had also been involved with the two men who had you caught in their claws, though you couldn’t say how.

 You tapped your fingers on the desk as you scrolled through Pepper’s inbox, weeding out the junk, responding to those which could be generically shrugged off. It was second nature now. Almost fun. You imagined what it would be like to be her. On the arm of one of the most powerful men in the world, protected from others who might wish you harm. You were in almost the complete opposite station in life. You were trapped under the thumb of one who saw you as nothing more than a prop and you had little means of helping yourself.

     “I promise, she won’t be another Gill.” “She’s not another one of your toys…”  

 What had happened to your predecessor? The black text blurred past your vision as you thought, scrolling the wheel as you thought back to your nights spent with both super soldiers. As much as Bucky set your nerves on fire, Steve was utterly terrifying. He was able to flip a switch, turning from the smiling office colleague to sinister masochist. You could feel his hands on your neck then. Had Gill felt the same fingers against her flesh, the same dread mixed with airiness? Is that why she had quit?

 You sat back, looking around the office. There was no one there but you were ever paranoid. You leaned on the chair, glancing just down the hallway as an idea tugged at your mind. You took a deep breath and moved the mouse, hovering over the “sent files” link before clicking. Pepper’s emails, including those written by yourself, appeared before you. You began to scroll down, watching the date revert until well before your first day. And then you found it. An email with a familiar name upon it; ‘Daily Roster’ fwd. Gill Nazar. You stared at the name, another glance around the office.

 You clicked and let the air out of your lungs. Nothing beyond the usual message; a list of names, times, special instructions. It was the same thing you received every morning. You clicked out and opened up the browser, typed in the former secretary’s name and hit enter with a rush of a anxiety. As the little circle reeled beside the cursor, so did your head. The results popped up and your heart dropped. You clicked on the first link; a headline already forgotten.

 ‘MISSING WOMAN: FORMER SECRETARY ON THE RUN?’ It was the most recent story on Gill, declaring that previous reports of her disappearance had been exaggerated and she had in fact merely run away from her boring office life. You explored those which preceded that, every day back in time building the heat along your spine. There were no clues which could have led to her discovery and the last article gave only an account of her wild college days, not far behind her, and a questionable quote from a “friend” to support its thesis. Yet the case had been closed and no one was looking for Gill Nazar any longer.

 It just didn’t add up and you suspected your inevitable disappearance would make even less sense. The thought chilled you to the core and a sudden wave of terror came over you. If you didn’t get out soon, you would be the woman pasted across the articles, but only for a week before you were buried beneath the next week’s headlines. Another would sit in this chair and contend with the super soldiers.

 You were shaking. Your eyes were glued to the screen and you couldn’t stop the panic as it filled your veins like ice. You needed to act soon or be lost forever.

A couple days later, after the revelation that Gill hadn't necessarily quit for a better job or due to a sudden windfall, you were still trying to figure out how to process the information. You couldn't say for sure that she was dead but it wasn't an unlikely conclusion either. The way Steve and Bucky spoke about her as good as confirmed your suspicions. And if her fate was so shrouded in mystery and fatalism, what then would yours be?

 This wasn't just something you could forget but you could try to suppress it, at least distract yourself from it. It all seemed pointless now that your fate was as good as confirmed. Even as you played along you weren't promised any other end but that which you had tried to barter yourself out of.

 Currently you were in the middle of a convenience story, your arms filled with a multi-pack of gummy worms, gummy bears, and sour keys. The endorphins afforded by such an indulgence might be enough to ward off the shadow which loomed over you. A couple chocolate bars were added to your load and you dragged your feet up along the last aisle. Your eyes caught shiny plastic packages, hung on security hooks, and you skidded to a halt. You tapped your toe and looked around.

 You stared at the flip phones. ‘Burners’ they were commonly referred to as by dealers and similar criminals. You chewed your cheek, the wheels slowly beginning to wind on your head. “Excuse me,” You called over to the cashier, bent over the daily crossword in the newspaper. He almost reminded you of yourself and your doldrum work. “Can I get two of these phones please?”

 He pushed himself away from the counter and came out from behind the lottery tickets and gum to shove a round key on the hook. He unlooped two and brought them up to the counter where you met him on the other side. You set the rest of your wares before him and he punched in the items dully. He seemed rather unfazed by your purchase but you gathered a place like this would have shadier types than yourself frequenting the joint.  You accepted a plastic bag and and took your haul out onto the street. Finding your car, you slid inside and started the engine, a plan piecing itself together in your head. Well, nothing substantial but a line of communication. A way to protect yourself and your mom when an escape presented itself.

 Back at your apartment, you took out the twin phones and charged them. You activated them with a set of fake names and typed in a message from one to the other. You left it unread so that the notification still showed.

     Mom, text back when you get this. Y/N.  

 You would buy a parcel tomorrow and send it without a return address. That way Bucky couldn't track it. You felt an odd sense of accomplishment, a fragment of your independence secreted away. Even if you were caught out, you had tried.

 You dumped the packaging down the building's chute and hid the phones beneath your kitchen sink, just behind the trash can. Just in case. You never knew when Bucky would return and he always seemed to drop in at the most inconvenient times.  Your suspicion proved prudent as you slept heavily that night. No longer did the sense of doom hang over you so darkly and you dozed quite comfortably in your own bed. The morning after held a simple task and a rare sliver of hope.

