#the winter soldier x you
What about a dark! violent bucky that wants reader to be his girlfriend? But things just don't go well, if you know what I mean 😈
Just Love Me
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First off, thank you for your request! I also want to say that requests are open, even though it might take some time for them, but it makes me happy! Anyway, here you go!
Summary: reader tries to tell Bucky he's just not the boy she loves. And that hurts, a lot... for both.
Warnings: violence descriptions, verbal violence, implied noncon, ripped clothing, anxiety, lot of angst, maybe reader being a little bit naive, past implied somnophilia, language. Only +18, minors do not read. If you do not feel safe with this, please don't read.
I appreciate a lot feedbacks, so please tell my what you think about this, reblog or like. <3 Also, thank you so much for 150 followers. I'm happy with that, it makes me happy that people enjoy my writing! <3.
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It was all that simple. You worked at Stark Industries as a simple worker, no big deal, but you also met the avengers from time to time. You had noticed early on that the newcomer, whose name was Bucky, seemed completely out of place. It probably wasn't like that in the eyes of others, especially those of his best friend, Steve: the weeks went by, but you didn't think his situation was improving. He had terrible dark circles and you knew what it was like to have a bad period, although judging from what he had been through and what you read in the papers, his was much more than a bad or long period. It was a whole life wasted, or rather, spent being someone else.
He must have been terrible, and no matter how terrible he had done, you basically couldn't feel the same contempt or terror that others did. If you had gone back in time, you probably would have slapped yourself on the head before allowing you to shyly approach him with a coffee. It was there that it all began.
And it was so beautiful. You didn't see Bucky at all as a lover or someone who could stand by your side like that, but it melted your heart to know how your friendship was slowly bringing him to the surface and getting some oxygen. You were so happy about it, he deserved it. And Bucky on the other hand, was amazed: he didn't think he'd ever get a second chance. Because that was what it was in his eyes, a second chance for him, a new life with you.
He tried to make you understand by bringing you your favorite hot drink every morning at work, or by specifically choosing movies at the cinema to make you relax a little and get away from all the stress that was gripping you: for him they were all dates, and it seemed to confirm the way in which you dressed. God, you were so pretty, so gorgeous in that dress of yours. It had that color that simply gave you and made your skin stand out even more, and especially that look of yours.
Bucky simply loved your eyes, he loved that purity and at the same time the awareness of an established career woman moving forward. You were admirable, and Bucky grew more and more impatient with it. But he still remembered how to treat girls, he had never really forgotten: he simply thought that all that repertoire of niceties and compliments would no longer serve him. This has changed, and all with you.
It was the turn of the cinema on Friday night, and you brought a new dress. A few weeks earlier you had even confronted him before buying it: it was a choice between a more classic dress, with narrow straps that made your shoulders and breasts stand out a lot, and a simple red dress that is wider and longer. Bucky recommended the first one, pointing out how it makes your shapes perfect. That was his first flirting gamble, what you had actually mistaken for a simple game. And that was one of your many mistakes with Bucky Barnes.
You happily smiled at him as you paid for your share of popcorn and soda, at which he frowned slightly. You shouldn't have paid at all, in fact he would have even preferred you to stop working: your job was exaggeratedly stressful for a beautiful lady like you. Bucky didn't like it, but then a thought flashed through his head and he suddenly calmed down. After all, there was still little. Only a little and you would have been officially his after all this series of dates. Not that Bucky didn't love them, oh at all, but... he wanted something more. He wanted to feel you under him, he wanted to hear the same low moans you made while touching yourself, the same ones he heard when he stood outside the window watching you. He wanted to taste you best when awake, and not asleep from sleeping pills. He wanted to do so many things to that beautiful body of yours.
"Here we go?" you asked shyly, and then follow him like a puppy to the right room of the cinema. You found that funny and beautiful movie. Bucky didn't care, he thought he already had the best movie of his life right in front of him, and it was your beautiful sight. You had captured his heart, and now he would have captured you.
You got sick for some reason that night and Bucky insistently offered to stay home with you. You didn't find this necessary at all, but having your best friend make you hot tea to relieve the pain was always better than being alone in your bed and moaning in pain, wasn't it? That was how it all began.
"Listen, I should... uhm... talk to you." Bucky murmured in embarrassment shortly after you took a sip from your cup. You were already feeling those cramps getting milder and in that moment you mentally thanked him for the idea of tea, but all your gratitude was then replaced by curiosity. Bucky hardly ever had any news.
Your gaze suddenly brightened, and you immediately set your shoulders straight, almost as if at attention. Bucky liked that movement, but only because it still accentuated your cleavage. God, you were such a mockery of him. But he couldn't get excited, no, he was declaring himself. Finally. But he was convinced that everything would be fine.
"I have a person who, well, is always in my head. I always think about her, and I would like to find a way to-"
"Who is she?" you asked almost screaming with excitement and climbing over the table, then calmed down and sat down. You giggled softly and your face burned with embarrassment, but it was fucking news! Did Bucky like anyone? How long had he been hiding it from you? Your mind was traveling through so many of those frontiers, that you forgot how naive you really could be at times.
"That's the point." Bucky said, slightly irritated. He wanted to make a speech about how he found you gorgeous when you shyly offered him that coffee, about how you helped him get his life back. About how he wanted to make you his wife. But it didn't matter, the emotion on your face made him so happy. You also knew deep down.
You slowly stopped giggling, watching his face turn more and more into a joyful one. There, you heard an alarm bell. You felt a knot in your stomach and suddenly his throat went dry, despite all the tea he had drunk. Bucky noticed the look on your face, and that's when the first red flag went up.
In short, it was not possible. He lived for you, fuck, he would kill for you. It was not possible that you did not love him. You had to love him, he wanted you so much. No, maybe you had been making fun of him all this time? Oh, it wasn't possible. You were so sweet, caring, sensitive. He knew you through and through, except for your body, although there would be time for that.
You slowly got up, still feeling that knot that was now upsetting you more and more and your happy expression has definitely fallen. "Bucky... who is she?" you asked again, one last safe place. That you would never have achieved.
"It is you." he simply murmured. It was as if that knot had suddenly burst, releasing an extraordinary amount of anxiety in your veins that went straight to your brain. You swallowed loudly, trying to keep the situation under control. Where did you go wrong? Were you wrong?
"Bucky..." you muttered softly, trying to reason. That move was completely wrong and Bucky didn't want to hear from you. He wasn't right anymore, he had already made his choice of him a long time ago. You got up from your chair and tried to start a speech that was worth it, that didn't hurt.
You immediately fell silent at his tone. It was stiff, severe, icy. For the first time in your life, you were afraid. Fear of him, fear of your own home, of those eyes that not even an hour ago were looking at you so sweetly. Now they were completely aggressive and his jaw was stiff with anger.
With a slight shake in your hands, you slowly tried to sit down. You also briefly thought about running for the door, but you had to calm that anxiety. It was that and nothing more, while Bucky was Bucky. There was no way he was going to hurt you.
"Look, I'm sorry but I... I don't feel this for you. I love you, but how I love a friend. Bucky, you really are a special person and I'm sure you'll find someone, but it's not me." you soon realized how these words had pierced him like ice blades, one by one. But it was not a simple speech and you wanted to be clear. Bucky continued to watch you as he put his hands together and played a little with his thumbs, but you knew better. He had done so only once, when a mission went wrong and they lost the lives of civilians. It was a bad week, but for that, you thought there would be more than a week.
You saw his jaw twitch and a small smile adorn his face. But that scared you: his expression was totally illegible. And that anguish only increased.
He sighed heavily, then rubbed his hands and stood up, as if nothing had happened. He took the cup from your hands and put it in the sink, then turned to you. It was the same expression of a few hours ago, of the cinema, of all those innocent releases. You looked at him with a frown and a fear that you could no longer hide.
"Do you still have those pains? This time maybe we can try some massage." he said simply. You got up with extraordinary slowness and your legs were shaking slightly.
"Bucky... were you listening to me?" you asked hesitantly, and your voice was extraordinarily thin.
You saw his lips twitch slightly and his fists close, until his knuckles turned white. "Yes, honey. The point is, I don't think you listened to me instead." his voice became even stiffer and sterner than that command before.
You moved the chair only to get away from her figure, which now did nothing but increase the tremor in his hands. You knew something was terribly wrong, and her next sentence confirmed it.
"You are that person, and I never asked you if you wanted to be by my side or not. Because you will just be there. You are mine."
Bucky was perhaps having a dark moment, perhaps the soldier had taken control. Your brain created every possible scenario to justify the man before your eyes, but that calculating and lucid look said it best. Without further ado, you darted to the front door right in front of the living room. You mentally thanked yourself for taking off your heels as soon as you arrived. You only had time to remove the first chain from the door that two strong arms firmly grabbed your waist, only to have your back slam directly on the table.
The air was thrown out of your lungs and tears pooled in your eyes from the pain. But the anxiety, that did the even dirtier job of making you tremble uncontrollably. You had lost control of your body and you kept your eyes wide open on the figure of Bucky imposing itself on yours.
"I did every fucking thing to make you realize how much I loved you. You know, how it worked in my day? Maybe it was my fault, maybe I didn't explain myself well enough," he started mumbling things that didn't make any sense to you. , but you didn't notice when you felt the hand on your shoulder pads. You started screaming, only to get a slap.
You were briefly silent, hearing only the sound of the cloth being ripped from your body. Did Bucky, the same man you know, slap you? You already felt a bruise forming on that same spot. But that wasn't enough to stop you, even though your fight was pathetic against him.
"I did everything for you, the way you liked it, because I love you. I loved you from the fucking moment you offered me that coffee, I loved you when you worried about me and when you told me to take care of me!" he began to scream furiously, ending with your dress now reduced to a rag.
You desperately started sobbing and looking at him pitifully, hoping your Bucky would return. But instead of him there was a furious and violent man. It wasn't Bucky.
"I tried to make you understand," he came dangerously close to your face, letting locks of hair fall on your forehead, "but maybe times have changed and I'm still out of place. Maybe, I should do like today? make you mine and fuck you now? "
Your fight stopped abruptly and an expression of pure shock, succeeded by that of terror, accumulated on your face.
"Bucky, please, I was wrong. I was wrong, please, let's start over, please-" you started begging him, but all he did was shake his head and giggle at your little inner struggle.
"Let's start over now baby, can't you see? Let's start over, and this time I won't have a fucking no for an answer." he whispered slowly in your ear as his hands reached first your bra and then your panties. Your last defense barriers, go.
You screamed one last time, and unexpectedly managed to kick him straight in the ribs. You didn't care about your complete nudity, you knew he expected you worse if he caught you again. Bucky dodged briefly, surprised by the attack. Your still trembling body headed for the door and you almost succeeded. That anguish pressed you that everything would be bad, if not worse, but your mind was screaming freedom.
Maybe, in retrospect, you should have given up first. You felt a firm grip on your hair and the air was slammed out of your lungs again as Bucky slammed you right on the door. He had an arrogant smile adorning his face.
Wait, was this bastard enjoying your miserable fight?
His once reassuring smile now only made you tremble even more and scream in fear. You wanted to have felt that fear right away, but it was too late. His lips collided roughly on yours and Bucky managed to bite them several times as punishment. When you refused to cooperate, it was enough for him to put his vibranium hand right around your neck, and squeeze it tightly. You were asking for oxygen again and fighting desperately against him, already seeing black dots in your vision.
Meanwhile, you obscenities noticed how his other hand touched places he was not allowed to touch, which he had never been able to touch. And now he was savoring them so well with tight bruises, one after the other.
"If you don't cooperate, then you can also faint. I can do everything even without your cooperation, after all I've already done it." that sentence made your stomach turn and the bile rise.
"O-Okay." you nodded weakly and his throat was scraping more and more. He let you go, only to catch you in another cruel kiss and not get your breath away. Bucky managed to take everything he had dreamed of: his second chance with you. He was sure you would love him, with some little teaching.
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when she has a really good C.E fic planned 👀 and more chapters of series are about to be dropped 👀
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angels like you ☆ bucky barnes prologue
↳ after almost losing his girl, bucky spends every second by her side, even if she doesn't remember anything..even if she doesn't remember him.
warnings: angst. wordcount: 500. a/n: really needed to write something else instead of dad!bucky. Taglist is open. this is set after tfatws.
masterlist - next
bucky can't remember if the name had ever popped up on his screen before, he's almost certain this blue haired soldier never once called him before– voice so soft he can barely hear it, tired and afraid and through the phone, bucky can feel the energy his girls best friend and partner is giving off.
"Can you sit down?"
His stomach flips, the air being punched out of his lungs. He knew it the moment Jessie rudely awakened him from his sleep, phone buzzing wildly on his nightstand, illuminating the bedroom in a soft blue hue.
No, Jessie never called and neither did his girl for the last four days. Unanswered calls and texts, never something back, not a sign of life coming back. He knew.
Bucky's never been on his feet faster in his life, is sure he put his shirt on wrong and in a hurry left, shared apartment left unlocked. His name written on possible speed tickets– to his luck, the streets were near empty in the dark of the night. Parked his cat in the nearest spot he could find, never bothered to lock it behind him.
Bucky pushes himself through the small group of nurses walking down the corridor, happily ending their shift. He mumbles a sorry, not batting an single eye.
It's late, the building is almost abandoned. Bucky's never been here before, doesn't know left from right, never walked through one of these halls and yet he beelines to where he needs to be. Where he feels he should be.
"Excuse me sir, can I help you?"
bucky's pulled back by the female voice behind the desk and his boots squeak against the floor as he sharply turns around. Welcomed by a warm smile, it fades at the sight of the vibranium hand nearly leaving a dent in the wood underneath it "Mr barnes–"
"y/n barnes, I'm looking for y/n barnes."
With a nod, the nurse averts her gaze to the screen in front of her, fingers typing away on the keys of her keyboard.
"She's in surgery right now sir, you can't see her right now but you can wait at the end of the hall."
"Surgery– what, how is she doing, is she okay?"
His voice is desperate with a hint of hope but the sympathetic smile on the young nurse her face burns that spark down
"I can't tell you anything more Mr Barnes, this is all I know."
"You have to know something, you work here– what's in the damn computer?"
"Sir, your wife has been brought in three hours ago, been in surgery for two." The nurse states calmly, too calm for Bucky's likings "I'll keep you updated if I get more information–"
His grip on the desk gets tighter, bucky bites the inside of his cheek, drawing blood as he tastes the stale taste.
"Is she going to make it, that's all I need to know."
"Sir, they're doing everything they can."
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Summary: Bucky/Reader, Song-Fic to Silverado for sale by morgan wallen, reader surprises bucky at their wedding with a new motorcycle
”I wanted to propose..” Bucky mumbles and Steve just stares him down over the table.
“That’s the thing, the ring I had my eye on is well, I’d have to sell my bike.”
“Your bike, you’ve had that since you started here, it’s been on every mission with you and-”
“I know but Y/N is more important..”
“She’ll be just as upset as you are right now when she finds out, you know that right?”
“Don’t care, marrying her, getting to spend the rest of my life with her is worth it.”
”How am I supposed to list this, I can’t just put an ad in the paper anymore, according to Tony.”
”Oh you can, I bet half the universe would kill to own a bike that you rode on.” Steve snorts a little when Bucky rolls his eyes.
“Oh yeah I’ll sign it and everything, maybe get the team in on it too.” He chuckles and keeps his face blank as Steve’s turns into a sly grin.
“Steve no, that’s not fair to everyone, I was going to just go undercover or… fine okay you can do it!” Bucky throws his hands up and Steve smirks.
“You’ll have more than enough to get her the ring and pretty much her entire dream wedding.”
“Oh yeah cause one old bike will get that much.”
“If you win you get to say whatever you want at your best man's speech.”
“Deal.” Steve’s grin doesn’t fade for the rest of the day.
”Bucky, seriously you’re going on a mission for our anniversary?”
“Sorry babe, I didn’t want to but there’s some big thing they needed me for.. Steve offered to take you to the dinner reservations I made, so at least you can enjoy it with a friend.”
“I want to enjoy it with you.” You don’t care that you’re whining it was your two year anniversary and he’d promised to take you out to the restaurant you’d had your first date in. You felt you had the right to whine about it.
Steve seems far too happy just to be getting free food and you’re trying to figure out what he’s planning but he easily avoids any of your questions.
“Okay how about after dinner I’ll tell you.”
“Okay, fine I’ll shut up about it.” You glare but focus on your food and the conversation falls back into something less involved with work, which means very little of Bucky and his current mission. Of course it easily meanders back to Bucky with Steve seeming to be a little more nervous than earlier.
“You know something about his mission.” You narrow your eyes and Steve nods.
“Order dessert and I’ll be back in a second okay?” You nod to him and then he hesitates.
“Actually, I’ll order, the skyline view is pretty, you should check it out.” He grins in the way that you know means he’s not giving you a suggestion.
“Dessert and a view?” You laugh a little hearing the door open, you don’t turn around and sigh.
“Sorry for being so snappy at dinner, I just miss Bucky, it’s shitty that he’s gone and it’s our anniversary.” You huff and turn shocked to see Bucky standing in the doorway.
“Bucky!” You rush over to him but he holds his hand in front of him, he waves it in a go back gesture and you laugh.
“You have some grand plan to reveal yourself as an anniversary present then?”
“Not me.” he laughs as he turns you back around.
“Okay, turn.” You can hear the grin in his voice and as you turn you’re shocked to see him holding up the ring you’d pointed out before to him.
”How on earth did you afford that, I know the team doesn’t pay much..”
“I sold the bike.”
“Bucky, no! That was your baby, Bucky, seriously…” You almost glare at him, he grins and shrugs a little.
“You’re more important to me.”
” So I know the bride usually gets the groom a cake, but I was thinking about how you suddenly had all the money we needed to have my dream wedding…” You grin letting Bucky place his arm around you.
“And I did some digging, and lo and behold I find out that someone is flaunting the fact they have a James Buchanan Barnes signed motorcycle..” Bucky ducks, his face pinking as he avoids looking at you, you can hear Steve cheering.
“So I figured I could skip the cake and get you a better wedding present?” You nod a little and place your hands against Bucky’s chin, turning his head to look at where Bruce and Tony are maneuvering the new Harley bike next to the cake.
“This is incredible, how can I ever thank you?” He kisses you and walks over to the bike, hand never leaving yours.
“Well I’d say marry me, but we just finished with that.”
“I’ll make it up to you later.”
“Mhm, there’s a surprise for you, and just you under the seat.” He grins and assures you he’ll open it later. You’d been nervous when you’d approached Steve with the idea of getting him the bike, Steve had been more than happy to help out, and when you’d explained to him the idea you had, hiding something extra for Bucky in the seat.
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Faking Sleep Blurb
parings: Bucky x GN!Reader
Summary: Bucky feels himself blush as he tries not to disturb your ‘sleeping’ on his left shoulder. Bonus: Bucky confess his feelings, without knowing the reader is faking their sleep and hears his confession.
Bucky doesn't know how to react when you fall asleep on his shoulder; specifically, his left shoulder connected with his metal arm, which he hated. He didn't feel the heavyweight until he shifted in his position, trying to find something comfortable. He watched as your eyes closed, the way your head nuzzled into his neck comfortably. Bucky's hand twitched - ready to carry you into the bedroom and let you sleep until you awoke, but he decided against it at the last minute. It would be incredibly rude of him to wake you, such a peaceful slumber, and now that you're unconscious. Bucky could look closely and study all the small features of your face without needing to embarrass himself or getting caught staring at you. "How silly of you to do this to me, y/n," he murmurs to himself. "To think that of all of the people, you'd be the one capable enough of breaking my guarded walls. Heh, and here I thought the humane emotions I had were gone, but I guess you've proved me wrong." He wonders why he's confessing his hidden feelings out in the open, where the both of you felt at your most vulnerable. Bucky leans closer to your face, his lips brushing against your own. With his nonmetal hand, the brunette caressed your face, softly brushing away a strand of hair behind your ear. Bucky finds himself enhanced by your beauty as he stays in the closed position for a long moment before he reluctantly pulls away - blushing. Looking off, Bucky doesn't notice the slight blush on your face as you struggle to keep your eyes closed. Maybe later, you can give Bucky a surprise of a lifetime cuddles and an innocent kiss.
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🎀 For soft hours: Bucky has been trying to confess his feelings for the reader many times and she doesn’t really understand his hints, even though the feeling is mutual. So after some time he has had enough of failing and kinda just explodes with the feeling and basically just shouts his confession at her 🎀
you nursed your drink in your hand as you watched all of your friends dance together, smiling with your body leaned up against the bar, waving at steve who awkwardly danced with a girl he had just met.
“what’re you doing over here by yourself?” bucky asked and leaned on the bar next to you, the bottom of his stomach peeking out as you smiled at him.
“just enjoying watching everyone. why are you over here with me and not with them?” you ask and bucky smiled, finishing his beer. bucky looked at you up and down before you turned back to him and he smiled at you. "hm?"
"i'd much rather spend my time with you than with them" bucky said and you chuckled, shaking your head. "come dance" you cock your eyebrow and look at bucky, shaking your head. "scared?"
"oh, alright barnes. show me your old man dance moves" you took his extended hand and followed him to the dance floor. he held your hips and and swayed, and your jaw dropped slightly as he smiled. “not bad for a 106 old man”
“you think i’m old?” bucky dipped you and pressed his nose against yours, making your laugh. “show me what you got, agent yln”
“i think i’m gonna head home. long day fighting bad guys takes it out of you” you smile and pat his chest, bucky grabbing your hand before you were out of reach.
"do you want a ride home?" bucky offered and you smiled, nodding. bucky's stomach began to swarm with butterflies as your fingers interlocked with his. bucky opened your door and you thanked him, bucky closing it and heading over to the driver's side.
it was a quiet ride except for the late night radio host playing soft sleepy music. "isn't that a bit dangerous? what if someone was tired driving home from work, heard this, and fell asleep at the wheel?" you scrunched your eyebrows and bucky smiled, chuckling softly.
"i think you should call them and give them a piece of your mind, yn" bucky teased and you laughed as he pulled into your driveway. you grabbed the door handle and bucky stopped you, jogging to your door and opening it for you. "i can open my own door, buck. you're not stuck in the 40s"
"yeah, thank god for that" bucky sighed as you two walked up to your door. you looked at him confused and he stuffed his gloved hands in his pockets. "what?"
"you don't miss the 40s? back in the military, two arms, girls falling all over you?" you chuckle and he gives a side smile, shaking his head softly.
"the 40s didn't have you" bucky said lowly and you looked at him, your face feeling hot as you gulped. "and two arms would be nice again" you both laugh and you look down, taking his hands out of his pockets.
finger by finger you pulled the gloves off his hands. bucky watched you closely and you stuffed the gloves in your pockets. your finger traced the vibranium, bucky looking at you with hooded eyes. "do you like hiding it? your secret identity?" you joke but bucky wasn't laughing. "sorry, i shouldn't have-"
"i like you, yn. i don't know if you're ignoring the hints or.. or you don't like me back. but i needed to tell you before i drove steve crazy with hearing about you" your eyes shot to his, your smile growing with every word. "i really like you"
"hopefully i don't get fired for this" you breathed and held his face as you kissed him, bucky's body curving into yours as he deepened the kiss. your lips molded perfectly with his, and he sighed softly into your mouth.
"i've waited so long for a kiss like that" bucky pulled away for a quick minute before kissing you again. "perfect goodnight kiss" he smiled and you pulled away, looking up at him.
"do you have to go so soon? i uh.. i'd like to tell you about my crush on you but why i couldn't do anything about it" you grabbed your keys and bucky nodded, kissing your head.
you and bucky stayed up until the morning sun peeked through your curtains, and you both crashed on your couch. you laid out on the couch with bucky in between your legs, his head on your stomach with his arms wrapped around your leg.
you opened your eyes to check things out, taking a picture of bucky and smiling before falling asleep again, your fingers in bucky's hair.
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Last Mission - Series - Part 4: Watching the Watcher
Last Mission - Series - WS X Reader; BB X Reader
Warnings: kidnapping, dubcon, themes of stalking and voyeurism, smut later and each chapter will have specific warnings as applicable. Minors please do not engage.
Winter Soldier X Reader (she/her); Bucky Barnes X Reader
Summary: you were his mission and unfortunately for you, he was told to bring you in alive
A/N: Would love to hear feedback, constructive criticism, and whatever else you want to say! I love detail and a slow burn but maybe it's too slow? Maybe its not even a spark let alone a burn.... Lemme know!
Part 1: Uneasy Feelings
Part 2: The Long Retreat
Part 3: On The Run
Part 4: Watching the watcher
As your eyes further adjust to the dark room you notice another table right in front of the window opposite the bed. The moonlight streams through it and illuminates the floorboards. The cottage is surprisingly clean. It smells of wood and cookstove but it’s not unpleasant by any means. And once the door is closed, the sounds of the wind quiets and your body starts to warm up. The soldier is looking down at the floorboards when suddenly he takes the toe of his boots and presses down on the corner of the board. The floorboard pops up revealing a hidden room underneath the cottage. Narrow steps lead downstairs, and the soldier makes his way down. He doesn’t bother to warn you again about the perils of running away. Though you doubted you would get very far as you are exhausted and hungry and thirsty.
You watch him disappear only to reappear several times with large plastic containers and a massive jug of water. He rinses out the kettle on the front steps of the cottage and pours from the massive water jug into the kettle. He fills it and sets it on the stove. He then goes outside and reappears holding cords of dried wood, kindling and box of long stick matches. He also has your floral tote bag hooked over his shoulder which is a disarming sight. He drops the wood on the floor near the cookstove and the and the loud noise makes you jump. He turns back to you on the bed and hands you the tote. You reach out with shaking hands to take it from him, instinctively whispering "thank you" as you grasp the familiar bag.
He kneels down and opens the cookstove door and carefully lays the firewood and kindling down, striking a match to illuminate his taciturn features in the flickering fire light. The kindling catches quickly and it’s not long before the logs are crackling and burning strong. Happy with his handy work he pulls the heavy cookstove door closed and sets the kettle on the burner. As the stove heats up the room the warmth seeps into your body. Your arms and legs ache and your lower back and thighs twinge from the cold ride. The soldier is kneeling over a plastic container rifling through things that you are too tired to be interested in. Until he hands you a carefully piled assortment of things.
You feel a cold object thrust into your hand. You place it down on the bed. It’s an enamel wash basin, clean wash cloth, and a small hotel soap stamped with the name and address of a motel in Niagara Falls. Then you feel the soldier carefully laying down clothes behind you. They appear to be some sort of standard issue long sleeve shirt that is white and crisp and clean and grey sweatpants with a white draw string. They appear way too large for you but clean and comfortable looking.
You make eye contact with the soldier. He is watching you closely. You absentmindedly rubbed your hand over the clothes, anticipating being in them and feeling clean as your work clothes feel caked with road dust and grit and mud from the long ride. Just then the kettle starts to squeal on the stove pulling you both out of your shared revelry.
He walked over and took the kettle off the stove and brought it over to the enamel basin. He carefully pours some water into the basin, the steam rising into the air. He then abruptly turns and returns to the secret basement. You can hear metal being thrown into a wooden box and he comes back up into the main room. He places a wooden box literally filled with weapons and ammunition on a small square table you hadn't noticed is up against the opposite wall, directly in front of the only window in the cottage. He grabs the only chair from a dark corner near the door and sits down in a few smooth motions. He lights a stub candle from the windowsill and places it near his workstation on the table. The candle softly illuminates the room along with the moonlight but also creates a mirror effect in the window. He is sat in front of the window now, with his back to you. You can see his face in the reflection and can tell that his is engrossed in his work and has no further interest in engaging with you right now.
He starts to sort his weapons, pulling more from his holsters and hiding places on his person and laying them on the table in an organized fashion. He has a rag and oil, and he is focused on this work, seemingly single-minded.
You presume you are to clean yourself with the things he has provided. Though it is very awkward as he just feet from you. You gently skim a finger across the water in the enamel basin. It’s still too hot to wash with. You look at the massive water jug and back to the soldier. You are unsure whether you are strong enough to pour some of the cold water into the basin to make it usable sooner as you are eager to be clean. You walk over and try to lift it and makes and let out a frustrated grunt when it proves to be too heavy for your tired and worn-out body. Just then the soldier appears, and he lifts the jug easily. You ask him to pour a bit into the basin to cool the water. He does so easily, careful not to put too much and cool the water completely. You thank him and he glides back to the table to continue his work by candlelight.
You dip your hand in the perfectly hot-warm water and open the plastic covering on the soap. You rub a bit on the washcloth and dunk it back in the water and begin to wipe and sponge your exposed skin. You turn your back and slip off your sweater, running the warm cloth up and over your arms, across your neck and décolletage, the back of your neck and under your arms. You feel much cleaner already and slip the clean shirt on over your bra. You turn back around as you are fully covered and your rinse out the washcloth again. You look down and realize your new gladiator sandals are caked with mud and your cute high waisted pants are filthy. You slowly untie the silk belt of your pants and slide down the zipper. Your pants pool at your still shoed feet and you awkwardly step out of them. You look down to see that the oversized shirt covers much of your thigh, though your hips and curvaceous shape is visible. The men’s clothing is narrower, and your stomach and hips and breasts press against the fabric in spots. You decide you aren't concerned with this maniac seeing your knees and frankly the modest thought is kind of funny. When he kills me, I doubt he will care whether he saw my thigh or not, you think darkly.
You move to sit down and deal with your very filthy feet, as you are saving this bit for last as the water and washcloth will be disgustingly dirty once your sore feet are clean. You hesitate, realize that you have not washed your breasts. The underside of your breasts feels hot and sticky with your fearful sweats from this ordeal. You turn your back to him again and put your arms into the shirt. You reach back and undo your bra and you slide it discreetly down to the bed. You reach behind you and rinse and wring out the washcloth well. You then carefully bring it under your shirt to wipe your breasts and their undersides, sighing contentedly as you do so. It is soothing and you immediately feel a tiny bit better.
You straighten your back and stretch out your shoulders a bit with your arms outstretched. You do a full body stretch as well, even standing on your tip toes to feel your leg muscles and feet come alive with fresh blood and oxygen. You feel cold air on your backside. and realize that your lifted arms have lifted the shirt to expose your bottom, black underwear and all. You discreetly turn and find the soldier still facing the window. You are relieved he wasn't looking at you then. Another dark thought: good thing you bought all new bras and panties with one of your first paycheques at SHIELD. It would be a damn shame to be found as a mummified skeleton years from now in the woods around this strange cottage with those old stretched out cotton numbers you wore when you were a broke student. Your grandmother always said to dress like you could be hit by a bus and a cute EMT or doctor will save your life and see your sexy underwear in the process. Always thinking ahead, my Gran. I wonder what she'd think about this metal-armed manic who kidnapped me. Surely these expensive lace numbers are being wasted on this soldier and your untimely death. You allow yourself a mirthless smile, schooling your face back to an impassive neutral before you turn around.
You sit heavily down the bed frame again, knees together eyeing your feet and taking a second to collect yourself. Suddenly you look up as you feel you are being watched. Sure enough, as soon as you raise your head you can see your reflection in the window, provided by the flickering candlelight. The soldier is perfectly still but making no secret of his blue eyes raking over you, looking at you from your head of long messy hair, still in the loose French braid you had plaited this morning, to your exposed legs. You also realize that where you were just standing is fully visible in the reflection of the window, the moonlight rushing into the room working as a spotlight. You realize the soldier has been watching you wash yourself, his weapon cleaning and organizing either complete or ignored. You blush, stand, and step out of the bright moonlight into the dark nearer the door. The soldier looks away from the window and stares down at the tabletop. You can hear him systemically loading weapons and returning them to the box. He also places a few back into the holsters on his person. You try to ignore the threatening nature of that act. The sheer number of weapons is deeply concerning to you so it’s probably best to ignore it for as long as possible.
You sit on the edge of the bed in the dark and start to unwrap the ties of your sandals, They painfully cut into your skin and your feet are still freezing, wind burned, and swollen from the wind on the long motorcycle ride. You discreetly slide your panties down your leg and grab them into a ball in your hand. The soldier has returned to the basement of the cottage and you take the opportunity to quickly wipe between your legs and buttocks with the now cold water. You slip your panties back on just as the soldier’s head reappears through the hole in the floor. He watches your hands glide them up and you quickly cover your upper thighs with the oversized shirt he gave you.
You turn your back and return to the soap and basin. You lather the washcloth with soap and place the basin on the floor. You slowly lower your feet into the cold water and hiss slightly at the sting. The soldier surprises you again by walking over to the kettle. He slowly moves over to you and places a single finger from his flesh hand into the water and pours more hot water in, gauging the temperature and watching your reaction closely. Once the water is warmed, he stands and turns back to the stove. You are slightly slack jawed in response to this but you're too eager to feel clean to focus on it.
You scrub your feet and get the grime off as the water turns from grey to brown. Once you are clean you look around, for a towel or something to dry your feet with. The soldier hands you a small towel and you again thank him for his attentiveness. You dry your feet and happily slide the very large sweatpants over your clean legs. By this time the cottage has warmed considerably, and you sigh slightly at the comfortable and soft fabric over your skin. You have collected your dirty clothes, including your bra, which you just couldn't face putting on again even if you would feel less exposed to have your ample breasts securely supported under this large shirt. You place the dirty shoes in the plastic bag from the department store and place your work clothes on top. You decide to refold your sundress in case you need to wear it again tomorrow. Its wrinkled but not too bad. Again this feels like an optimistic act, the promise that this isn't the end, and that this expensive and luxurious new dress will have another day in the sun; that you will be alive and well and happy in it once more.
The soldier has filled the kettle again and returned it to the hot stove. He grabs the basin and wash cloth and soap from you. He opens the cottage door and steps out, throwing the water on the tall grass on the other side of the small cottage porch. He fills the basin with hot water, pouring it over the same washcloth you used. He starts to undo his leather jacket and peels it off. It is heavy with weapons and makes a loud clunk as it hits the ground. He sits on the chair and unties his heavy boots with his flesh hand, using each big toe at the heel to work the other off. He rolls off his thick socks and throws them on the floor near his leather jacket. You can smell him again now that he is disrobing. He smells strongly of leather and sweat but you find yourself watching him and deliberately inhaling more of his scent. It's not unpleasant, and now, hours into this ordeal, is oddly familiar.
He has a long-sleeved compression shirt and his tactical cargo pants on. He stands right in front of the window, illuminated by the moonlight. He is standing sideways, so he is completely visible to you from your vantage point on the edge of the rough wooden bed frame. He looks less scary, standing there barefoot in his pants and undershirt. Though his muscular arms and back and stomach are visible under the tight fabric, his form becomes one of an enticing man rather than a scary killer. He looks over at you and slowly peels the shirt from his chest. As it comes up over his head, he turns to fully face you. You let out a small gasp as his torso is revealed. His left arm attached to his body by what looks like blistered and scarred skin. It is raised and angry looking and you feel sympathy for the man standing before you. It must have hurt when that alteration was made to his body. Was he awake for it? Did he know that his would be done to him? Had he agreed to it? Did it hurt still? He searches your face, and you make eye contact. You try not to give your thoughts away, though you suspect your surprise and curiosity are written all over your face. You wonder what he thinks of your sympathy, can he feel that you worried for him for a split second? That you thought of his experience as a test subject for a crazed scientist? You cast your eyes down and stare at your hands in your lap. He turns his back to you and drops his pants. He also has compression leggings on underneath, and they are fitted to his muscular legs. You search his form, taking in every detail of him that is visible to you.
You slowly look up as he slides those down as well. He is now fully naked and your breath catches. He is a beautiful and terrifying, strong muscles, broad back, and long dark hair. You can see dark hair on his arms and legs, though it looks soft and silky in the moon light. He is washing his face and neck roughly with the washcloth. He even dunks his head into the water, letting the water run through his hair down his body as he used the washcloth to wipe and scrub the grime away. He turns and walks towards you, leaning down right next to you to grab the small towel that you dried your feet with. He uses it to dry his hair and face. He seems to have no problem sharing with you, unbothered about rubbing your foot towel over his face and neck. He returns to washing himself with the washcloth. You blush thinking of where that washcloth has been on your own body. Running soapy water over every part of him. Under his arms and behind his legs. And then he cleans between his thighs. You are transfixed on the man as he stands fully visible to you in the reflection of the window. You watch his washcloth-covered hand wrap around his cock and clean the head. He then rinses the cloth and returns it wipe around and under his large testicles. You aren't breathing, your breath caught in your throat as you watch him work. You look up to this face and find him again studying you, with a curious but serious look in his eyes. You avert your eyes down and stare at your chaffed hands, giving them a quick squeeze as if to remind yourself of your situation. Finally he moves towards one of the plastic containers he brought up from the basement and fetches clothes exactly the same as the ones you now wear. He quickly dresses and you are relieved he is no longer visible to your hungry gaze.
Once he is dressed, he sits in the chair again, but this time he turns it out from the table to face you. Leaning on his metal arm and relaxing backwards. He silently watches you and you try to avoid his gaze. Eventually you become restless and start to dig in your floral tote. You find the fruit you had purchased earlier from the market, which now feels forever ago. You quickly untie the bag with fumbling fingers and pull out the ripe peaches. It's the very end of the season and the fruit is heavy and soft and fragrant. In a day or two the fruit will spoil as it's perfectly ripe right now. With shaking hands you extend to him a piece of fruit. He leans forward and accepts it, moving forward to pull it from your hand with his flesh hand, his warm fingers brushing your colder ones. You return to your peach rubbing it with your palm to feel the little hairs on the outside of the fruit. You hastily bite into it and feel the sweet juices running down your throat and some escaping the side of your lips. You release a small hum into the fruit as the sweetness and floral flavour overloads your heightened senses. You realize how hungry you are as you take another bite. The soldier watches you for a few moments before taking a bite of his own peach. He seems to enjoy it as well and eats it with determined effort.
You stand and make your way to the back corner of the room where the plastic containers are. You start to dig through them with one hand, looking at the supplies. You are pleasantly surprised to find socks and you toss two pairs on to the empty bed. You also find more washcloths and towels and take a quick peek at the soldier. His peach is finished, and he holds the pit in between two large fingers, watching you explore. You take another bite, slowly savouring it as you turn to rifle through the second container. In this one you find packages of dried food, including two large packages of beef stew with instructions to just add hot water. You also find a smaller box of orderly and labelled tin cans of baking supplies. You turn behind you and find the skillet you remembered seeing before. You excitedly start to unpack these supplies onto the long table along the back wall, occasionally taking a bite of your peach.
You place the skillet on the stove and pour water in in from the kettle, letting it boil on the hot stove. With your back to the solider he comes up behind you, he opens the stove door and adds more wood as the fire had started to die down. After you take the last few bites of your peach you throw the pit over his shoulder into the fire and it hisses and burns, the soldier looks back at you, slightly amused and then follows suit with the pit he still clutched in between his fingers. He opens the stove vent and the cold air from outside fed the fire and it whooshed up and crackled hard again. The water in the pan quickly comes to a boil. You look around for something to grab the pan with, realizing that the cast iron would burn you severely if you touched it. Finally you turn to the soldier who had returned to his chair to watch you work in the candle and moon-lit room. You walk over to him and grab the candle from the table and move it over to the table nearest to the stove so you can see the supplies clearly. You turn back to him and worriedly consider whether you should request his help again. Finally your grumbling stomach decided for you. You lift your head and look him dead in the eye. "Can you please toss the hot water from the pan outside? I was just trying to clean the pan a bit before I cooked with it." He nods and stands smoothly doing your bidding. The boiling water splashes on to the ground with a singeing noise and he returns the pan to the stove. You sort your ingredients and decide that you have everything you need to make the stew and rough biscuit for the top. You coat the cast iron pan with oil and add the amount of water for two large stew packets, you slowly add the dry ingredients into the pan, and they quickly incorporate, and the stew begins to rehydrate, stirring with a wooden spoon that appears to be brand new.
You find a metal mixing bowl in the plastic container and start to mix flour and baking soda, a bit of salt and sugar, using a drop biscuit recipe that your grandmother taught you for biscuits and gravy that you made at her camp. She told you to learn the recipe by heart as its perfect for this exact scenario. Though you doubt your grandmother would have predicted that you would be baking drop biscuits on stew at a cottage in the middle of nowhere as a captive victim of a super soldier with a metal arm. You mix the powdered milk and powdered butter with some water from the kettle with the wooden spoon and form a dough with the dry ingredients. You use your hand to drop the biscuit batter on top of the now boiling stew. When all the batter is in the skillet you lick a bit of the batter of your hand. It tastes good despite the strange ingredients and military packaging.
You turn back to the soldier, but he is already standing behind you, moving silently. He gently pushes you out of the way of the cookstove’s oven door, opens it and slides the cast iron on to the only rack in the oven. You breath your thanks to him and go to the basin on the table. You find it still filled with dirty water from the soldier’s bath. He grabs the washcloth and wrings it out and then takes the basin outsides to dump it out. He then returns and adds more hot water from the kettle and a bit of cold water from the jug to make it perfectly soothing and warm for you to wash your hands in.
He slowly walks down the stairs into the basement of the cottage and this time brings up two more totes. One is small and has some enamel and metal dish ware and cutlery and scratchy paper towels. He passes you that container and puts a much larger one on the bed frame and then returns to his spot at the table. You pull forks and plates and cups from the storage container, making a note of the percolator coffee pot in this container. You place it on the top of the stove out of the way as you had noticed the brick of ground coffee in the food stores. Even if you are held hostage, you should still get a strong, dark cup of coffee in the morning. You painfully try to swallow but your throat and mouth are dry as you hope you will in fact make it until morning. You darkly think that you could be cooking your last supper and you smile slightly at the thought. It's not funny but your family always did find comfort in black humour.
"You just smiled. What did you find amusing?" His gruff voice rung out into the candle lit room. You startled as you had been trying your best to ignore his very presence when you could. You knew he was there, scary, imposing, and watchful. Yet also curious and attentive and even at times gentle.