 But you were roused to half-slumber by a distant sound. There was a presence in your room thought your mind refused to retreat from its respite, instead you listened as if through a tunnel. A series of rustling, metal clinking, and muted footsteps. The mattress dipped beside you and a warmth snaked around your waist. At last your eyes snapped open and you grabbed the hand tucking itself under your side.

 “It's just me,” Bucky's whisper was not as comforting as he would have hoped. “Go back to sleep.”

 You tensed against him, not expecting such...gentleness? He wasn't forcing your legs apart or holding you down. In fact, he was giving you a new option. You would take sleep if it saved you from his usual tendencies.  The rest of your night was spent in a shallow sleep, the presence beside you kept you from sinking back too far. In the back of your head you wondered why he was there. After days away on a mission he had decided to show up at your place in the middle of the night and slink into your bed like some long-awaited lover.

 Still you resisted consciousness if only to avoid the answers to those questions. You were woken however against your will. Your mind still shrouded in drowsiness you grumbled as a hand pushed its way between your legs, sliding up your thighs, careful circles drawn along your clit. It was almost relaxing, the warm nestled in your pelvis as the fingers carried on. It was only as the grunt rasped in your ear and you felt the prodding along your back that reality slapped you.

 Bucky was spooning you, his hand squeezed between your legs as he teased your clit, your shorts gone. Your own hand shot down to try to stop him but a soft ‘uh uh’ kept your from doing so. Slowly, he shifted away from you, his fingers still tugging at your core, and rolled you flat onto your back. He pushed your legs apart and you let them splay open, wondering if this was actually some twisted nightmare. A most confusing one indeed.

 His beard tickled across your shoulder and along your neck, his lips laying sweet pecks along your skin. Your heart was hammering in your chest. What was he doing? This had to be some trick. To be so gentle with you he must have been planning something awful. His nose brushed across your cheek, his eyelids hooded over his blue eyes as they closed and he leaned closer. His lips were on yours before you could turn away and your eyes were wide open. He was kissing you. He had never done that before.

 His fingers continued to pluck at you and you moaned despite yourself. The heat was pooling just so and you couldn't resist the flames licking along your thighs. You shuddered against him and he removed his lips at last so that you could turn your head and pant at the sunlit bedroom. He pressed his head once more into the crook of your neck, bringing you to a most disconcerting climax.

 As the after waves took you, Bucky climbed on top of you, replacing his fingers with his cock, running his tip along your folds before slowly entering. You gasped. You wanted him to stop because it felt so unfamiliar, so wrong, and yet you wanted him to keep going. The intimacy of his actions was both long-missed and entirely unsettling. You craved it, just not from him. Not in this circumstance. His breath was hot against your neck as he began to move within you, one hand on your hip, the other tangled in your hair, cradling your head.

 You tried to resist the tingling his touch was sending through you but your mind was too tired and your body weak. You gripped his bicep as he moved against you, your nails digging into his flesh as you fought him and yourself. There wasn’t any real strength put into it as you felt like jelly beneath him, every thrust sending a star across your vision. Your eyes rolled back and you let the haze take you, your name ringing in your ears as you met with yet another orgasm.

 Bucky grunted your name low in your ear, bringing you back to the moment. You felt the warmth spill within you, his cum filling you and seeping around his cock. He collapsed atop you, not moving as he breathed heavily, his head just beside yours on the pillow. The glow of your lust began to fade, the oddity of reality like a bucket of cold water poured over you. You could handle him treating you like a toy, tossing you around, manhandling you, calling you a good girl, but you couldn’t do this. Him touching you so softly as if he actually felt anything but pure spite for you, saying your name…

 “Get off of me,” You whispered, “Please, please.” You began to panic, smacking your hands against his shoulders as you begged him. You couldn't breathe. “Please. Get off!”

 He pulled out of you, sitting back with visible shock on his face. You quickly rolled over the edge of the bed, barely getting your feet under you before you met the floor. You tripped over yourself as you scurried out to the washroom, slamming the door and locking it. You felt his cum dripping down your leg and you cringed. You stepped into the tub, turning on the shower head and detaching it as you frantically tried to wash him away. It was all wrong. He hated you and you hated him. That was how it worked.

 You cranked the faucet off and dropped the hose, falling back against the tub as your body shook. Your top was askew and splashed with water, your bottom half chilly from the cooling drops across your skin. You closed your eyes and swore aloud. Your plan had to been to bide your time but how much longer would you have?

tags: @they-call-me-le @holylulusworld  @petit-funsize @alexakeyloveloki @ladyofmyst @kellyn1604 @thelostallycat @grayxswan @collette04 @butteryoptimisticpeanut @buckycaptspideypool @blackpantherimagines @lilithhellfire @captainfreecandyvan @spaghettyrogers @phoenix21love @sathlens @iheartsebastianstan @lanabanana-86

#bucky barnes x reader #steve rogers x reader #steve x reader #bucky x reader #bucky barnes #steve rogers #dark!bucky #dark!bucky barnes #dark bucky #dark bucky barnes #dark!fic #dark!verse #darkverse #dark steve rogers #dark steve #dark!Steve Rogers #dark!steve #au #witness #fic #series