You screwed up your courage to respond "I smirked at the idea that I was cooking my last supper for both me and my would-be killer"
"And this amused you?" The soldier asked in surprise, eyebrows raised and mouth slightly hanging open.
"It's not amusing per se, rather just some black humour to comfort me in this ridiculous predicament you have placed me in." You bent down and opened the oven door, checking on the biscuits. The stew was done so it was just waiting for the dough to cook through and brown on top. The fire is hot, and the biscuits are nicely browned and appeared cooked. You turn to the soldier and say "Dinner's ready, dear" in a sing-song voice.
His lips quirk at that and he stands and steps forward, bending low near you to pull the pan from the oven and set it on top of the cook stove. It smells amazing and you busy yourself with serving two heaping and very hot portions on the enamel and metal plates. You place one plate, fork, and rough napkin in the soldier's spot and another on the edge of the bed frame next to the unopened large tote for yourself. The water jug is much emptier and your strength more returned to you, so you also pour two mugs of water and walk them over. You drink the water down in just a couple gulps, realizing how parched you feel.
You patiently wait for your food to cool and the soldier does the same. Except he gets an idea, you visibly see it cross his face as he genuinely seemed excited for a split second. He returns to the basement and comes up with two bottles, one of a dark amber liquid that you suspect to be whiskey of some sort and a bottle of red wine. He wordlessly holds them up in front of you and you point at the bottle of wine. He sets down the whiskey bottle on the table and then walks over to the mound of his clothes on the floor. He digs out a folding utility knife and opens the serrated blade and screws it into the cork, pulling hard with his metal arm and the cork slides out easily with a satisfying pop. He then walks over to you and you hold your cup out to accept the wine. Its dark ruby colour and smells delicious and fruity. He pours you an ample portion and then does the same in his cup.
You can still see the threads of steam rising from your plate and you are wary of burning your tongue and losing the flavour of what might be your final meal. Another bleak thought. You can’t burn your mouth as it might lessen your enjoyment of this meal made from various military powders on this dark night, which is the eve of your death, you are quite sure. The soldier is waiting and watching you, not touching his own food but taking sips of the wine. You place your cup of wine down on the floor and turn your attention to the plastic container. Might as well dig around while you're waiting.
Once the lid pops off you exhale deeply. Inside this container is crisp white pillows shrink wrapped in plastic. You excitedly grab the package and walk over to the end of the bed away from your food. You rip open the plastic greedily and the pillows immediately spring up and out over the bed. They are indeed crisp and white, but you are overjoyed to see that they are also deeply fluffy and plush. You press your hand down into one and smile at the feeling. You grab one and place it on the edge of the bed frame that has been your seat this long night. You return to your plate and cup. You take a swig of the wine and the bright and fruity liquid is smooth and delicious. You swallow and a small smile plays at your lips.
You lift your plate up and set it on your thighs. It is still hot on your legs but not scalding so you feel confident to use your fork to break off some biscuit and take a small sampling of the hot stew below. You raise it your mouth and slowly take a bite. At that moment you look up and see that the soldier has now taken his first bite as well. Apparently waiting for you to start eating. Ever the gentleman, this mass murdering machine. You take another bite and enjoy it. You watch him do the same, and then he ravenously dives in and eats in record time. You are only half done your plate and he is done his. He drains the last of the wine from his cup and reaches for his utility knife again. This time he reaches for the bottle of amber liquid and repeats the same process to remove the cork. He pours himself a few fingers of the booze and sets the bottle down slowly. He grabs the cup and holds it in his flesh hand, resting it on the knee of his now crossed leg. His metal arm is placed back on the table as he leans back in his chair and returns to watching you. You watch him right back, only ceasing eye contact when you take a bite of food or a sip of wine. When your cup is empty, he raises the wine bottle along with his left eyebrow, silently asking if you'd like more. You lean forward and hold out your mug and he leans forward and pours you another.
You take another sip and finish your last bites of food. You ate enough to feel very full, and the wine is making your body feel warm and your eyelids heavy. You walk your plate over to the long table on the other side of the cookstove and set it down. You turn around and lean back and rest your lower back on the counter's edge. The soldier is of course, watching you with that same intensity and blank expression. You decide you can't handle the silence any longer. "Will you kill me tonight or tomorrow? What’s the point of taking me anyway? Are you going to torture me for information or am I a hostage to extract a ransom? If so, how much am I worth, out of curiosity?"
The soldier studies you for quite a while. He seemed taken aback by your forward questions. He considers his words carefully for he speaks slowly. "As I said, you are my mission. I am to keep you alive and safe until I receive my next instructions. I pose no threat to you."
You consider his words. Alive, safe, no threat. This coming from the man who kidnapped you on a perfectly sunny and warm afternoon in Brooklyn and drove you deep into the woods to an abandoned cottage.
You look down into the ruby liquid in your cup and swirl it, watching how the flickering candlelight and moonlight play off the colour, moving it from black to bright red to deep purple, an optical illusion that you find soothing. You raise your head and stare into his eyes again. "Okay, I guess that’s about all the assurance I can get. Though if that changes, and you do pose a threat to me, can you please make sure that my mother finds out what happened to me? Or at least so she knows I am dead? It always seems so bleak to me when families never know what happened and just don't have that person in their life anymore, without explanation. At least if she knows I am dead she can grieve and move on rather than fretting and wondering and worrying about where I could be, if I am in pain, things like that."
The soldier, still drinking his whiskey, says nothing. You sigh heavily and walk over to the bed. You find the thick wool socks you pulled out of container earlier and put them on your feet, bending over with your back to him. The cottage is warm and cozy now from the fire, but your feet are still cold on the rough wood floor. You then turn your attention back to the tote of supplies. You pull a large, shrink-wrapped package out and rip the hard plastic with some effort. A very large and soft duvet is released and two smaller scratchier wool blankets, also swelling with air as the confines of the packaging is removed.
Lastly, there’s a very large rectangular item in the very bottom of the container. It’s so large and heavy you can’t quite get it out. You feel his body before you know he is there, standing directly behind you, both arms around either side of you, helping you lift the last item from the container. He holds the package up and you pull the plastic container to the floor, dipping underneath is right arm to move further away from him. He asks you to move the pillows and blankets from the bed, You do so, carefully making sure the pillows and blankets don't touch the floor and instead are all balanced in and on the empty container. He places the square in the middle of the bed and rips the plastic off quickly and collects it into a ball in his hand. The square item in the middle also expands quickly and shoots open, lying flat on the slatted wood frame. It is a very large and very thick mattress. It’s kind of a rubbery material that feels a bit strange but it’s much more enticing than the bare wooden slats and netting and you press your hand into the foam and eagerly want to crawl into the bed. The soldier is walking around the room and collecting all the stray bits of plastic and packaging, stuffing them into a box.
You turn to him and ask "Are there sheets? I very much prefer to sleep on nice soft sheets." You say, half-joking as if you were talking to a hotel worker rather than your kidnapper.
The soldier smirks that slightly annoying and destabilizing look, almost boyish but a little bit mocking. His every reaction having a rough edge to it. Or perhaps it's just his imposing presence that gives you that impression. "You won’t need sheets on this mattress, the material is made to redistribute body heat. Basically it keeps you cool in the summer and warm in the winter, you'll see."
You start to make the bed, first by placing two pillows on either side of the bed and then flipping the fluffy duvet over the whole bed. Then you place each blanket at the foot of the bed. The soldier has resumed sitting in his chair, watching you curiously. You stand back to look at your handy work and just about laugh out loud at yourself. Look at you! You made a bed for two! A perfect little happy couple having a cottage trip in the woods. It would be deeply romantic if it wasn't so strange and perverse. You both watching each other intensely, washing your bodies in plain view of the other, and working quietly around one another. Very few words spoken but intense communication happening regardless. The fleeting looks, subtle touches as you passed each other items, the feel of your body pressed against his in the several scenarios you found yourself pressed against him somehow. And now, in this dark cottage, you set the bed as an invitation. Maybe you had misjudged him. Maybe you would be alive but perhaps used in another form. Your exhausted body screamed to crawl into bed, but you were now frozen in place. Worried as to what might happen in the dark. You looked over at him, seated at the table, intense fear in your eyes. He saw it. He noticed it straight away as you saw something flash across his face. Sadness? Regret?
The soldier quietly stood and slipped out of the cottage. In his absence you tried to decide whether you would crawl into that bed or not. You collect your bags again and find the flowers, starting to wilt in the paper cover. You decide to unwrap them and find an empty container to fill with water and a bit of sugar. You walk over to the table and take the soldiers utility knife and start to saw off the ends of the flower stems. It takes a while as the stems are hard and you need to cut them down to size one by one. But eventually it is done, and you place the flowers into the square metal container serving as a makeshift vase. Just as you turn around the soldier is back in the cottage with a massive load of wood. You can see his breath in the cold outside meaning that the frost has come, and this evening might be chilly. You guess that it's around midnight as the moon is high in the sky from the looks of things. You have been up since 5 am and are weary. You were taken off the street around 4pm so you have spent close to 8 hours with this man. You lean down and press your face close to the flowers, inhaling the sweet and sharp smells of pollen and petals. The soldier watches you, a bit dumbstruck it would seem. Perhaps it is a strange sight for a hostage to be decorating their cell with flowers.
But you are a woman of sensory discernment and hedonistic excess. You want it all, the nicest foods and clothes, the nicest smelling perfumes and softest creams, and even a touch of colour and smell of the flowers you purchased for your kitchen table. You had planned to spend a leisurely Saturday reading a romance novel with endless cups of coffee and tea at that table with your favourite deep purple vase your mother gave you jammed full of these gorgeous blooms. It was an impulsive purchase but when you saw them... No, when you smelt them as you walked by, you knew you had to have them. The vendor laughed as he saw you stop dead in your tracks a few feet from his stall, swear quietly and turn back to face him. "I simply must have a bouquet, sir" He smiled broadly and let out a laugh "But miss you sound annoyed, do you not like my flowers?" You laughed a quick little surprised laugh, reaching forward to cup a particularly bright yellow bloom, placing your face as close as you could without getting pollen on your nose. "Oh no its quite the opposite! I love flowers but cut ones like this make me sad. They only last a short time, and when I am away from them, I don't notice their slow decline. And then one day I look at them and they are all used up: brown and starting to crumble away to dust."
The vendor smiled a bit sadly perhaps and replied, "But isn't that the beauty of them too? That they only last a short while so it’s imperative to enjoy and appreciate them while they are still green and alive?" You looked up and away from the flowers to see the soldier still standing there. He watched you closely as you reminisced about that short exchange from this afternoon, when you had felt a bit lighter after your tense week and serious conversation with Fury. He then walked back over to the stove and gently as possible placed the wood on the floor. Careful to not make you jump with surprise as you had last time. The soldier then opened the stove door again and placed many logs into the fire. The warmth increased rapidly in the cottage, which was helpful as the temperature had dropped quickly over the last hour or so.
You had made up your mind. You kept the soldiers folding utility knife in your hand, discreetly sliding it into the pocket of your sweatpants. You then walked with confidence over to the bed and crawled over the foot of the bed. You crawled slowly up left side of the bed, furthest away from the door. Earlier you had felt a draft coming from around the door in its frame and wanted to be away from it as you had been cold for hours. You crawled up and under the blanket and slid down the slippery material of the mattress soundlessly. The fluffy pillows were welcome support under your back and shoulders and you found yourself relaxing almost immediately.
You again looked up to find your soldier watching you intensely. He hadn’t moved from his position kneeling in front of the stove just to the foot of the bed, seemingly transfixed. The small candle that he had lit many hours ago suddenly burned out and the room was thrust further into darkness. Your breath hitched at the sudden change, you felt more vulnerable in the dark. You discreetly slipped your hand into your pocket and clutched at the utility knife, trying to feel around to see how to open it again if you needed to use it.
His voice was a quiet rasp "I will not hurt you, Y/N." Your eyes snapped opened very wide and you looked at him again lifting your head and making eye contact. "You know my name?" you squeaked
"Yes of course. As I said, you are my mission."
"I remember your name from the file too. James Buchanan Barnes, nicknamed "Bucky". AKA The Winter Soldier. But I will not be calling you anything as you have kidnapped me, and I do not want to be too familiar with my hostage-taker as it humanizes you and creates emotional enmeshment that is not helpful for my chances of survival as per SHIELD security training. I am going to sleep now. Please do not disturb me," you said haughtily with confidence you did not feel.
"I won’t. Sleep well. " He whispered back. He grabbed one of the scratchier blankets from the bed and laid it on the hardwood floor. He then quietly closed the open gateway to the secret basement and silently stepped close to the bed and reached for the two pillows on the empty side of the bed and threw them down on top of the blanket. He also grabbed the wool socks near the bed on the floor and put them on his feet. He laid down and fixed the pillows to his liking and relaxed. You could hear his breathing slow as he settled. However, after an hour you knew he was not yet asleep. He had angled himself to have his head as far from the bed as possible along the wall slightly behind the door and next to the small table. If you titled your head in the right way, you could see how his head was propped up on the pillows and his arms and he stared at your form in the bed. You could see the whites of his eyes glowing in the moonlight. As usual, you watched him right back until your eyelids grew too heavy and you drifted off, hand still clutching the small, folded utility knife in your sweatpants pockets.
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Last Mission - Series - Part 3: On The Run
Last Mission - Series - WS X Reader; BB X Reader
Warnings: kidnapping, dubcon, themes of stalking and voyeurism, smut later and each chapter will have specific warnings as applicable. Minors please do not engage.
Winter Soldier X Reader (she/her); Bucky Barnes X Reader
Summary: you were his mission and unfortunately for you, he was told to bring you in alive
A/N: Would love to hear feedback, constructive criticism, and whatever else you want to say! I love detail and a slow burn but maybe it's too slow? Maybe its not even a spark let alone a burn.... Lemme know!
Song suggestion: On the run by the rural alberta advantage
Part 1: Uneasy Feelings
Part 2: The Long Retreat
Part 3: On The Run
“If you run, I will hunt you. I always finish my mission. If you run, I won’t hesitate.”
Hesitate to do what you did not know. The threat lingered in the air, but he surprised you further by dropping your wrist. You took a quick step backwards away from him. You missed the heat that his near body provided and shivered at the difference. You rubbed your wrist where his metal arm had held you tightly. You could feel the cold and sore skin and the cold creeped further into your body. Bugs lazily moved around your legs. Though the cold weather slowed them down it didn’t stop them from biting at your skin.
You danced about and stepped closer to the soldier. He was walking away from you and the growing darkness obscured his figure as he walked toward the large garage door. He entered some sort of pass code and then the massive metal doors started to slide down deep into the ground.
An automatic lighting system flickered on and you covered your eyes as the shocking bright light hit your pupils. As your eyes adjusted you saw the only contents of this fancy garage: a massive motorcycle with a black leather seat and shiny chrome fixtures. The Winter Soldier stomped towards you. He had a fiery look in his eye and grabbed your wrist again. He pulled you towards the bike. He swings his leg over and straddles the bike, sitting it upright. He motions for you to climb on behind him.
You do as he instructs. Your right leg is exposed from your hip as you swing your leg over the bike. You hastily position yourself on the seat, trying simultaneously to fix your dress for maximum coverage and to figure out how to put as much space as possible on the seat between you and the Winter Soldier. It seems a strange situation to have your body pressed up against someone who has told you they would not hesitate to hurt you if they need to, if you resist as he continues to kidnap you. What no one tells you is that being kidnapped takes a very long time. We are now on our second mode of transportation and it’s been at least 4 hours. It's not the same exactly but it reminds you of a Christmas party at your old job where the manager Jerry suggested going to a bar to continue the "fun" after a long, tedious meal and no one wanted to be the one to turn down the boss. Perhaps that was a hostage taking rather than a kidnapping? Regardless, it felt similar.
The soldier looks down at your exposed leg and hesitates. He stands abruptly from the bike, returning it to its leaning state on the kickstand and you almost topple over off the heavy bike. He wrenches the tote from your shoulder and digs until he finds your sweater and pants. He throws them at you. You quickly realize he means for you to change in front of him. You awkwardly pull on your pants under your dress and over those annoying sandals that were now painfully cutting into your swollen feet and legs. You then turn around in front of him and throw the dress over your head and over the seat of the bike. You pull on your fluffy sweater and sigh as the warmth soothes you a bit. As you turn around you see him gently wrapping your dress into a ball and stuffing it back into your tote. He then places your tote carefully into a hidden compartment on the bike. He returns to his mounted position on the bike. You sit behind him, cursing yourself for not changing your sandals into your regular work shoes as they would have provided more coverage and protection from the now frigid fall air.
You grab on to the back of the seat. Though you realize immediately how uncomfortable it is to have your hands behind your body on the cold steel. Before he starts the motorcycle, he looks back at you. He grabs your arm around the bicep. He wrenches your hand off of the seat handle and wraps your arm around his middle. He turns to do the same on the other side, but you relent and willingly wrap your other arm around his waist. He is balancing the bike with his weight, expertly shifting as you wiggle to balance on the seat. Finally, he moves back in his seat ever so slightly. At the same time, he hooks his hands under your knees and slides your body down the long seat until you are flush against his back. Your arms relax and your immediately feel the heat of his body through his dark, hard canvas pants and leather jacket. You can smell him as well. His hair is slightly matted at the bottom like he hasn't been able to shower recently. His scent is a mix of sweat and leather and gunpowder. It’s a searing scent in your nostrils at first but quickly you adjust and almost appreciate it.
He finally starts the bike’s engine and quickly accelerates out of the garage, the garage door automatically and quickly closing with a thunk behind you as you look back. You hold on tighter as the bumpy forest road connects back to the deserted highway. Neither of you have helmets but he has returned his glasses and metal mask to his face. The cold wind and grit from the road soon coat your exposed skin. You occasionally peak above the soldier’s shoulder but the cold and air that feels like lashes across your cheeks keeps you clutching to his leather jacket and you burying your face in his back.
Your hands meanwhile start to go numb. You have them linked together to hold on while also not having to touch him any more than necessary. You started to fidget your hands as the temperature drops and your skin gets chaffed by the cold fall air. As you rub your hands together you notice the soldier tilting his head down to see what you are doing.
He finally turns his head slightly to the right where you have your face buried in between his shoulder blades. He growls down at you “Stop moving”
You do your best to oblige primarily out of fear and embarrassment. Though as you ride your office wear provides little protection, particularly as the bike quickly cuts through the night on this deserted highway. Your body starts to shake uncontrollably.
Your hands feel like they are locked in the place on his front. You feel his flesh hand reach down and flatten your fingers on his stomach. And then even more surprisingly, you feel his hand reach to the bottom of his leather jacket, and he lifts it away from his skin. You can feel the subtle heat waft from him and instinctively you flatten your interlaced fingers across his low abdomen. His skin is a little clammy but very warm and you can feel the of skin of your palm burn slightly at the temperature change. The backs of your hands are rubbing within his leather jacket. The leather protects them from further wind burn but you can feel they are sore and cracked.
After another hour or so (you suspect) he finally he starts to slow down. He angles the bike down another rough-hewn road, that honestly looks more like an unmarked hiking trail than anything. The bike easily manoeuvres through potholes and rather large stones. You feel your teeth chatter every bump and the slower speed makes every touch and shift of your bodies felt in between your thighs. You can feel your warm core pressed against his low back and buttocks. His clothing rough material not stopping your awareness of his muscular frame and strong body nor the weaponry that is hidden amongst his person in small discreet holsters and pockets and loops. You supposed you could have grabbed one at any time and tried your luck with the soldier distracted as he was driving. Though you felt you’d be assuring your death with such a silly move. Finally there is a clearing, and a small cottage becomes visible just ahead. The moonlight shining through the trees shows a log cabin with a porch. The kind that are now fixed up and sold as “glamping” destinations to rich city kids who want an outdoor adventure roughing it without actually roughing it or having to figure things out on their own. You doubt this cottage experience will leave you wanting to write a glowing review.
The bike rumbles to a standstill and he turns off the motor. He seems to wait a second as if you would hop off the bike. Your body feels frozen in place and you stiffly try to unwrap yourself from him. He slowly tips the bike and simultaneously boots the kickstand down with his left foot. You feel yourself sliding with him in real time, your equilibrium totally dependent on this leather clad, taciturn man.
He pulls your hands off his stomach and coaxes them apart. He then stands and quickly pulls his right leg over the bike, careful to not hit you. You feel him dragging you up to a standing position, he even reaches to pull your right leg up and over the bike so that he practically sets you down on your feet. You wobble and he places his arm around your waist and helps you into the cottage.
The door is unlocked and swings inward to reveal an empty cottage save for a large frame cot bed low to the ground with rough looking netting where a mattress should be and an old-fashioned cook stove that is blackened by years of use.
As your eyes adjust you see that there is also a long, high table along the back wall which makes for an additional cooking surface. A few stray supplies like a cast iron skillet, a kettle, and a few old wooden utensils are haphazardly spread around.
He walks you in the door and dumps you on the bed frame just to the right of the entrance. The bed creaks and rough netting cuts into your cold and chaffed skin. You straighten yourself up on the edge of the bed frame the best you can. The Soldier then slams the cottage door, the crack making you jump. You aren’t so sure you will leave this cottage again.
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Last Mission - Series - Part 2: The long retreat
Last Mission - Series - WS X Reader; BB X Reader
Warnings: kidnapping, dubcon, themes of stalking and voyeurism, smut later and each chapter will have specific warnings as applicable. Minors please do not engage.
Winter Soldier X Reader (she/her); Bucky Barnes X Reader
Summary: you were his mission and unfortunately for you, he was told to bring you in alive
A/N: Would love to hear feedback, constructive criticism, and whatever else you want to say! I love detail and a slow burn but maybe it's too slow? Maybe its not even a spark let alone a burn.... Lemme know!
Part 2: The long retreat
It felt strange to be sitting in traffic, quietly and slowly making your way out of the city. It was rush hour and you were heading in the wrong direction, so it was bumper to bumper. No one spoke. The driver and his passenger didn't make eye contact or speak to one another. Instead they constantly scanned for threats. The super soldier sat next to you on the seat. He took off his glasses and stored them in one of his many pockets. You were pressed up against the door, breathing slowly and counting your breaths as the security training at SHIELD had taught you, trying to get control of your fear to think. However, you knew it wasn't a good scenario for you. They would have known you had left for the day as the SHIELD facilities are biometrically controlled. But the street you were taken from was still far from your apartment, it was busy and full of people but seemingly no one had noticed that you had been kidnapped. And no one had given chase yet. It seemed like you were very cleanly snatched, and you were not due back at work until after the long weekend. It may be Tuesday until anyone noticed that you were gone.
What kind of person doesn't have a single solitary plan for a long weekend? You didn't even call your mother on Sundays as some of your friends did. Honestly, since you moved to New York, your life had consisted of quick stop offs at your favourite restaurants to pick up single meals to take home. SHIELD paid well and NYC was a perfect place for a foodie and the long days and high-pressure environment made sure that your body ached, and your mind was mush at the end of the day.
You cursed yourself under your breath. The soldier slowly turned his head. His bright blue eyes searching your face. His features were blank and unreadable, and he soon grew bored at staring at you and turned away. He swivelled his head to look back out his window and seemed very disinterested in what he saw. This infuriated you. You unthinkingly lunged forward and started to smack him and yell. "Why did you kidnap me? What do you want with me? Let me out this instant!" You started to bang on the windows and roof trying to cause a ruckus as the van was stopped at busy intersection with cars and pedestrians streaming around the vehicle. The soldier took his metal hand and clamped it over your mouth and grabbed your wrists one by one in his other hand, his large hand forcing your wrists together and looping around both your wrists to hold your arms still. He hummed in your ear "Hush, we won’t hurt you. You are my mission. Will you be quiet if I remove my hand from your mouth?" he asked, turning you on the leather seat to look you directly in the eye. Your eyes were swimming with tears, and you nodded your head vigorously. He let go of your wrists and slowly disengaged his hand from your mouth. You immediately screeched like a banshee "What the fuck does that mean? I am your mission? I am just supposed to believe that you aren't going to hurt me? You kidnapped me, are you deranged? Who do you work for? I read in your file that you are Hydra and not to be trusted."
The soldier just stared blankly back at you and then turned to look out the window again. The van had just taken a freeway exit and you were now truly alone, with no one able to see or hear you now. You had missed your ruckus-window that could have saved you. You cursed yourself. You lost precious minutes being frozen by fear when you could have been screaming and crying and pounding on the roof of the van while driving through busy city streets.
The van had hit open highway and it sped down the freeway, taking multiple exits and looping back around. You were trying to keep track of where you were being driven by discreetly typing the exit numbers on your phone and texting them to your friend. You didn't want to draw attention, so you hoped that you were sending messages that made sense. Your phone was hidden under the fold of your dress in your hand closest to the door. The soldier suddenly grabbed your arm and dragged you across the smooth, buttery leather of the seat. He grabbed your wrist and saw your phone in your hand. He grasped the phone and wrenched it easily from your grip with his metal arm.
He crushed the phone, and it made a sickening sound as the glass and metal folded under the pressure like it was made from tinfoil, with powdery debris falling on the van floor. He then searched through the debris in his hand that used to be your brand-new smart phone and strategically broke the tracker that shield IT security had installed, your sim card, and the memory drive of your phone. You hoped you could access your photos on the cloud. But then you remembered: you were not likely to make it out of this scenario alive. Well, maybe your mother will get access to them and take comfort in the way you had diligently documented your new life in NYC and subsequently, the last few months of your life. The touristy photos you took while a wide-eyed newcomer, the work in progress photos of your brand new one bedroom apartment with all new or new-to-you furniture collected over the last few years as you finished school and hopped from job to job, the growing collection of plants and the ways in which you decorated your place to finally feel like home.
Once your phone was smashed the driver made an abrupt exit and seemed to try to be misdirecting someone. Perhaps they thought your former best friend was still speaking to you and would be suspicious of the strange texts you had managed to send. Or that SHIELD would be following behind closely to rescue you. You doubted either of those lifelines were coming. You had left your work computer and phone at the office as Fury would contact you on the encrypted app that was downloaded on your phone with short messages if he needed you. Often a message would say something along the lines of "Report to my office at 08:00 hours". You were unable to respond as a feature of the app as Fury didn't take no for an answer. If you don't show up to his requests, you better be dead or gravely injured. Luckily if he called you in to work on this long weekend you have a great excuse to not respond. If you make it out alive (doubtful) you will hopefully still have a job.
You sighed heavily as the solider threw the broken pieces of your phone out the window of the van. You saw them disappear into the ditch on this deserted highway in upstate New York. The chances of that being a clue for your would-be saviour was slim and none. The soldier then noticed the bags at his feet. He picked them up and set them on the seat. You had the small bag from the department store stuffed with your work clothes and pretty reusable grocery tote that you used for absolutely everything. He slowly started to rifle through them. He pulled your neatly packed and clean bento-style lunchbox out of the floral tote. You had eaten every last bite of your lunch quickly at your desk so that you could go shopping on your lunch break and washed it in the kitchen sink as you mulled over how to respond to rude email from your nemesis in another department. He carefully set the lunchbox on the seat next to him.
He then pulled out the small box from the bakery and opened it. He grabbed a cookie and passed the box up to the two men in the front who each gladly took the other cookie and danish you had purchased yourself. The driver ate the danish and made a satisfied noise after his first bite. You were steaming mad at this because those danishes were the best in Brooklyn. And you would know, you had gone to every bakery in the borough, meticulously keeping track of your reviews in a spreadsheet: too buttery, greasy texture, dough not worked enough or too much, or dry and crumbly. You groaned inwardly at that thought. Maybe if you had been less interested in finding the best bakery in the borough you could have made some friends or gosh, even met a partner! Perhaps you would have been meeting up with these hypothetical friends or partner rather than collecting sad supplies for a lonesome weekend. Maybe you would have been safe had you had people around you waiting on you and checking in with you this sunny afternoon.
The super soldier slowly took his mask off and turned to look at you. He ate the cookie, YOUR COOKIE, while making eye contact. You were frozen watching him chew. He turned his attention back to your stuff when the shoved the final bite into his very full mouth. He pulled the flowers out of the tote next, staring at them for a second like he didn't recognize them before discarding them next to his muscular thigh. He dug around a bit more, checking in your small wallet, including studying your new NY state ID card and looking at your house keys like a curious child. He then picked up the other bag and pulled your fuzzy sweater out. He slowly held it up in front of him and then brought it close to his face. He sniffed and then placed it fully against his face inhaling deeply. For some reason this act was deeply arousing. You rationalized that this must be some sort of stress response, the fact that this scary man with at least 6 weapons visible on his tactical uniform was pulling at your body right now. It was a strange sight to be sure and you zeroed in on his immovable features as he placed your sweater back into the bag. He again discarded it onto the floor and turned back to stare out the window. You felt exposed. And gathered up your things carefully and placed them all into the floral tote. Perhaps it was a bit of optimism that you would get to go home and use that lunch box or wear those work clothes again. You clutched your stuff to your chest, scared and uncertain.
Abruptly, the van turned off the main highway and sped down a narrow, rough road. It was starting to get dark, and the sun was setting immediately in front of you bathing the inside of the van in bright light. You had been driving for quite a while by this time. As the vehicle sped forward into the sunset, you felt wet tears starting to fall down your cheeks. The sun quickly set, and the dusk made it impossible to see any details besides the vague shape of trees outside of your window. Finally, the van slowed, seemingly at random as there was no road to turn down or markers that you could see of any kind. The driver and passenger didn't say anything, but the Winter Soldier grabbed you by the wrist again and pulled you easily towards him. He opened the door as he pulled you out of the van behind him. You stumbled and nearly fell to your knees as he rushed forward. Your body was tense with fear and the van was high from the ground, though you caught and righted yourself. You still clutched your floral bag to you, the paper wrapping of the flowers crinkled with your movements. You stumbled through the bush behind him as he single-mindedly surged forward, not bothering to look back at you at all. You looked back and the van had just turned around and went back the way they came. You used your free hand to pull up your long dress and keep your feet visible to you as you walked through rough ground, exposed roots, and felt the rough branches of shrubs scratch your legs exposed by those stupid new sandals. As dirt and pebbles collected in your shoes you cursed listening to that saleswoman with the smiling face of thick makeup and sunny demeanour. “These are not great shoes to be kidnapped in, Jessica” you thought bitterly.
His metal arm pulled you by the wrist and it was growing increasingly painful. You released an involuntary whine when he had twisted his grip on your wrist, and it pinched. He had tensed up a bit and loosened his grip after you gave a few more sharp intakes of breath.
After walking through the bush a short while a garage suddenly came into view. It was hard to see in the settling dusk, but it was an imposing building once your eyes adjusted. Fear crept in. You had been told that you were to be kept alive. But was this your final location? Were you to be given over to whoever controlled this super soldier and issued his orders?
Surprisingly he turned to you and stopped moving. He pulled you so that your right arm was held in his left, side by side, you were pressed against his side, awkwardly and on unstable feet, still pointlessly clutching your tote to your body and your sundress in your hand. He looked into your eyes, illuminated and shadowed by the growing moon light. Half his face was cast in darkness, but the other half was clear. You could see that his eyes had shifted slightly. They were a clear blue and the pupils focused on you in a way that differed significantly from in the van.
He finally spoke after a few seconds that felt like an eternity.
“If you run, I will hunt you. I always finish my mission. If you run, I won’t hesitate.”
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Last Mission - Series - Part 1: Uneasy Feelings
Last Mission - Series - WS X Reader; BB X Reader
Warnings: kidnapping, dubcon, themes of stalking and voyeurism, smut later and each chapter will have specific warnings
Minors please do not engage.
Winter Soldier X Reader (she/her); Bucky Barnes X Reader
Summary: you were his mission and unfortunately for you, he was told to bring you in alive
A/N: I have some of this written but would love feedback to improve my writing style or flow or story constructions. Would love to hear what works and what doesn’t! The warnings above are more series wide. Will have part/chapter specific warnings as applicable.
This is an AU that I picture as part of WS, though I hope I created my own variant timeline.
Part 1: Uneasy feelings
You looked at yourself in the mirror of a changing room at a high-end department store. You had gone shopping on your lunch break and found a gorgeous sun dress with a high slit up the right hip. It was also super discounted as it was the end of the season. You purchased gladiator sandals that salesperson pushed on you. She had a point, the brown leather straps intricately working up your calf and tying just under your exposed knee did look great with the vibrant orange sun dress. The floral pattern was bold and feminine and the material both silky and flowing. You smoothed the dress over your body and spun in the mirror and for a second remembered that you could be mistaken for an enticing woman in this outfit.
You worked in a pretty strait-laced hierarchical and male dominated environment. You, as a civilian support staff, weren't expected to wear a uniform but you did have to dress in the more formal business style common in Manhattan where you worked. You liked to think you pulled off a bit of fashion within the constraints of these unspoken codes. You occasionally wore heels but often opted for more practical flats as you did a lot of walking at work. Recently, as you walked around the campus you felt like you were being watched. Considering where you worked it was safe to assume that everyone was being watched and tracked from one degree or another, but this sensation felt different. It had only been for a couple of weeks that you felt it.
The shopping trip was a bit of an excuse to take your mind off of work and clear your head before you gave an important update. You figured some retail therapy might be in order as you had been working long hours and hadn't been taking very good care of yourself as a result. Most days off you were too tired to do anything other than read a smutty romance novel for few hours, cook a few things for the week ahead, and do a bit of laundry and cleaning around your place. You didn't have any pets and your home felt rather quiet and stifling, though the high ceilings and big windows made your space perfect for your large collection of houseplants that you happily spoke to as if they could talk back. Cooing over the leaves and putting a finger in the dirt to check on their moisture levels, it brought you satisfaction to see these plants thrive and was perhaps a good sign that you had finally grown up enough to care for all these plants and maintain a steady and stressful job. But something was missing, and you were starting to grow restless now that your student debt was cleared thanks to your ample pay cheques from SHIELD and frugal spending habits developed during years of instability and financially precarious years.
This dress was just the number to make you feel like you had awakened that part of yourself long dormant. You wanted to be seen as enticing, and that thigh high split was just the thing. You paid for your purchases and ran back to the office. You had just enough time to run by the cafeteria for a fresh cup of tea, stop by your desk and drop your things off, and pick up your presentation materials.
You had finished a presentation for a large project committee meeting, in the intimidating board room on one of the highest floors of the SHIELD skyscraper in downtown. You think you killed it. But as the meeting adjourned and emptied out and it was just you and your boss in the room, you decided that now would be a good time to share your concerns. "Director Fury, do you have a minute?"
You had caught him just as he was standing to leave, and he smirked and settled back into his seat, always interested in your perspective of what was going on around you in this context. He joked that he hired you for your perspective and the fact that you still had both eyes, though you know that Fury saw more than most and picked up on subtly like no one you've ever seen. Very good skills for a secret organization's Director, you thought.
You straightened yourself out, screwing up your courage and taking a few deep steadying breaths. Fury quickly interrupted you, "That’s one of the best things about you, Y/N. You do things even though they scare you and even if you aren't sure it's the right course. You commit and you follow through on what’s right."
You stared at this face, trying to read him and failing. You stumbled forward anyway. "Thank you, Fury, that’s very kind. But I think the fact you said that betrays my nerves bringing this topic up to you." You use your pointer finger to make a circular motion in the air, "Is this a good space for a sensitive conversation?"
Fury eyed you cautiously and said "Good catch, Y/N. Thinking like an Agent. Let's step into my office."
You rode the elevator down, quite a few floors until you reached the floor you worked on with Fury. He liked to be in the thick of things, which is why he didn't take a massive executive office on one of the higher floors as past Directors had. You had worked closely with him from the beginning, working on various small things and providing administrative and operational support until he tasked you with a massive project: interdepartmental liaison for Project Insight. You basically made sure that communication between all the sectors of SHIELD went smoothly and your ease dealing with people had garnered attention. More than a few were suspicious of this civilian woman with top secret security clearance and the ear of Nick Fury. You couldn’t blame them but didn’t let their whispers stop you. You had felt something was off on this project. More than a few times you felt you weren’t getting access to all the information your clearance and access allowed. You also had seen some tactical guys watching you closely when touring the munitions and building bays of this massive project. Agent Rumlow in particular followed you like a shadow. But even then, you didn't feel the intensity of the sensation of being followed as you had the last few weeks.
You and Fury settled on the comfortable chairs and couches in his office. It relaxed you a bit. He then put on low music and a few anti-snooping devices to provide you further comfort that it was in fact, just you and him in this conversation.
His uncovered eye bore into you "What is it, Y/N"
"Fury, I know this is a silly thing to say in a place like this but over the past weeks I have felt that I am being watched. Especially in the SHIELD offices, but also when I walk home or take the subway, I still have that sensation. I have even had this sensation when I am home alone, sitting in my living room or at my kitchen table. I am not a paranoid person generally, but I wanted to flag it to you in case it was something. I even used the anti-tracking devices you gave me in my apartment and didn't find any bugs or anything."
"Again, Y/N, you are demonstrating the good instincts of an Agent."
"Or just a woman in the world" you half-joked.
This earned a smirk from Fury. "I can tell you that something does indeed smell off on this project insight business. And that I too have been concerned for you as our singular civilian staff on this project. Some would think that you would be the weak point of this project because you are "just" a civilian. But I know better. You have pointed out the inconsistencies in data and the stories of our fellow collaborators on this project and I fear it's drawn a bit of attention from the Rumlow's within the agency. But I want to assure you that I am aware and have taken certain.... countermeasures to ensure your safety. Your safety is first and foremost on my mind, and I am very proud of you for bringing this to my attention. I know that what I am about to say next may be of a little comfort but it's all I can say: I am watching the watchers very closely."
You let out a breath you didn't know you'd been holding. You trusted Fury and felt like he trusted you too. It was comforting to know you weren't crazy and that he had the situation under control. Though you were still worried. "Okay..." you hesitated and tried to think logically. "Can I get security to follow me around. I am starting to think I may be underestimating the threat level. And respectfully, I am worried that my life is in danger and I have a long commute home to Brooklyn by myself."
"As I said, Y/N, the watchers are being watched. I am confident in this." He let his words sink in and silently watched you again. You twisted your hands together in your lap and took some more steadying breaths. When you finally looked up and met his gaze, it was clear and true, and you felt comforted by his straightforward demeanour. He broke the silence first "I think this has been a particularly shitty week in a long line of shitty weeks. How about you skip out a bit early and enjoy the unusually warm weather?"
You shakily laughed in surprise "You don't have to tell me twice!" You stood up quickly, keen to take his suggestion but also to reflect to him that you trusted him and his assurances. You walked quickly to the door and said over your shoulder "I'd ask you what you are going to do this long weekend, but I wouldn't believe what you told me." Fury laughed, "You'd be right about that - I don't like to acknowledge that I am anything other than Director Fury. But what are your plans, Y/N? Seeing anyone special?"
You had your arms crossed and you casually leaned against the door frame of his office door "Oh of course not, I am far too exhausted for such things. I will just sit at home quietly in the dark until my eyes open at 5am Tuesday morning. Oh and by the way, I won’t be taking my computer home so you'll have to contact me by other means should you wish to. Have a nice weekend, Fury."
"You too, Y/N."
You returned to your desk and packed your lunch containers, stored all the top-secret materials in the hidden safe just outside of Fury's office, and collected your purse. You paused as you grabbed your bag of new purchases and impulsively decided to change into them on your way out of the office. You stepped into a stall in the large bright bathroom and hurriedly changed out of your sensible yet professional work clothes. The pants were high waisted and quite fashionable if you did say so yourself. And the strong air conditioning meant that full coverage was necessary, so your teeth didn't chatter in meetings with agents wearing standard uniforms of wool suits and ties and socks. You pulled your favourite fuzzy sweater over your head and shoved it into the empty shopping bag along with your pants and ballet slipper shoes that you favoured. They were comfortable and went with anything and stayed on as you walked the long hallways and endless stairs of SHIELD headquarters.
Though today, as your dress flapped behind as you strut through the lobby of the building, you felt eyes on you in a new way. You remembered as it was too late that your friend Zahid who was the lobby security manager would be at the front desk and would notice this dress for sure. And it would not go without comment. You had been excited about it but now you felt a touch overexposed.
"Looking good Ms. Y/N. You meeting someone after work?" said Zahid, who had been extra kind to you since you were hired. You slowed down and walked over to the security desk, leaning heavily on the counter. You replied, "Just a date with the guy who works the takeout window at my local ramen shop, unfortunately"
You had looked like a wide-eyed kid when you were first hired. You had plenty of professional experience but never in a context like SHIELD. He had taken you around the campus, introducing you to other people that would prove indispensable in making your time at SHIELD easier: the chef in the cafeteria kitchen who cooked your favourites when you sent a complimentary email after a particularly good week of hot lunches that included shrimp po'boys and steak tacos; the building facilities manager that decided to give you a corner office with lots of natural light so you could keep plants and expensed a new tiered flower stand to make your office homier because you always made sure to say hi when you saw them in the halls; and other indispensable colleagues that could get you in contact with the right people at the right time. Zahid had become one of your only friends in the whole city. He lived in Brooklyn like you with his wife Shareefa and his 3 adorable kids. He doted on them and always had a lovely story about them that made you fantasize about having that sort of life yourself one day, loving husband and all. Zahid was handsome, probably a decade older and always ready with a joke. Your friendship was purely platonic, but he was a voracious flirt.
Zahid shook his head "It's been six months, Ms. Y/N, it’s about time you started living like a young single woman in NYC! And I am sure that dress would be a magnet! You should go stand in the park and wait for them men to line up to chat you up."
You laughed and blushed a bit, his compliments always did put an extra confidence in your manner. You held your head high and said, "Not a bad idea, Zahid, but you know I have no time for men with sweet words and empty gestures."
He shrugged "But if you don't give them a chance, how do you know their gestures are empty?"
"This is an excellent point; one I should perhaps unpack with my therapist next session. But for now I am going to choose to believe that ramen in front of the tv is a fun Friday night that gives me everything that I need. I hope you have a nice long weekend, Zahid. Say hi to Shareefa for me. I will be in on Tuesday at 6am so I hope that I will have more to report to you than whether or not the special was good."
Zahid gave you a broad smile "Enjoy your very expensive soup, Y/N!"
You decided to walk home. You normally took the subway but since it was late September and the sun blazed hot, you decided to enjoy the weather before it turned cold. It had already started getting too cold at night to keep your window open.
You walked through bustling Manhattan and over the Brooklyn bridge. You purchased a few small items along the way, a beautiful bouquet of colourful flowers from a small corner stand, some cookies and a danish for your Saturday morning coffee, some fresh fruit and avocados from the fruit market near your place. You had quite a heavy burden by this point. You stood on the side of the sidewalk near the curb out of the way of the streams of people bustling home. You were a few blocks from the ramen place and knew if you ordered it online, they'd have it ready by the time you made your way over. You looked down at your phone as you mulled your options: chef's special or your regular? Just then you heard a strange noise over the bouncy pop music in your ear buds. Kind of like tires screeching. A sudden breeze pushed your sundress forward and it tangled it around legs. Just then you looked over your shoulder and realized that you were only 6 inches away from a large man leaning out of a black matte van with a sliding door.
You knew him on sight as he was well known around SHIELD offices as an enemy of the state and a very, very dangerous man. He was once described in a meeting as a "pet psychopath" and a "killing machine". The bottom half of his face was masked, and his eyes covered with large, dark glasses that wrapped around his eyes. His dirty chin length dark brown hair framed his face.
You were frozen. Staring into his eyes through the dark glasses for what felt like a full minute but what was in actuality only a few seconds. His arms quickly wrapped around your middle, pulling you and your full bags discreetly into the van. The force of his arms had pressed the wind from your lungs and cut off the possibility of you screaming for help. Once your feet were inside the van, the door quietly rolled and clicked closed and the van sped forward. You were now in his lap, his arms still tightly pressing your arms against your body. You had dropped your bags, so they were strewn around the soldier’s feet. He then dumped you unceremoniously on to the bench seat next to him and turned away, as if you were no longer of interest to him. You scrambled as far as you could away from him and tried to right your dress and cover yourself up. Your legs had been exposed and the dress had twisted over your chest and your black bra was clearly visible. Not a single one of the 3 men in the van paid you any mind. This disinterest in you scared you more than anything. They were very confident that you had nowhere to go and posed no threat to them.
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Hopefully once this fic is finished I will be back to write the remaining requests!!! Sorry for the wait guys but i’m super excited to show you all what i’ve been working on the past week!! (Should be coming out soonish!!)
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Pairing: Sam Wilson x Avenger! Reader
Summary: You are Sam’s partner, in more ways than one, and you’ll always be there for him.
Warnings: angst/fluff, death, violence, weapons, cursing
A/N: Hey everyone! I’m still working on a few requests (I do them in order, so if it takes a little bit for me to get to yours, I’m sorry! I will definitely get to it though). But, I wanted to take a break to write a little something for Sam. I haven’t written for him in a while and I’ve missed it. So, this is the result of that lol. I hope you enjoy and as always, feedback is appreciated! :)
The wind whips around you as you ride your motorcycle through the city.
Clenching your hands, you rev your engine, speeding up to catch up to the civilians stuck in moving trucks driven by the Flag Smashers.
“What’s going on down below?” Sam asks, voice coming through your earpiece.
Revving your engine even harder, you’re now only feet away from the trucks. “Almost there. Gonna have to fix up my baby for me,” you respond before leaping off your motorcycle and grabbing onto the side of one of the trucks.
“Yikes, I saw that. Definitely going to need at least a new coat of paint,” Sam jokes.
“Always the funny guy,” you respond, climbing up to the top of the truck. Walking towards the front, you bend down and smash your fist against the windshield, breaking it. The driver swerves and you hold on tight to not fall off.
“Do I have to listen to this banter for the whole mission?” Bucky asks, en route to your location to help you with the hostages.
“Probably,” Sam replies. “You know how we are.”
Regaining your balance, you shove your arm through the hole you made in the windshield and slam the passenger’s head against the dashboard, knocking him out.
“Here goes nothing,” you whisper to yourself.
Crawling over to the side of the truck, you fling yourself through the passenger door window, landing on top of the Flag Smasher you just rendered unconscious.
The driver stares at you in awe.
“Hey there, I’m Y/N,” you say before pulling out your gun and shooting him in the leg. As he screams out in pain, you take the opportunity to kick him towards the door. Continuing to kick him, you don’t stop until the door flies open and he falls out. Immediately after this, you slide over to the driver’s side, grabbing hold of the steering wheel and shutting the door.
“I’ve gotta say, that was hot as hell,” Sam says.
“Are you watching me?” you ask.
“Always, baby, always,” Sam responds. “And, I’ve got a glorious view.”
“Motherfucker,” you whisper, driving the truck a little farther before coming to a stop and jumping out.
Walking towards the back, you throw open the trunk doors.
“Okay, everyone out. Let’s go.” You put your hands out, helping anyone you can step down off the truck. “There you go. You’re okay.”
Looking over your shoulder, you spot Bucky helping the other truck’s hostages.
“Hostages are secure,” you say into your earpiece.
“Good,” Sam responds. “Because I’m going to need help. Karli headed into the underground tunnels and I’ve lost her.”
“We’re on our way,” Bucky says, looking over at you and nodding.
You nod back before running off towards the tunnels, Bucky following close behind you.
“Sam!?” you yell. “Where are you!?”
“Damn, Y/N. Blow my eardrums out, why don’t you,” Bucky says next to you. “Did you forget we have these?” He gestures towards his earpiece.
“Oh, shut up,” you respond.
You point at the two hallways in front of you. “I’ll go left, you go right,” you say to Bucky, looking over at him for confirmation.
“Sounds good,” Bucky says, nodding his head in agreement. Before he runs off, he turns to look at you. “Be careful.”
“You too. See you in a few.” You take off down the left hallway, eager to find Sam.
“Please be okay,” you whisper to yourself.
“Oh, I’m okay, sweetheart, don’t you worry,” Sam replies in your earpiece.
“You asshole!” you say. “Why didn’t you answer me when I called for you?”
“My connection was out. But, I think I can hear you now because you’re getting closer to me. Also, you’ve been particularly vulgar with the nicknames today. What’s up with that?”
Still running down the hall, you start to see a beam of light. “Well, when you work with the chaotic duo that is Sam and Bucky, you tend to get a little crazy.”
“Oh, you love us. Me, especially.”
Finally reaching the light, you see Sam standing a few feet away from you, his back facing you. You sneak up, not wanting him to notice you.
“Why yes, I do love you more,” you whisper in his ear.
Sam jumps, startled by the sudden intrusion. “What the hell was that!?”
You shrug your shoulders and walk past him. “Just some innocent fun.”
Following you, Sam shakes his head and chuckles. “You always love fun at the worst time.”
“Damn straight,” you say, grinning at him.
After a few minutes of endless wandering, you’re stopped by a gun being pointed at Sam.
“I’d stay still if I were you,” Karli says, holding the gun.
Sharon is on the ground a few feet away, her hands pressing down on a gunshot wound.
“Move and you’ll end up like your friend,” Karli speaks again, gesturing towards Sharon.
Looking over at Sam, you start to panic. “Sam,” you say.
Sam looks at you for a second before turning his attention back to Karli. “I don’t want to hurt you,” he says.
“And, I don’t want to hurt you. But, there’s no other way,” she says. “I’m sorry.”
“There’s always another way,” Sam responds. “Just, trust me. I can help you.”
“I don’t want your help!” Karli yells, putting her finger on the trigger. “You’re just a means to an end.”
Karli starts to slightly press down on the trigger and you fling yourself at Sam, knocking the both of you to the ground.
A gunshot goes off. Waiting to feel some sort of pain, you’re confused when you feel nothing.
Lifting your head off Sam’s chest, you see Sharon standing over Karli, who is lying motionless on the ground.
“Sharon?” you ask.
Sharon looks over at you. “I gotta head off before someone else sees me,” she says. “Are you and Sam okay?”
Nodding, you continue staring at Karli. “Is she…?”
“Yes,” Sharon says. “I’m sorry.”
“No!” Sam yells, rising up from under you. He looks at Sharon accusingly. “What the hell did you do?”
“I saved your life!” she yells back. “The least you can do is thank me.” She looks over at you again. “I’ll see you soon.”
“Be safe,” you say, watching her turn around and leave.
Sam walks over to Karli, checking her pulse quickly before picking her up in his arms.
“I didn’t want it to come to this,” Sam says, looking at you with tears in his eyes.
“I know,” you respond, gently touching his arm. “We’ll get through it together though. Like we always do.”
Sam nods before the both of you walk out to the public, with Karli lying still in his arms.
Watching Sam through the door, you take a sip of your coffee.
“I can feel you staring at me,” Sam says, sitting in a chair on the deck. “Just come on out.”
Putting your mug down, you open the sliding door and walk out.
“Come here,” he says, gesturing for you to sit on his lap. You walk over to him and plop down, wrapping your arms around his neck.
“What’re you thinking about?” you ask, placing your head against his chest.
“Just thinking about what I could’ve done differently.”
Peeking up at him, you start to caress his jaw. “You’ll only drive yourself crazy thinking like that.”
He looks down at you. “I know. I can’t help it though.”
Sighing, you look out at the water. “You give out everything you can and never expect anything in return. I admire you for that.” You look back at him. “But, you need to realize that sometimes our best isn’t always what we want. You did what you could and that’s what matters. Nobody is blaming you and you definitely shouldn’t be blaming yourself.”
Sam looks down at you and smiles. “How is it that you always know just the right thing to say?”
“Maybe it’s because I’m always right,” you joke.
“Oh, that’s definitely not it,” Sam jokes back.
Playfully swatting his arm, you laugh. “Whatever you say, Cap.”
You settle back against his chest and he tightens his grip around you. “As long as I have my partner by my side, I’ll be okay,” he says next to your ear, before kissing the top of your head.
“Good thing you’ll always have me,” you say, smiling. “I love you.”
He kisses you slowly. “I love you too,” he whispers against your lips. “Always and forever, baby.”
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You Weren’t My Mission: Ch. 5
Chapter 5 – Aftermath
TW: panic attack description
Note: Hello! All chapters will have warnings at the beginning of their content and possible triggers. If you find that I miss any triggers, please let me know and I will add them to the chapter warnings as soon as possible. Thank you! <3
Also available on Wattpad and AO3
“I should get going,” Bucky decided, avoiding eye contact once again. As he shifted back into his seat and adjusted his legs to stand, you grasped his upper arm, fingernails scraping the leather sleeve of his jacket.
“No, please don’t.” ･:*:･ﾟ☆
The light pressure of a hand against the center of your back jolted you out of your daze and into reality. You kept your eyes pressed shut as you began to pick up on the sounds around you — the creaking of a chair; running water; distant muffled voices from all around. Nearly all of it was drowned out by the high-pitched ringing in your ears.
As you regained sensation in your fingertips and limbs, you felt a sharp pain in your upper arms. It took a moment to realize that it was of your own doing and you quickly loosened the death grip you held on your arms, fingernails sure to have left deep crescent marks. Knees pressed against your chest, you steadily attempted to relieve your muscles of the tension they held, loosening out of the curled up ball in which you were seated.
The hand on your back rubbed over your shoulder blades before disappearing, a reminder that you weren’t alone — that your panic episode had an unwelcome audience.
You slowly opened your eyes, almost immediately closing them when the dim light of the bar flooded your senses. The hand on your back was replaced by a cool sensation draped over the nape of your neck. Cold water dripped down your back, dampening your shirt, and you reached up to feel a wet dish towel.
You attempted to open your eyes again, this time more cautiously, training your eyes on your knees and focusing on one thing at a time. When you were finally able to open them all the way, you looked up to find Vincent crouched in front of you, a glass of water in one hand and what you assumed to be orange juice in the other.
“Take it easy,” he cautioned, voice soft and eyes filled with concern as you continued to take in your surroundings. You were at the bar, you concluded, but why the fuck were you on the ground?
Your question was answered shortly by the sight of Bucky standing just a few feet behind Vincent, arms crossed and brow furrowed with worry. The events of the past however many minutes replayed in your head as a choppy film reel upon seeing him, only bits and pieces salvaged by your mind. One second you were warming up your cold hands and the next you were tumbling to the ground. From your curled seated position on the floor, you looked Bucky up and down as he stared at his shoes, doing everything in his power to avoid making eye contact as you came to your senses.
You looked back to Vincent and shakily reached to grab the glass of water he held out. With two hands gripping the glass, you took a sip, letting the cold liquid rest on your tongue before swallowing and taking another drink. You repeated the process a few times before setting it down, letting out a shallow breath and looking to Vincent.
“Thank you, I’m so sorry,” you whispered. He looked at though he’d seen a ghost; although he knew things weren’t all smiles in your day-to-day, he’d never seen you in this state before. Nothing in your years of coming here after work had sent you into a panic before, at least not anything as severe as this. He shook his head, rejecting your apology, and reached out to gently rub your shoulder. It was an odd display of sympathy from the man you’d made little more than small talk with for the past year.
“Want some help getting up?” he offered. You gave a small nod and reached to grab his shoulder, which steadied you as you rose slowly to your feet. The world was becoming less and less blurry with each passing moment, the ringing in your ears now a dulled hum. You finally thought to look to Bucky again, whose eyes by now had bore holes into the ground.
Vincent looked nervously between the two of you, the tension thick even to someone with zero context. He gave you a look, a silent question, and you shook your head, assuring him that things were okay. Sure, you were still terrified and winding down, but one more minute of a dead-silent Bucky ominously looming in the background was just going to send you into another round of panic.
You stepped towards the table nearest you and took a seat. Bucky finally looked up at you, reading your face for any sign of what to do. Every part of him was screaming at him to leave, to never see you again and no longer cause you this panic and pain. It’s what he knew to do; he was used to being barked at to leave, to being begged to never show his face again. But it felt unfair to do so without your word. He didn’t necessarily want to leave — he felt responsible for the situation and wanted to do whatever he could to help you — but felt equally obligated to disappear from your life once more.
You gave him a gentle nod in response and he looked to the ground again, clenching his jaw before finding the seat besides yours. Despite your panic attack, you figured that you might as well talk to him. Besides, numbness had washed over you by now, sure to make interacting with Bucky less taxing in the moment at least.
He rested his forearms against the table, which shifted under the added weight, and looked up to meet your gaze. “I’m sorry, I should have known.” While usually hard to read, the guilt he felt shone through his tone like a search light. You felt guilty too — not for having panicked, but for having put him in this uncomfortable situation.
“It’s not your fault,” you assured, letting out a small chuckle and shaking your head in disbelief at the present situation. This all felt ridiculous, the fact that you were seated right next to him and having a conversation, that he was apologizing. “Just been a long day. I guess seeing you just pushed me over the edge.”
“I get it. Get ‘em all the time.”
Bucky was well-acquainted with panic attacks, far too used to waking up from nightmares short of breath with a shrill ringing in his ears. He was plagued by them, and so were you.. The irony of the shared source of your panic attacks being from his time as the Winter Solider didn’t escape him, but you didn’t know that. You nodded, mouthing “same” with a frown as you looked down at your hands in your lap.
The air was still between you two for only a few moments before Vincent approached the table with two glasses of water, setting them down with a wordless glance in your direction and walking back behind the bar. You feigned a grin at Bucky and reached for a glass, body still begging to be hydrated post panic attack.
Bucky sat still, puzzled as his eyes flickered between his glass, your face, and the tabletop. Indecision boiled below his steely surface, only visible to the trained eye via the mild crook in his brow.
“I should get going,” Bucky decided, avoiding eye contact once again. As he shifted back into his seat and adjusted his legs to stand, you grasped his upper arm, fingernails scraping the leather sleeve of his jacket.
“No, please don’t.” He cocked an eyebrow; he’d expected you to be relieved by his absence, not to reject it. You released the hold on his jacket, unaware of how tight you’d gripped the fabric. The two of you were both were shocked by the sudden contact, having never so much as shaken hands before. “I mean,” you joked, “I didn’t panic all for nothing, right? We might as well talk.”
Bucky grimaced and you immediately felt bad for joking around — clearly, the gruff super soldier wasn’t as amused. “I’m just kidding, I really do want to.”
He nodded, finally accepting your word as truth and settling back into his chair. You noticed the way he relaxed his jaw and set his shoulders back; he was getting comfortable and was eased by your desire to be around him. Even in such little time you’d spent with him, you were beginning to pick up on his subtle cues.
You didn’t have much in-mind to talk about, nor where you in the headspace to delve deep into a conversation about the history of your connection. Instead, you decided to keep to small talk. Bucky picked up on the cue and moved along in the surface-level conversation, asking how your day was and about your work.
He didn’t say much about himself — the most you got out of him was that he’d been on a work trip this past weekend. You weren’t expecting much from him, though, in terms of small talk. And, hell, you figured anything he did do was to be kept fairly under wraps. Most of the conversation was weighted on you and you weren’t surprised.
Even with the limited information he shared, Bucky sat intently, as though he were really listening to each thing you said. He asked follow-up questions to aspects of your day, about your relationships with your coworkers and what exactly it was that you did for work.
It wasn’t until you reached for your water glass, only to find it empty, that you realized that you’d spent half an hour talking about nothing more than your day.
“Sorry, I’m not sure why I insisted we talk,” you began, “I guess I-“
“I get it,” he stopped you. “It helps, as a distraction. Sometimes I wish I had one.” You frowned subtly at his admission — surely he had people around that helped him through that kind of stuff, right? Although even if he did, you wouldn’t have been surprised to learn if he was secretive about his struggles regardless.
“I appreciate it.” You meant it. If you’d had to walk home right after your panic attack, you surely would have either passed out on the sidewalk or have gone into a further spiral in the confines of your apartment.
“I think I might need to head home, though. I should eat and rest after,” you fumbled, “all that.”
Bucky agreed and stood. “I’ll walk you home.”
You froze at his offer, mind flooded with conflicting feelings of gratitude, worry, and anxiety. Sure, it’d be nice to not walk home alone — you weren’t even sure if you were physically capable given how exhausted you were. But you didn’t want to further inconvenience him, and your traumatic past with the man made the prospect of him knowing where you lived fearsome.
He scanned your flustered expression; for someone who was so good at shielding his own emotions, he was rather perceptive when it came to others’.
Normally you’d be frustrated by being read so easily, but the inability for your coping brain to form coherent thoughts around him made you grateful for his ability.
“Or, how about a Lyft,” he offered.
Relief washed over you, thankful that you didn’t have to explain your post-traumatic fear. You nodded and thanked him for the offer, grabbing your phone from your bag to call a ride.
A minute later, your ride was selected and the two of you stood outside of the bar as he waited with you. You pushed your hands into your coat pockets as far as they’d go, doing everything in your power to keep from visibly shivering. If the super soldier was affected at all by the winter weather, he didn’t show it; he stood perfectly still, leather jacket unzipped and hands out of his pockets.
“You don’t have to wait around, she’ll be here any minute now,” you told him.
Bucky shook his head, insisting that he wait with you until you got in the car safely.
He wouldn’t say it, but he knew he’d already caused you enough distress for one night — the least he could do was ensure that you got home safely. If it were up to him, he’d be making sure you were getting home safe up until your doorstep; but he understood your hesitation and wasn’t going to push.
You looked up the street and could see the white sedan Lyft a few blocks away, just two red lights between them and the bar. Bucky visibly shifted and you turned to find him peering at you.
“Look, are you sure this-“
“Yes,” you breathily assured. “I’ll be fine. I’m fine.” A short pause and you exhaled, looking up to read his face. He didn’t have to say it for you to know he wasn’t just asking about your ride home, but the situation as a whole. “But if you don’t want to, I get it. I’m sure it’s uncomfortable.”
Wrinkles formed across his forehead as he considered your point before meeting your gaze. “No, I think I’d like to.”
Even with his agreement, you were conscious of the task you, a near-stranger, were asking him to take on. The knowledge of the added stress to his daily life that your request possibly created weighed on you heavily.
“I just know you’re busy, I don’t want to add more work to your plate.”
He scanned your face quizzically, baffled that you’d even consider it that way. If anything, he figured that he owed it to you to help in whatever way he could. It felt like anything but an obligation — he wanted to do it.
“No,” he cautioned, “it’s not like that.”
You squinted at him before looking to the ground and nodding, somewhat confused but grateful.
“Could we maybe set a regular day at least,” you suggested, “it makes me anxious not knowing.”
Bucky agreed and the two of you decided that you’d see each other again the next Monday. As your Lyft pulled up, Bucky put a hand in his jacket pocket and nodded, a silent goodbye.
You walked to the curb, pausing as you got in and turning when you heard Bucky call out behind you.
Once in the back seat, you looked out the window to see him walking the opposite direction down the block. His head hung low, shoulders broad and tense as he took slow steps along the pavement.
In his walk alone, you could see the effects of years being simultaneously on-guard and in hiding. As much as it made you sad to see in a man you knew did no wrong himself, you couldn’t help but see yourself in his composure — always alert, guarded, hypervigilant. All because of something that Bucky hadn’t done, but that Hydra had made the Winter Soldier do.
You were brought back to the present by your driver asking about your night, her voice suggestive at you having been with Bucky outside. You chuckled; oh, if only it were that simple.
A/N: Thank you so much for reading! Honestly it means so much if you’ve even made it this far; this is going very slow and I know that ;-; things will speed up soon, I promise. I just don’t want to skim over the fact that this is a difficult/rocky start to things; it would feel painfully inappropriate to skirt over LOL. Thank you again so much!
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Quotes from Aftermath // 29
“Whew!” He breathed, “Look at you go! Atta girl! Honestly, I didn’t think you’d have it in you anymore. But...Wow! You just…you’re just...just like you used to be.”
“Enough,” you snapped, continuing closer to him, “Give it up. You’ve got nowhere to go.”
“Nowhere?” Wraith laughed, the distorted voice seeming to go lower, “I’ve got everywhere to go! Up, down, sideways! And you can’t stop me, baby!”
| Battle Scarred : Aftermath | »Darke15
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permission - oneshot
soft dark housemate bucky x reader
word count: 3.3k
Bucky has a lot of pent up anger, and lately, you’ve been getting on his nerves
warnings & tags
18+, smut, NONCON (but reader is into it), creampie, p in v sex, unprotected sex, spanking, smidge of violence, slight degradation & praise kinks
written for @sweeterthanthis quote me on it 6k challenge - congrats!! the quote i chose was “besides, isn’t it more exciting when you don’t have permission?” from pulp fiction. this started out as hate sex and somehow evolved into something more. thanks for reading! <3
You don't mean to keep wearing Bucky's hoodies, but yours always seem to be in the wash or on your bedroom floor. You can tell it's getting to him. Stern reminders have become death glares that pierce right through you when you wander into the kitchen wearing one of his hoodies for the fifth day in a row.
It's baffling him, having a housemate. His therapist suggested it, even helping him search through online ads for housemates in the area. He told her that he picked your ad because you seemed friendly in your picture. Looking back, he realizes he should have gone for someone older. More responsible.
If it's not the clothes you keep 'borrowing' from him, it's the unwashed dishes, or the music blaring loudly from your bedroom. Between his housemate and his court-mandated therapy sessions, his only escape is work.
He knows it's unhealthy, inflicting the pain he feels on the people he's fighting. But he can't seem to stop one he's started. Lately, every fight ends in rage and blood. And when he comes home, he's too drained to care about his annoying housemate.
So when his therapist orders him to take a break from the action, he starts coming home with energy to burn.
You're curled up on the couch watching TV when the door slams. The sudden sound is jarring, and too loud to be an accident. Bucky is mad, and you're wearing his hoodie again.
He comes into the kitchen space and sets his bag down. He doesn't even glance your way as he starts unloading the small bag of groceries into the fridge and pantry.
You can't help it, you need to break the tension. "You're home early."
He closes the fridge door. "You're wearing my hoodie. Again."
"Yeah, mine are in the wash, sorry."
He finally looks at you. Well, it's more of a glare. With his jaw clenched.
You don't know why he's gotten so much more angry lately, but you're not about to let him ruin your mood. "What, do you want me to start asking for permission now? Where's the fun in that?"
This only seems to make him more mad. He leans forward, bracing his hands on the kitchen bench, and your gaze is drawn to his dark metal arm. "Take it off," he growls.
You shift a little on the couch. "I - I'm cold, Bucky."
"I'm not asking."
Slowly, you unfurl your legs to get off the couch. Something is different with him. Usually he doesn't like to draw attention to his arm, but right now he seems to want you to see it. To remind you who you're dealing with. But you know he's full of shit. He's a superhero, a good guy. He'd never hurt you.
Instead of taking off his hoodie like he expected, you have the audacity to give him a withering glare of your own, before snorting and heading to your room.
He launches himself over the counter. The sound of him landing makes you turn, but he's on you before you can react.
You are pushed forward against the wall, pinned by his metal hand around the nape of your neck.
He snarls at you while you struggle in vain against his metal grip. It's not painful, but you're very clearly at his mercy.
Furious, you reach behind you and try to push him back. "Fuck you!"
"I'll take it off myself then, shall I?" His other hand starts pulling it up, revealing more of your thigh.
You try to push his hand away. "Wait! Wait Bucky - "
He yanks the hoodie up to reveal your bare naked ass underneath. He looks down. As you go to cover yourself, he bats your hand away, but drops the hoodie back down.
"Not even fucking wearing anything underneath," he growls. You can only squirm as he presses his body against yours. His hips meet your ass and you feel the distinct outline of his hardness. His hot breath fans your ear. "You picked the wrong night, doll."
The rumble of his voice goes straight to your core and you can't help it, your ass presses back against him. Oh, god. You're dead, you're so fucking dead right now. But he's insistently hard against you, and he doesn't seem to be backing off.
Bucky's mind is racing. He's mad, furious, at you, and yet suddenly he's realizing how pliant you've become beneath him.
Fuck it. He grinds himself against you, moving with sudden force that has you gasping against the wall. "You fucking like that?" he asks, his voice much softer than before. Before you can respond he does it again, letting out a slight grunt.
"Y-yes," you gasp, even as humiliation wars with the desire now blooming within you.
The sight of you with your mouth half open and your brows furrowed has his cock straining against his pants. Goddamn he wants more. He wants to bend you down over the closest available surface and draw every ounce of pleasure out of you.
With each thrust against your ass his control is unravelling. He angles your neck to open up more while he nudges his nose against your pulse, and breathes in your scent.
Pine and cedarwood. His hips come to a stop.
"You've been using my soap?" A dark undertone to his words. An anger reawakened.
Your eyes fly open.
Before you can even begin to apologize, the hoodie is ripped off. The cool night air greets your skin for a second before his hulking form is on you again.
With a whir of metal his hand pushes down on your neck and he takes you roughly by the hips. He manipulates your body until you are bent over in the middle of the hallway.
His feet kick your legs until you are spread wide for him. He rubs a hand along the small of your back and sighs. "God fucking dammit woman," he growls. "Look at you."
It shouldn't be such a turn on - god knows he's mad at you - but you feel your pussy get wetter by the way he manhandles you so easily.
The sound of his belt clinking as he takes it off, however, is panic inducing. You're not ready yet, you need time to –
The tip of his cock pushes and slides through your folds.
"Wait!" You blurt the word out even as you keen back against him for more.
"What's the matter, housemate?" He stills your movements with ease, keeping his cock against your pussy. It's just shy of your clit and he knows it. His grip gets harder on your hips as he imagines you chasing your own release using his cock as stimulation.
"I - I don't want it yet - " but your mind is blank as you struggle to come up with a complete sentence.
"Really?" he growls, and he begins pushing against you again, his cock sliding through your increasingly wet folds. The sensation is enough to elicit a whimper from you. "You're not thinking straight, doll. Wanna try again?"
"Need to - oh - " you're cut off when he palms your right cheek. "Need to s-stop - "
He spanks you.
The shock and pain mixes with sudden pleasure. You cry out and fall forward, your forehead touching the wall for a second. Then, he's pulling you back to him with a grunt.
"What you need is not important right now." There's nothing you can do as he holds you still, rubbing your other cheek in preparation. "You're going to take what I give you like a good fucking housemate for once, and you'll like it, yeah?"
Fuck, he's being so mean and you do like it. You like the anticipation as he lifts his hand from your ass in preparation to spank you again. The slick in your pussy must be gushing at this point, dripping down your inner leg.
The sting of his palm is harder this time, but you were ready. You let out a small moan, but manage to keep yourself still, pushing back against his palm.
His metal hand pulls your hips back hard against him. "Answer me," he growls, while his other hand smooths over your back again, feeling the way you've arched yourself for him.
Looking down at you, bent over in the tiny hallway of the little house you two share, he marvels at how quickly you submitted to him. You are much more agreeable like this. He should have done it sooner.
His hand stills over your back. "No?" He demands.
You don't know why you said it. You must be insane to say no to the super soldier who currently has you exactly where he wants you. And you're lying, too. You'll take just about anything he gives you right now. Especially if it's the long, hard, cock, currently resting beneath your pussy.
Biting your lip, you shake your head. "No, Bucky, I don't think I'll take it."
There's a brief moment of quiet.
Then he pulls back until the tip of his cock is prodding against your hole. "I was kind of hoping you'd be stupid enough to try that." He sounds deadly. You're dripping with desperation. You try pushing back against him but he holds you a second longer. Another reminder that he's in control. "Besides, isn't it more exciting when you don't have permission?"
He thrusts into you, filling you with his length.
You cry out at the sensation of being filled. As he bottoms out, hitting that perfect spot inside, your eyes roll back. A rumbled groan from above has your pussy clenching around him in arousal.
Slowly, torturously, he pulls out of you, until only the tip is inside, before thrusting back into you again. He does this a few more times, getting faster, until he gets into a rhythm of fucking you that sends pleasure through you like you've never had before.
"You know what I think?" he grunts.
You try to meet his thrusts, not trusting yourself to speak.
"I think you like wearing my clothes," he accuses softly; so contrary to the harsh grip he has on your body.
You moan and shake your head.
"No?" You can hear the grin in his voice. "You don't love having my scent all over you? Walking around naked beneath my fucking clothes? Acting like you're my woman?"
"Bucky," you whimper, unable to take it. He's filling you up so well, so much better than you ever imagined.
"Admit it," he demands, cold and cruel.
Your pussy gushes with arousal at his words. The pleasure in your core is slowly increasing with each thrust of his cock deep inside.
He spanks you again with a snarl.
Your walls clench around him in pure bliss. "Oh god, yes!" you cry out.
His thrusts get heavier, paired with his deep grunts. You are spread beneath him exactly the way he needs, unable to do anything other than take it. Your pussy clenches around him more and more until you're whining and moving against him with reckless abandon.
"Too much!" you cry out. White hot pleasure is rising within.
"You wanna cum?" He grits out. "Beg."
You shut your eyes as tears threaten to spill. He's really trying hard to humiliate you, and it's working. Inhaling deeply as he rails into you, you push down the embarrassment fluttering in your stomach and focus instead on the pleasure. "Please, Bucky, I'm begging you to let me cum. Please?"
He leans further over you, and the new angle has you seeing stars. You try to hold out as long as you can, waiting for him to say the words. You're panting as each thrust courses through you, building the pressure deep inside.
"Good girl," he says, his voice hoarse, and it sends you over the edge. "Come for me."
You don't have a choice, it's already here. The white hot pleasure explodes inside you, and your walls flutter and clench around his cock. He fucks you through it, reaching deep inside you and hitting that perfect spot over and over. It spreads through every inch of you, waves of pulsing pleasure in tandem with each stroke. Eventually your body is so spent you struggle to stay standing, but he keeps you right where he wants with ease.
Then, his grip tightens on you as he groans something in a language you don't know. He barely pulls out of you, pulling and pushing your bodies together like he can't get enough. The sensation is pure bliss as you feel him finally spend into you. You revel in the way he sounds and feels coming deep inside you. It goes on and on, until he finally slows down.
Bucky did not expect to be fucking you tonight, but he can't deny it, he is completely, utterly, satisfied. All the tension building up from before is gone. At least, momentarily. His half hard cock still inside you makes him realise he could still go a few more rounds.
But you look done for now. Slowly, he lifts you up, keeping your back against his chest with an arm around your torso. His cock slides out in the process, and the little moan you make combined with the view he has over your shoulder has his hardness pressing against your ass again.
You sigh in contentment as he brushes a thumb over one of your nipples.
"I like you like this," he says softly in your ear. Shivers of pleasure flow over your skin at his words. "Shower?"
You nod weakly.
He carries you, avoiding the shredded hoodie on the floor, through to the bathroom. When he sets you on your feet in the shower, the warm water instantly begins to relax your muscles. You watch Bucky pull his shirt off, gaze drawn to the thick muscles he has on his broad chest. There are scars around his shoulder where the metal arm is attached. Swallowing, you continue to stare as he pulls his pants down and steps out of them.
Straightening up, he joins you in the small shower.
You don't know how, but he's hard again. His eyes don't break contact as he reaches behind you to get the soap. Raising an eyebrow, he gives you a lazy smile.
You bite your lip and duck your head. "Sorry about the soap," you say quietly.
"Eh, you've made it up to me."
That makes you smile, as you stare down and inevitably look at his hard cock. Your body tingles pleasantly at the sight.
"Can I clean you up?"
You could get used to hearing his baritone voice so soft and intimate. Shyly, you nod.
He runs the soap over you a few times, then sets it aside. Looking up, you see his eyes focused on your body as he runs his hands over you. His right hand is calloused and featherlight over your skin, running over your waist and up to your breasts. He cups them and massages them firmly.
The water runs down your face as you lift your head back under it and close your eyes. You want his hands everywhere.
Then, he brings his metal arm around you lower back and pulls you flush against him. His hardness burns firmly against your belly. By the tilt of his head and the tension in his jaw, you know he wants you again. Now.
This time, he takes you from the front. Bracing himself on the wall behind you, he lifts you up with ease and cages you in with his broad body. You wrap your legs around his hips for support, as anticipation curls inside.
He waits, watching your breasts as your nipples grow hard from the coldness of the wall. A satisfied growl rumbles from his chest.
"Bucky," you say, brows furrowing, "please, need you inside me."
"So submissive for me, doll," he groans, as he leans forward and slants his mouth against yours.
Opening your mouth for him, you fall apart as his tongue tastes your lips.
He eases you down on his cock. The kiss gets stronger, more desperate and wild, as he consumes your moans of pleasure. His own grunts follow when he starts fucking you against the wall.
You can already feel your second orgasm coming. You're settled firmly between him and the wall, so each thrust only serves to stretch your pussy further and bring you down harder on him.
The glass is fogging up as the world fades away until it's only Bucky, kissing you, holding you, fucking you.
You throw your head back as he brings you to the edge. The coil of pleasure inside is getting harder and harder to hold back.
He is relentless, his cock filling your tightness, while he kisses down your chin, your jawline, and your neck.
"Bucky." It's quiet but you know he can hear.
He pulls away from your collarbones and leans in, his forehead against yours. You are consumed by the feral look in his eyes. "It's okay. Cum for me."
You fall apart at his command. Between him and the wall you're pressed against, there's nothing you can do but take it. Your muscles contract around him and you let out a whimper as his cock brings you over the edge again. Warm, intense pleasure floods your body.
He watches you orgasm so intensely, it's almost scary, but he doesn't slow his pace. When he glances down, he lets out a pained moan at the sight of his cock impaling you and suddenly he's going even faster, stronger. "So good - oh - oh fuck yes - " He groans as hot spurts of his cum fill you from deep inside. At the same time there's a sudden slam beside your head.
Dust puffs out from the hole his metal fist just made in the wall. He knows he should be shocked, but all he can think about is the way you're taking him so damn well right now. In fact, you show no signs of fear when he glances back up at you. Jesus, he thinks, does nothing scare her? As he finally stills inside of you, panting, he marvels at the way you look at him.
You watch almost hungrily as he extracts his metal fist from the wall. Pieces of crumbling plaster hit the shower floor as dust is washed down the drain. As he flexes his metal hand, your pussy clenches.
He hisses. "Fuck, doll."
"Sorry." You didn't realise how much you liked his metal arm, but you can't seem to look away from it.
His eyes darken as he catches you staring at it. With almost no effort, he lifts you from the wall and sets you down away from the debris. In the process, he pulls out of you, and you can feel him dripping down your leg.
He leans back under the shower water for a moment, running his hands through his hair. Christ.
"How was I?"
You blink. "What?"
He ducks out of the water. "The sex. Did you like it?"
Your heart skips a beat. "Oh." You notice he's deliberately not meeting your gaze; his eyes flicking between the hole in the wall, and the floor. "Yep - yes. It was good."
He nods; clears his throat. "Good."
You narrow your eyes at him. A minute ago he was fucking you against a wall, and now he's too shy to even look at you? You can't figure this man out. "Everything okay?"
"I'll pay for the wall," is all he says as he goes to leave.
Your heart sinks; something's wrong. His frame takes up so much of the shower, you have to back up as much as you can to let him pass.
As he brushes past you, he hesitates. Then, he looks at you; studying your face. "I really don't scare you?" He gestures to the hole in the wall.
Oh. Your gaze softens. "No, Bucky."
His chest rises and falls, and there's a hint of vulnerability in his eyes. Before you can say anything else, he leans in and kisses you again.
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The Happy Year [Chapter 4]
Chapter 4: I Already Miss You
Summary: Her family celebrates Connor’s birthday and Sebastian comes to it.
Warnings: Slight angst. Cursing. Flashback of fluffy and soft Sebastian.
Word Count: 6.0k
A/N: Gosh this past two weeks were hectic, but I graduated! Anyway, this chapter is a doozy. And I had to use “Y/n” a couple of times for clarity (and I hated it but you guys would be too confused if I had not).
This work is to not be published or stolen in any way. This was written using my imagination and has no correlation to real life Sebastian Stan or any other real life people mentioned. If this story is similar to another work, then it is entirely by coincidence.
March 12, 2021
“So he’s coming today?” Leiyah asks as they set up the table. Connor was turning fifteen today and they were trying to make the dining room presentable. They were going to have the party outside but decided against it since there were too many wasps flying around.
“Yes,” she sighs as she ties some balloons to the back of the chairs. “I haven’t told the others we broke up so don’t say anything.”
“You guys broke up?” Diego yells as he chews on cheese balls.
She cringes, “Shush, Diego, don’t say anything, please.”
“Wait, what happened?” He asks as he plops onto the table.
Leiyah shakes her head, “If you’re going to be in here, you need to tie these balloons to the chairs.”
Diego takes a couple of balloons without complaining, “What happened?”
Y/n sighs before wiping the cheeseball crumbs off the table, “We broke up.”
“Gee, I didn’t get the memo,” he rolls his eyes. “How?”
She knew she couldn’t spill Sebastian being in a public relationship with anyone. Even if he did not explicitly tell her she could not, she knew better. She did not want to jeopardize his career or someone affect him in any way. She wanted to be done with him already.
But she did tell Leiyah though because she had to. The situation kept gnawing at her and it made her feel uneasy. And while her entire family were insanely loyal that they would cover up a murder if they had to, she still wasn’t going to tell them the truth. If they started asking questions later on, maybe she would spill, but not now.
“I saw messages of another girl on his phone,” she comments and shrugs.
Diego raises his eyebrows and stops tying the balloons, “You’re lying.”
She shakes her head, “I wish I was.”
“When did all this happen?”
“Last week...I don’t want to talk about it right now. I’ll tell you more details later, okay?”
He folds her arms, “So are we trying to break his arm or what?”
“Don’t do anything stupid now,” she grumbles. “He’ll probably sue.”
Leiyah lets out a snort, “We can afford it.”
“Guys,” she rolls her eyes. “I didn’t tell Mom or the others, so just please, keep this to yourselves.”
Diego stands up, “You know, I may have loved the Winter Soldier but not anymore. Fuck him and his show.” He walks up to her and pulls her into a hug. “I’m sorry this happened to you, sis, he doesn’t deserve you.”
“Thank you, Diego,” she gives him a small smile within the hug. Despite them having a five year difference, he has always been protective of his siblings. He was the muscle of the group and stood tall at 6’6” with a beefy body.
Diego releases her from the hug and then Connor walks in, “Connor! How’s it going, birthday boy?”
Connor lets out a nervous chuckle, running his fingers through his blonde hair, “I was wondering when you were getting here.”
“You know I couldn’t miss your special day,” Diego smiles. Connor pulls him into a hug and Diego ruffles up his hair. “I should take you to get a fade, man.”
Connor shakes his head, “But I like it this long.”
“You don’t want to go short?”
“No, not right now,” Connor says. He walks over towards Leiyah and greets her. Then, he finds his way to Y/n through the chairs and she pulls him into a tight hug.
“Happy birthday, Connor,” Y/n says. He was getting taller and was not going to stop growing anytime soon. She had always been taller than him but now he was a few inches taller than her. “Sebastian will be here soon.”
“Why didn’t you guys come together?” He asks. She releases him from their hug and thinks of a quick reply.
“He needed to get his car fixed and they were taking longer than expected, so I just decided to leave before him so I could help set up,” she lies. He nods his head. “Where’s Vinny and Carla?”
“Vinny was still showering when I came downstairs and Carla was finishing putting on her makeup,” Connor scrunches his face and it makes her laugh. He walks away and starts cleaning the dishes. Even though it was his birthday, their mother was still putting him to work.
The doorbell had rang and Y/n and Leiyah shared a look. Now was the time. She let out a shaky breath and decided that she needed to open the door instead of Diego. She knew that Diego would try to size him up and she did not want any of that happening while they were celebrating Connor.
“I’ll get it,” she rubs her hands along her pantsuit and walks towards the door with Diego on her tail. “Don’t do anything stupid.”
“I won’t,” he hisses.
“I’m trusting you.”
She exhales as she opens the door. Sebastian stood there on the other side of the glass door and she sent Diego one last warning. She opened the glass door for him and let him walk in.
“Hey,” he gives her a small smile. It was brief and it did not reach his eyes. He was balancing a stack of gifts on one of his hands. “How’s it going, Diego?” He holds out his hand for him to dab him up.
Diego clenches his jaw and glances down at his hand. Instead of dabbing it, he leaves him hanging and walks back towards the dining table. Diego was taller and bigger than Sebastian so it was uncomfortable standing between the two of them.
“Sorry,” she mumbles as Sebastian shoves his hand down his pocket. “Leiyah and him know.”
“You told him that quickly?” He asks. He seemed upset and she wanted to roll her eyes at him. He didn’t get to be upset in this situation.
She shrugs her shoulders, “I only told Leiyah but he walked in on us talking about it.”
He lets out a sigh and it makes her a bit mad. Why was he so mad at some of her siblings knowing? It wasn’t like the entire family knew. Besides, it was better to start saying it out loud instead of pretending they were still something they were not.
“Mackie and Chris are coming in about an hour,” he glances down at his watch.
She nods, “Okay, here let me take your gifts.” She grabs the two bags and three neatly, wrapped blue boxes from him. “Oh wow, this one is heavy--but my mom is finishing up the food. She’s pretty much done with it if you want to grab something. Connor is also in the kitchen.”
She places Sebastian’s gift on the corner of the floor they designated for Connor’s gifts. The table of where they were supposed to place all of his gifts was already full. Their birthdays were a day each of them took seriously since it was their real birthday, not the day they got adopted. It was the one thing they all shared individually that tied them to their biological families.
Birthdays were a special day in their household. It was always noted that one gift had to be handmade and the others could be store bought or whatever they chose. There also had to be a gag gift that was considered an inside joke that outsiders would not understand.
She walks towards the dining room and Sebastian separates from her to greet her mom and Connor. She watches from afar as Connor’s face lights up when he hugs him from behind as he washes the dishes. His pale cheeks flush pink and his ears burn red.
Sebastian catches her eye from the kitchen and it makes her turn away. He feels his heart clench as he tears his attention away from her and looks down at Connor.
“I got you a surprise,” he tells him.
Connor chuckles, “Thank you, but you didn’t have to do that.”
“It’s okay, it’s on me,” he says and squeezes his shoulders.
“Thank you, Sebastian.”
“Of course,” Sebastian pulls him into another hug, enjoying the moment with him.
Out of all her siblings, Connor was his favorite. He was a little kid that still had a bright, innocent laugh that would sound whenever he was having a good time. He enjoyed small things, like family and hugs, and never asked for much. It was nice having someone young around; Sebastian was going to miss him the most.
Sebastian saunters towards the dining room and greets Leiyah, “Hey.” He gives her a side hug that she returns briefly. Diego is across the two of them, eyeing Sebastian down but Sebastian does not care. “Where’s your sister?”
“She went upstairs,” Leiyah says.
Sebastian nods and finds his way towards the stairs, he needed to tell her what was on his mind now before he lost the courage. He truds up the stairs and surveys the corridor of where she could be. He had only been upstairs a handful of times but knew that she didn’t have a bedroom here. This was the house her family had moved into last year so there were fewer rooms.
He sucks in his breath and knocks on the door that was already ajar. He realizes immediately it was not where she was once Vinny opens the door.
“Oh, what’s up, bro?” Vinny greets and pushes up his glasses before offering his hand out. Sebastian dabs him up. He was towel drying his hair with his other hand.
“Hey, how are you?” Sebastian chuckles. “I was looking for your sister.”
“Oh, check in Carla’s room or the guest room,” he says and points at the last two doors down the hall. “I’ll be downstairs in a second.”
Sebastian nods before walking down the hallway and listening silently on guessing which door led to who. The door behind him opened and he immediately turned towards it, the sudden opening startled him. She was standing in the door frame unamused.
“Sorry--I was looking for you,” he grimaces. “Can we talk please?”
“Sure,” she says. “Come in.” He walks in the bedroom and notices the painting on the side of the wall. It was one of Vinny’s pieces; he drew all of the family’s artwork. This certain piece contained six hands reaching out to hold onto each other but their hands were made of different details. Each of the hands represented her and her siblings and the hand made out of roses represented her. Sebastian knew this because there were always small accents of roses in her house, her favorite flower.
The bedsheets were a neutral grey color and the walls were also painted light grey. A year ago, this room was empty and colorless but they have furnished it now.
“I--um, wanted to get something off of my mind,” Sebastian pries his eyes off of the painting and looks at her. “I need you to hear it.”
He rubs the back of his neck and tugs on the ends of his hair, “I know it’s not what you want to hear right now, but I miss you. I miss our mornings outside. Our cuddle sessions on your tiny couch and us fighting over the blankets at night.” He lets out a nervous chuckle. “And I already miss your family even though I technically still have the rest of the day with them.”
She looks away at him. He could not be doing this while she was already trying to get over him. “Sebastian--”
He looks down, “I know I shouldn’t say anything right now because it’s not ideal--but you have to know that I didn’t want this to happen. I didn’t see this happening at all and was completely blindsided.”
“How do you think I feel?” She groans. “Do you think I wasn’t blindsided?”
He pinches his eyes, “Fuck, poor use of words--”
“You have always lied to me,” she says. She pushes down the lump in her throat forming. “Actually, you didn’t lie to me--you withheld the truth from me which is worse. Especially when the truth is important as you being a fucking A-list actor. I didn’t know you had been living this whole other life before Thanksgiving. Fucking Thanksgiving. You had eight months to say something, but you didn’t.”
Sebastian slouches his shoulders, “I know.”
“And then you find out about your contract thing and you had two months to tell me,” she runs her hands through her hair. “You don’t get to miss me. You did this shit to yourself and ruined whatever the fuck we had going on.”
Sebastian sits against the guest bedroom’s couch, “I know.”
“Were you ever going to tell me about that contract? Truthfully?” She asks and Sebastian bites his lips.
“I meant to tell you that day but it was your birthday and I couldn’t do that to you. You were so excited to be with your family that I didn’t want to ruin the day,” he clasps his hands together. “I wanted to tell you everyday after that but never had the balls to do it. I love you and I didn’t want to see you get hurt.”
“So...you just kept waiting and lying?”
He turns his head shamefully, “Yes. I forgot about us planning the cabin trip--I didn’t think we would make it, but when you told me you finally booked it, I didn’t want to ruin something else. And then I thought about telling you before the trip so you could have a week-getaway thing, but...I didn’t.”
She lets out a bitter chuckle, “You know, you used to preach about open communication between the two of us but never told the truth yourself.”
Sebastian bites his lip and looks up at her. She was beginning to slowly pace around the room and he knew that if they continued the conversation any longer, she would start pacing faster.
“I can’t even tell if he’s fucking lying or not,” she whispers to herself but he overhears it. He runs his tongue against his teeth.
“I’m not lying,” he says.
“How would I even know?” She sends him a look and it makes him turn away. Even though he knew he was not going to make matters any better, he thought that he should at least try. But staring at her now, he didn’t think he had the chance. “This whole relationship was built on a lie. After me thinking you were a fucking stripper and then believing you when you said you were in the charge of the theatre down--whatever that steet was--I actually believed you. God, I was so gullible and you reeled in it.”
“Don’t call me that.”
“Stop pacing,” he gets up and steps in front of her. She halts at his feet. “I have never lied about loving you. Never. Not once. I enjoyed every moment and second that I spent with you. Believe me when I say that.”
She lets out a sigh and looks up at him. His piercing blue eyes were searching for something in hers and they were pleading with her. His eyes were tired, more tired than the week she saw him. She could also sense the hurt and vulnerability seeping out of them.
He’s a good actor, the thought crept on her and it made her turn away, “I don’t know how I could ever trust you again after you...used your acting skills against me. I was always truthful to you and spoke my mind, but you were using a filter. You knew when we were about to end while you let me live obliviously. You knew we weren’t going to last, but you still woke up each morning, gave me kisses, and walked around the house like things weren’t going to go to shit in a couple of weeks.”
He nods his head slowly and lets her talk. There’s hesitation in her voice but he could tell she was sure of what she was saying. She was thinking about every word before she said it.
“You’re fucking sick,” she comments. Her voice is weak and it breaks his heart knowing that he put her in this situation. He ruined her. He watches her wipe a stray tear from her eye and she slumps against the end of the bed.
“I just--I need time from all of...this,” she glances at him but then turns away when she notices him already looking back at her. “Plus, Sebastian, you have to focus on Alexis. I don’t want to distract you from whatever you’re supposed to do with her.”
He swallows and stays silent. He was at a loss of words again.
“Fuck,” she lets out another tired sigh and it makes him a bit worried because her tone was different. She sounded exhausted and uneasy. “Why did you let us drag on for so long if you knew we wouldn’t work out? Why would you do that? How could...how could a person do that?”
Sebastian bites his lip as he watches her pained expression. He sat down on the couch and they were a few feet apart.
“I liked having you around,” he says. “I liked going over to your place or just talking to you across your balcony because you didn’t know who I was. You didn’t have this impression of me already from tabloids or social media. You just had what was in front of you.”
He runs his fingers through his hair and hopes that she hears him entirely, “I hadn’t met someone so close--and someone so intriguing as you--that didn’t know me, or pretended, that they didn’t know who I was. And to walk out of my balcony, getting to enjoy my privacy, was a blessing. I didn’t have to worry about you stalking me, or trying to find some latest gossip, or spill out my identity to everyone. It was nice.”
Sebastian stands up and slowly walks around the room to the dresser. It was empty with a couple of souvenirs bought from vacation spots. He could tell because the month and year of when the pieces were gathered were engraved in them, most likely carved by Vinny.
He looks back at her, “Like I said before, I was selfish. I wasn’t thinking about you or thinking about how long I could keep me being a celebrity a secret. I had decided that once the lockdown was over, I’d tell you, or at least stop talking to you a lot--that we would go our separate ways and back to the lives we were living...but that didn’t happen. I realized that I didn’t want to go back to what I was doing without you by my side.”
He searches her face for her to say something. She was hearing all of his words and he knew she believed them. She looks up at him after his silence, “I want to blame you for hurting me, but I guess I can’t.”
He kneels in front of her, “What do you mean you can’t? I hurt you, doll. At a greater amount than any person should endure.”
“I know but--”
“There’s no justifying what I did,” he stares into those same brown eyes that made his knees melt. He cradles her cheek and swipes his thumb down her jaw. He removes his hand.
“You sound like you’re trying to gaslight the situation.”
He lets out a chuckle, “I’m not. I’m telling you the truth because you’re trying to defend me when you shouldn’t.”
She lets out a sigh and toys with his fingers before bringing up one of her hands to the side of his face. She knew she shouldn’t touch him so intimately but she couldn’t resist. He closes his eyes and relaxes in her touch. “But you don’t have a choice this time, so it isn’t your fault. Yes, you have lied to me, but there was a reason behind it. You were trying to protect me--an awful way of trying to and it backfiring.” The two of them let out a laugh. “Don’t laugh at my pain.”
“But you were laughing!”
“So we’re gaslighting again,” she raises her eyebrows and he lets out another thunderous laugh. He tilts his head back and she is met with his pearly whites. She grins at his reaction and has the urge to wrap her arms around him but she resists. He looked so beautiful in front of her, still on his knees. His elbows were propped against the bed frame around her knees.
His laugh dies down, “I’m sorry about all of this.”
“I know,” she gives him a sad smile. She runs her fingers through his long hair, wanting to feel the way it felt. It wasn’t dyed black yet and still his natural brown color, but it had gotten longer since last week. “I wish you would’ve told me. It would’ve still hurt but at least I’d have a heads up.”
He grabs a hold of her hands and kisses them, “I didn’t want to see you in pain at all.”
The two of them share a longing look and she realizes that she’s okay with parting ways with him like this. She would need time to get over him, but they weren’t ending off a bad note which was a good thing. She didn’t want them to end off with bad blood between them, but she still didn’t know what this meant.
Instead of asking him, she pulls him into a hug and he sinks into her embrace. He holds her tightly as she rests her head on his shoulder.
“I already miss you,” he says, his voice muffled.
They stay hugging each other for another couple of minutes. Sebastian was rubbing circles on her back and relaxing in her touch. He didn’t want to let go because he knew it would be officially over once he did.
“I’m sorry,” he whispers. “I’m so sorry, sweetheart.”
She could feel a tear threatening to escape and he bit his lip to stop himself from crying as well. He was glad that there was no longer tension between them, and that she seemed to understand as best as she could, but he knew she was still hurt. The next few weeks would also hurt her more because he would start having to go public with Alexis.
He lets go of her embrace and pulls her to her feet, “We should head back downstairs.”
She nods and lets go of him. He leans in to kiss her forehead before going towards the door. He twists the door knob and lets her walk in front of him and they walk down the stairs quietly. Diego eyes them suspiciously as they enter the dining room. She rolls her eyes once Diego’s eyes connect with hers.
“Sebastian, are you going to be here for Adoption Day?” Vinny asks as he unfolds the tablecloth. Sebastian helps him without him having to ask and he looks at her quickly.
“Adoption Day is a day we celebrate us all getting adopted,” she says. “If you were to add up all of our birthdays and divide it by six, the average is roughly 3.18 so we call March 18th our Adoption Day. It’s just another day where we celebrate with each other.”
Sebastian chuckles, “You guys make up your own holidays?”
“Just that one,” she gives him a soft smile, reminiscing about the day. “Mom would let us stay home if the day landed on a school day.”
He keeps grinning and then his smile slowly falters. March 18 was the day before TFATWS released. He would be doing a lot of press that day but that would also mean he would have to be seen Alexis that day. He didn’t know how the rest of her siblings would react to him being with someone else other than their sister.
He looks up and Conner is already looking at him, waiting for his response. He looks giddy and there is a sparkle in his eye that makes him know he is desperately wanting him to say yes, that he will be there. Sebastian twists his face into a thin smile, “What time does the gathering start?”
Vinny shrugs, “Usually, it’s an all day type of thing, but you can just come for dinner or bowling with us. That won’t be until like seven or so.”
Sebastian nods his head slowly, “I’ll see if I can fit it in my schedule. The Falcon and the Winter Soldier releases the day after that, so I will have to double check--but I do look forward to going if I can.”
Conner chimes, “Oh that’s right! That’s going to be super fun. We’re gonna stay up until three A.M. to watch it, right Diego?”
Diego glances at Y/n who purses her lips. There was tension in the air and Sebastian felt it instantly. Diego shifts his gaze back to Connor, “Of course, bro.”
Before Sebastian could say something, there’s a knock on the door. Sebastian thanks the universe silently because he didn’t know how to respond to their comments.
“Who’s that?” Vinny asks.
“I’ll get it,” Y/n says and eyes Sebastian. The two of them walk to the door and Sebastian opens it. Chris and Anthony were bearing gifts as they tried to wave at the pair. She lets out a chuckle and holds the door for them, “Come in.”
Sebastian greets the both of them as they walk in, “You guys came earlier than I thought you would.”
Anthony shrugs, “You’re either early or late.”
Sebastian grins as he realizes where his words are from, “Ha ha, very funny.”
Anthony bends down to give Y/n a side hug that turns out to be awkward from him holding the gifts, “Hello, beautiful, how are you?”
“Don’t flirt with my girl,” Sebastian interjects.
Anthony gives him a look, “Last I heard, you broke her heart.”
Sebastian stutters and stays quiet, “I-”
“O-kay,” Chris interrupts them, “my hand is getting tired from carrying these, where should I put them?”
“Down at that table,” Y/n motions. She looks at Sebastian for a moment and his cheeks are tinged pink. He winces and then focuses on surprising Connor. He walks towards the dining table where Connor has sat down while eating a bowl of nachos.
“Remember I said I have a surprise?” Sebastian asks and Connor nods, queso slipping out of his lips. “Well…”
Chris and Anthony stroll in behind him and Connor smiles widely, “No way.”
Sebastian chuckles, “Conner, meet Chris Evans and Anthony Mackie.”
Connor stands up and laughs, “I know who they are.” He dabs up both of them. “This is crazy.”
April 12, 2020
The two of them were spending more and more time with each other and he was surprised she was still managing to get work done for school. There were times when he would come over and silently read a book on the couch while she was studying on her kitchen table, like right now. There were so many textbooks sprawled out on the table, and she was wearing these blue light glasses to protect her eyes from staring at her laptop screen that made her look adorable.
He was staring at her and tapping his pencil against the hardcover’s spine. He watches her blow out a raspberry and then rub her forehead. She was growing tired and had been working for the past three hours.
Sebastian closes the book, gets up and treks towards her. He pulls out the dining chair beside her and plops down on it.
“Truth or dare?” She asks and sends Sebastian a devilish smirk. He laughs to himself because although she seemed tired, her demeanor had now changed.
She throws her head back and sets down her pen in one of her spirals, “Choose dare.”
Sebastian tilts his head as leans back into the wooden chair. His black hoodie he wore was now covered in white fuzz from the new blanket she impulsively purchased. He scans her face and she sends him an exhausted smile. His eyes flicker down to her lips, “Hmm, I don’t think that’s how the game works.”
“Say dare,” she pleads. She shuts her laptop and then turns back to him waiting for his response.
“Fine,” he gives in, “dare.”
She breaks out into a smile, “I dare you to take me to the park so we can watch the stars.”
“There’s a curfew,” Sebastian frowns. The sudden idea of running to the park did not seem bad at all. If someone were to tell him that he was going to consider running to the park past midnight with the girl next door, he would have laughed and never thought twice about the situation. But he could not deny any longer that she was starting to grow on him. He always wanted to be in her presence, even if she wasn’t paying attention to him.
“You still have to walk home anyway, Mr. ‘There’s-a-curfew,’” she mocks.
He breaks out into a smile, “It’s New York, you know there aren’t stars.”
Her frown deepens and he suddenly feels bad that he has struck a nerve, “A girl can dream.”
“It’s a full moon,” he comments. “And there are some clouds, so how about we go to your balcony, lay on the floor, and watch them move by?”
She smiles and it makes Sebastian blush. She gets up and rushes to the couch grabbing pillows and blankets, “Come on!”
“I’m coming,” he snickers. He grabs another blanket because he knew it was chilly. “Shouldn’t we get a thicker blanket to put on the floor?”
“You’re smart!” She yells from outside. He watches her place the pile of pillows and blankets on one of her chairs. She peeks back inside, “Go to my bedroom, and there’s a big blanket folded on the floor, grab that.”
He nods, but a part of him also hesitates because it was his first time seeing her room. He knew that when you were the guest at someone’s house, bedrooms were off-limits unless they were invited into. He knew that they were sacred to some and people were often embarrassed of showing that part of themselves to someone they just met.
He pushes her door open softly and scans the room. There are portraits hanging on the wall of her bed and flowers lined up on her dressers. There is a jacket draped on her bed that she must have put in a hurry because he could tell it was flung on there. Her bed was neatly done and he spotted the blanket she mentioned. He grabs the pink duvet and looks down at the small table that holds a pot.
There was a framed picture of six people, and he found her immediately. She wore a toothy grin and it made the edges of his mouth curl. She had her hand wrapped around a young blonde boy and he realized then that they had to her siblings. None of them looked like each other but they all seemed close.
“Sebastian!” She yells from the kitchen and he shakes his head out of his trance. He walks out of her bedroom and she is smiling. The same smile from the picture and again he feels his heart flutter.
“Which blanket do you want to use?” She asks once he steps outside. She grabs the pink duvet from his hand and folds it in half to put more cushion between them and the ground. She throws the extra blankets on top of the duvet and then the pillows.
“Whichever,” he says. He placed the other blanket he had under his arm onto the floor and crouched down beside her. “Do you want me to bring you a jacket?”
She shakes her head, “No, I’ll be okay.”
He knew that she was going to get colder in a couple of minutes because he was already feeling the cold air seep through his jacket. And if he was wearing a hoodie, she was definitely cold in her long sleeve shirt.
He shuffles his legs underneath the blankets and lays down. He glanced at the night sky and the clouds were moving swiftly past the bright, full moon. She looks at him and lets out a laugh. He shifts his eyes onto her and she hides a childish grin.
He furrows his eyebrows, “What?”
“Nothing,” she says and leans back. The two of them are close that their shoulders are brushing against each other, and he notices this is the closest they have ever been. “I have never watched the stars at night, and I feel like this is something that happens in romantic movies--although it feels not as romantic as I imagined.”
He lets out a shaky laugh, “Trust me, it’s never as romantic as the actors make it seem.”
“How would you know that? Actors always make these scenes look beautiful and romantic.”
He’s suddenly thankful that she can’t see his cheeks because they were starting to turn pink, “Directors make the scene look romantic, the actors just do what the scene asks of them.”
She grunts, “You’re such a glass half-empty guy.”
“No,” he turns towards her. “It’s the truth. When actors are acting, the scene is very quiet and they don’t think much of it. Just that they need to convey what the script says.”
“How do you know that?” She turns towards him and by instinct his eyes trail down to her lips. He turns away from her before she can notice.
“I work in a theatre, remember?”
She rolls her eyes, “Mhmm.”
He feels her shudder as a breeze blows by. He places a hand on the back of his head and offers her the extra blanket from beside him. He fans it on her with his free hand and feels her move closer to him. He smiles, “Told you it was cold.”
He tempts on the idea of pulling her closer to him so that she could get some of his body heat but he rids of the idea quickly. He didn’t want to overstep on any boundaries.
The two of them are silent as they watch the clouds go by.
“Where do you see the both of us going after the pandemic is over?” She asks. She moves a bit closer to him and pokes at his arm. He gives her a small smile and wraps his arm around her, and she snuggles into his armpit. She keeps her hand tucked in his side and never lets it drape onto his chest.
Sebastian glances at her and then follows the trail of the moon beaming on her. Down to her nose, her jaw, and then neck.
He had no clue when the pandemic was going to be over, but even when it was, he wouldn’t know where they would stand. He would have to return to filming for a month--possibly two--and then she would start going back to work at the clinic. But he wanted to see her more, during the times when he wasn’t filming and be around her. Did it seem hard? Yes. Because he had a couple of more projects lined up after shooting The Falcon and the Winter Soldier that it seemed they wouldn’t have much free time once he did finish.
Their time was completely in shambles and he didn’t want to think about that just yet.
“I want us to still be talking with each other,” he says truthfully. “I want us to be still in contact with each other...doing whatever. Even if that’s just us watching the clouds stroll by on a night too cold to be out.”
He watches her smile, “I want that, too.”
Masterlist / Chapter 5
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Can't Run, Can't Hide
Congrats @syntheticavenger to 5k followers! 🌸💕
Thank you for that bomb ass prompt!
Word Count: ~1,2 k
Pairing: stalker!Bucky x Reader
Content Warnings: consumption of alcohol, mentions of cigarettes, mentions of obsessive behaviour, MDI (18+!)
Feel free to check my Masterlist! 🐻
A/N: So it's Sunday morning and not even 7 am. I'm a tad bit hungover so I blame all writing errors on that. Anyway, this has been so much fun that I'm sitting here, saying: Let me play again ❣
Tagging: @wayward-blonde @mageofvengerberg @connieisland @demotalias @rebekkah119
How it started:
Saturday night. Your Saturday night. The time you had been looking forward to all week finally came around and you felt the music, laced with a heavy bass drop, rushing through your muscles as you effortlessly moved your body to the beat. Tiny droplets of sweat ran down your neck and soaked the outlines of your tank top but that didn't matter much to you. You came to the club to dance and a little sweating wouldn't stop you from doing so. Through closed eyes, with your hands up in the air, pumping along with a rhythm that massaged every corner of your soul, you still recognized the flashing bright
lights around you. They painted your imagination in vivid colours as you felt your hair swaying from side to side along your jawline. Goosebumps erupted on your skin as you waited for the next drop to hit you, the buildup already coming on strong. As a new wave of deep vibrations finally burst through the speakers you opened your eyes, a wide grin spreading on your face while you soaked up the scenery surrounding you. Not only you, but everyone around went wild. People jumping and dancing like it was their last night on earth, losing themselves in a thoughtless trance and just living for the beat hammering through the thick and heavy air. Yes, that was exactly the kind of night you had been longing for.
For a couple more songs you danced along until you decided that it was time for a little break and a refreshing drink. For the latter you squeezed your way towards the bar, your second favourite place in this venue aside from the dance floor. You threw a warm hearted smile towards the bar keeper. The both of you knew each other from your countless party nights prior and the man reciprocated your smile with a soft wave of his hand and a nod towards the cocktail shaker. You answered with a thumbs up as you still were occupied with gently shoving sweaty bodies out of your way, mumbling not even barely audible apologies. By the time you arrived at the counter James had already prepared your favourite drink and arranged it in an unnecessarily fancy glass topped with a peel of orange zest.
"Thanks!" You almost shouted for your voice to be heard over the music
as you were about to pull your wallet from the back pocket of your
James in front of you just shrugged his shoulders at that and signed you to put it rightback to where it came from. Instead of accepting any cash from you he drew a pack of smokes from underneath the counter and gestured towards the back door. You smiled again, because some time ago this established to be your thing: Sneaking out the back door to accompany James on his break. Although smoking wasn't necessarily your thing you enjoyed the chill night air, taking a few good breaths before you went right back onto the dancefloor.
After you grabbed your drink you followed him behind the counter, through a backdoor that was originally only meant for staff and out behind the club that was buzzing as ever. Before James had lit his cigarette and exhaled the first cloud of smoke into the night air you pointed at your drink and spilled: "C'mon...you can't just give me another one for free." James right next to you chuckled a little, his sapphire blue eyes beaming at you.
"You're here quite frequently. Just see it as a discount for
regulars." He winked an eye at you, the flame from his lighter illuminating his face in a warm orange for a split second.
"Stop spoiling me like this!", you giggled, taking a sip from the beverage "You'll never get rid of me pampering me so much."
"Who said that I'd want to?" He mumbled in return, pulling the cigarette from his mouth as a barely even there hint of red flushed his cheeks.You found yourself a little taken aback by that, but to play over it, you took another sip from the cocktail glass.
"Well...", you stated jokingly "Since I didn't even pay half of my drinks tonight you should start thinking 'bout your salary, huh?"
James only let out a soft, half-hearted chuckle at that before silence engulfed the two of you. It wasn't an outright awkward silence, but not really comfortable either. Although this wasn't your first drink tonight you could sense that something was lingering in the atmosphere, something creeping at the tip of his tongue, made visible by the way he bit his lower lip and stared off into the night.
"You good?" You muttered in between another sip, gently nudging his side with your elbow.
"Sure... I just...", James hesitated and sighed, taking a drag from his cigarette "Uhm... I don't wanna come off strange and all but...uh...maybe I'd like to see you outside the club sometimes. Maybe a cinema or a restaurant..."
For a moment you just blatantly stared at him, yet again not really knowing what to say. You did not want to hurt him, nonetheless, you had your stand on dating or matters the like. For a good moment you pondered, choosing your words wisely.
"I really appreciate it, James.", You started "But for now I'm not really looking to date...sorry."
Your words hung heavy in the air and you felt bad for them as soon as they had dropped from your mouth. You liked James. He was good company and for sure a good looking man, but since your last, rather recent breakup, dating actually wasn't something on your priority list.
"That's... it's okay." He reciprocated, throwing the cigarette bud onto the pavement.
"Really?" You poked, looking for upright reassurance.
"Yeah.", he turned to you, throwing you a gentle smile "That's totally fine."
How it’s going:
You crouched down behind your living room blinds, sinking down to the floor, burying your face into the palm of your hands. His voice reverberated in your head: “That’s totally fine.”
Yeah, nothing had been fine since that evening….
At first you didn’t take much notice of it, you thought that your imagination was playing tricks on you. Spotting James in big crowds smiling at you, running into him while grocery shopping, meeting him at your favourite coffee shop. Funny little icedents, huh? No.
It didn’t stop there.
You did not know how, but somehow he got a hold on your phone number. At first everything was cool. He asked you how you are doing, sounding upright. Some evenings you were a little too talkative after one or two glasses of wine, just being happy that someone listened. Your last breakup had been a sloppy mess and you literally plastered James with that, thinking that he’d be there for you. Well, he was...for a limited amount of time. Up to the moment where he sent you rather strange messages along the lines of “He’s been a dick..I could do way better than that!”. At first you thought of it being encouraging, telling you that you certainly deserved better, but not long after things turned south. Love letters in your mailbox, flower bouquets delivered to your doorstep and your amazon wishlist arriving at your flat. It took you some time to figure out who’s behind that, but at the time it finally dawned on you it was too late.
“I’ll get you and you can’t do anything about that!”
The latest notification on your phone read before you tossed it as far away from you as you could.
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-A Ghost Story-
Chapter 13. Eyes on Fire
Bucky Barnes x reader
Warning: use of various weapons, angst, light fluff, swearing, violence, injuries
Previous chapter • Masterlist
The coolness of the rifle's stock pressed on your cheek as you advanced through the large factory room. The car keys were tucked into your front jean pocket.
The room was filled with large rusted machinery. Rows upon rows of old technology that now was just collecting thick dust. Windows took up the right wall. Most either boarded up or broken. The glass shards clinging onto the frames. The windows provided the only light to the room. Dust floated in the air.
You checked around every machine in case someone hid there. Your ears stayed alert, listening for any movement.
The factory gave out many little sounds like the settling of old wood and creaking metal. The flaky floor crackled under your boots with each step.
Suddenly, multiple rounds of gunfire rang out on the other side of the factory. You stopped, listening to the screams of guards.
Your lips turned up in a smile. He came for you.
The opening of a door to your left drew your attention from the gunshots. You ducked behind one of the machines close to a wall with windows. You watched the reflection in a broken glass shard as a guard swept through the room. He held a rifle, aimed at the ready. He also wore a mask and goggles like the other guards.
You kept your back to the machine as he neared, waiting for him to come to you.
More gunfire echoed throughout the building, making you jump slightly. It was closer this time. The panicked shouts nearer.
You peeked around the corner of the machine and watched as the guard reached for a black radio on his belt and pressed a button on its side. "Team, what's your statis? Over," he said. He was looking in the direction of the gunfire, the right side of his body facing you.
There was no response. He repeated the question with more force.
The radio came to life and a man on the other side spoke with great urgency. You were able to hear the man speak though the radio and across the factory at the same time."We need back up! Repeat! We nee-"
The radio cut off into silence.
The guard in the room with you lowered the radio and placed it back onto his belt. He cursed under his breath as he continued to advance through the room.
Slowly and quietly, you crept around the machine to keep yourself out of his line of sight. You rounded the machine until you were in a position where the guard was walking straight to you.
"Where are you?" the guard whispered to himself as he walked past the machine that was one space in front of you.
When he was practically right beside you, you whipped the rifle up and hit under his chin. He grunted as he staggered back against another machine, dust puffed into the air on impact.
Screwing wanting to remain quiet, you fired multiple rounds at the guard. Some harmlessly hit his bulletproof vest but others hit home in the meat of his shoulders and arms.
He fired back before ducked behind one of the machines. His breathing was sharp, giving his position away easily to anyone. You leaned against another machine, listening for his next move.
The guard's boot slid on the dusty floor almost silently. His shifted his weight to his left. He was preparing to stand. You positioned yourself in the direction he would emerge from.
He stepped out, rifle raised. At the same time, you got up and fired at him, making him freeze as the bullets hit his chest, a muffled gasp left his mouth. The vest could only protect him for so long with you at the trigger. You then kicked his mid section with your boot, sending him through the wall. The wall gave way to his body in a cloud of dust.
Sighing deeply, you walked to the hole on the wall and ducked as you passed through. You stopped and frowned down at the lifeless body. Blood seeped onto the floor.
You wanted to leave now. You just wanted to go back to your little apartment and sleep.
Heavy footsteps to your left made you slowly look up. You raised the rifle, pointing down the hallway at the corner where the footsteps approached.
It was only when the person was feet away from turning the corner did you recognize the footfalls and hear the light whirling of a metal arm. Your hard facial expression relaxed as you lowered the rifle.
Bucky swept a rifle of his own around as he rounded the corner. He lowered his rifle when he saw that you stood in front of him. Relief shined in his eyes.
He shifted the rifle to one arm as he walked to you. You met him in the middle. He placed his gloved hand against your right cheek.
"Are you alright?" he asked, eyes wandering over your body, checking for wounds.
You leaned your cheek into his hand, nodding. "Yeah. Wish I would have stayed in bed now," you chuckled.
He smirked for a moment then his expression became serious again. He looked cautiously behind you, dropping his hand. "Come on. We need to get out of here. I don't know how many are in the building."
He began to walk in the direction he looked toward but you caught his arm. He looked down at you, eyebrows furrowing.
You said, "Hold on a sec. They were expecting you. This may be a trap and-"
"You're the bait," he finished.
You nodded in agreement. "We need to leave quickly."
The hallway was clear of guards and led to a door on the left side. You had to step over the body of the guard that you kicked through the wall. Both of your guns were raised, you index finger hovering over the trigger.
When you closed in on the double doors, you glanced up at Bucky. "Where are we by the way?" you asked.
"Outside of Vulcănești, Moldova," he said, sweeping his rifle around as you passed a short hallway.
You and Bucky closed in on the door. You could hear the shuffling of feet as people walked around on the other side. Your teeth bit your lip as you listened intensely. The training you went through coming to the forefront in this moment. It was natural for you to distinguish the different walking patterns and figure out how many people were in an area.
You signaled to Bucky that there was six people in the room. Two to the left and four to the right. He nodded in acknowledgement and positioned himself at the entrance of one of the doors by the wall.
Shouldering the rifle, you reached for one of the doors to open it.
Five guards stood in the room along with one thin man who wore a white doctor jacket. The guards wore tactical gear, like the others, with heavy assault rifles and helmets and masks.
As Bucky stepped into the room, he fired at the two guards on the left. You shot at three guards on the left side of the room. They all fired back of course. Bullets flew all over. The gunshots were piercing to your ears in this small space.
You shot two of the guards in their heads, their helmet's doing nothing to stop the bullets.
You aimed the rifle at the last guard.
As if the universe didn't want you to succeed, the rifle you were using ran out of bullets with a dull click. The guard smiled in relief and pulled his own trigger. His rifle clicked as well.
With a sigh, you threw it aside and took your the knife from your boot. The guard went for a pistol on his belt when he realized what you were doing-but you were faster.
You tossed the knife toward him, the light flick of your wrist was enough to lodge the knife deep in his chest.
He clawed at the knife, his shouting was muffled by the mask. He fell to the ground on his back.
The room became nearly silent now. Heartbeats and breathing filled the air. Your ears rang. You kicked a rifle away from one of the guard's lifeless body. You took back the knife from the other guard's chest. A whimper came from your left. You ignored it, knowing it was the skinny doctor.
"What the hell is this?" Bucky whispered. You glanced at him then your eyes followed where he was looking at.
You froze when you noticed what Bucky was referring to, you recognized it immediately. Your lips parted in horror and disgust.
There was a machine in the middle of the room. It wasn't like the factory machines, this was slimmer, more advanced in technology.
The machine was devastatingly similar to the machine that would steal your memories when in HYDRA. Hide them from you before you were triggered into the Phantom. An uncomfortable looking chair sat in the middle, surrounded by metal, both circular and straight. Restraints were bolted to the armrests of the chair.
You watched as Bucky walked to your side, looking around the room. He stood protectively next to you. He looked very uncomfortable, shifting his weight on one leg to the other. He slowly met your gaze, a pained expression in his eyes. You knew what he was thinking.
Turning your head to the doctor who was cowering on the floor, you placed the rifle on a table by the machine. As you approached the terrified doctor, you withdrew the pistol from the waistband of your jeans. Bucky followed a couple steps behind you.
The doctor cowered away as you neared. His heart beat rapidly in his chest. "Oh, Jesus don't kill me!" he pleaded.
You slammed the combat knife onto a table surface beside the doctor- mostly for intimidation purposes. You grabbed the front of his blue shirt that was under the jacket and hoisted him up onto his feet. He jerked upright with a squeak. He raised his hands in surrender, they practically vibrated with how hard they shook.
"What is that for?" you asked, pulling the hammer of the pistol down with your thumb. It made an audible click where it was at your side.
The doctor's eyes flickered down to the pistol the back to your face. "I was brought here to-to wipe the memories of two super soldiers with that-" he nodded to the machine without looking away from you. Then he nodded at you. "-and deliver you...he said to deliver you to..." he trailed off, nervously eyeing you and Bucky, who was standing behind you- watching you question the doctor.
You pressed the gun under his chin. "Deliver where?"
"T-t-two miles north of Mykolaiv," he answered.
You glanced at Bucky for second. His mouth had formed into a line as he stared at the doctor. You turned back the trembling man.
"The man you're meeting, what's his name?" you asked.
The doctor didn't respond.
"Give me a name," you growled, nudging his chin with the gun. Frustration grew in your veins.
He audibly swallowed. "Nikita Molchalin. That-That's all I know. Please..."
You paused, eyebrows pulling together. Molchalin. The HYDRA general. You had faint recollection of him and he wasn't a pleasant person. He had been in your dream when you...
You really couldn't escape the past. It will always come back to haunt you, prevent you from moving forward. It was your eternal shadow.
And Bucky. He wanted to hard to forget about everything that happened to him...what he did.
"We need to go," Bucky murmered, his hand squeezed your shoulder, bringing you back from your thoughts.
You blinked at the doctor and released the hold on his shirt, lowering the gun. His legs gave out and he had to lean against the table for support. You took the knife back.
You backed away from the doctor and to the double doors. Taking a quick glance at the machine that caused you so much pain, you said, "Let's go."
You and Bucky left the room and backtracked through the hallway. You stepped over the dead body again. The hallway wasn't deserted, you could hear a few of swift footsteps approaching from ahead. Three people were nearing. You signaled to Bucky.
At the end of the hallway, there was a large opening where a door would be. Three guards walked throught the doorway. Rifles aimed at the two of you.
"Seriously, how many of you guys are there?" you groaned, your hands gripping the knife and pistol tighter.
The guards fired at you. Bucky used his left arm to block most of the bullets. In the onslaught on gunfire, he was shot in the stomach. He growled in pain, ripping the guard's rifle from his hands and bending it in half. You launched the knife into the guard's chest and shot at him simultaneously. The guard collapsed to the ground.
You tucked and rolled to the body and ripped the knife from his chest with your left hand-at the same time, you were dodging bullets from another guard.
You rolled onto your feet and shot at the guard. He fired back and the fiery stinging in your left arm made you realize that you had been shot too.
Throwing your good arm out, you attempted to land a hit to the guard's head but he stepped back out of your reach.
Bucky was fighting the other guard.
The two guards moved in a way that was odd, like they were trying to guide you into a certain direction-
The guard backed through the doorway. You followed, throwing a punch to his cheek with the fist that held the knife. He fell to the ground.
-Like they were purposely separating the two of you.
A bang from behind made you whip your head around. A heavy black door had been lowered, sealed. You on one side and Bucky on the other.
You turned back to the guard and without hesitation, planted your fist in his face. He sagged into the floor, blood dripping from his nose.
The soft crunch of a body being thrown against a wall called your attention back to the door.
"Y/n, are you there?" Bucky called through the door a second later.
You went to the door and placed your hand in the cold metal. "Yeah. Can you get the door open?"
After a moment, you heard Bucky grunt and the door trembled lightly. But it didn't budge.
He let out a huff. "Do you have a control pannel on your side?" he asked.
You backed away from the door and looked at the walls. They were bare of anything other than cracks and dust. You relayed the information to Bucky.
He said, "I'll meet you around the back of the factory."
You let out a sigh. "Alright."
You heard Bucky walk away from the door and go to the right. His footsteps faded quickly down the hallway.
Damn, you thought as you looked around the room. There was another identical entrance directly across the room. The black door was raised so you could see the hallway that the door led to. Windows that were broken lined the hallway, letting light seep in.
Walking to the opening, you checked the pistol clip to see how much ammo you still had. It was enough to take down one more guard.
The sound of footsteps made you falter your own steps. The footsteps were heavy, weighted-and you didn't recognize them.
A tall man in black gear strode through the doorway.
You stopped in your tracks, hand pushing the clip back into the gun with a snap.
He wore a jet black vest that was bulky in size. Across the chest of the vest, an X was painted in white. His boots were armored as well with thick black pads. Gun clips were strapped to his right arm and shotgun shells were strapped on his left. A pistol was tucked into the holster on his thigh.
The most prominent feature of his outfit was the metal gauntlets that encased his forearms and hands. A light layer of rust corroded the bolts and hinges.
He stopped a few feet from you. He eyed the gun in your hands that you now trained on him.
"It's been a while," he said. His gruff voice was slightly muffled due to the black mask over his face. The face of the mask had been painted white. It distantly resembled a skull.
You narrowed your eyes at the man. Something clicked deep in your mind.
"I know you..." you breathed. You remembered the guard in the hallway saying the name Rumlow. He was a HYDRA agent. He had been in New York when...
He spoke, taking you from your thoughts. "I'm suprised. Didn't we put your brain in the wood chipper last we met?"
You raised an eyebrow. "Can't say I recall."
He took one slow step forward. "You're very hard to find, you know that? I thought we had you in Austria, but you disappeared like a pair of ghosts," he related.
"What do you want?" you probed.
"Revenge. Take Winter Soldier to fight Captain America in the ultimate irony. Maybe it will work this time." He laughed.
You glared at him. "You son of a bitch-"
"And you. I don't know what his plans for you are but he said something along the lines of "her work wasn't finished yet." I wonder what he means by that?" he said smugly.
Your face went cold. The gun wavered slightly in your hand. Molchalin wanted to reactivate the Phantom to continue his work. Did he know that the chip in your brain had been removed? Did he have another one?
Your eyes drifted away from Rumlow, lost in thought.
"If you don't want to go, you can join me," Rumlow offered. "You would be a formidable alli."
You barked a laugh, raising the pistol to aim at him again. "Never."
He said, "I understand why you left-to hell with HYDRA. Help me help you get revenge on those who wronged you."
"By killing more people. By killing Captain America and using Bucky to do it. Go. To. Hell," you spat.
"That's a shame," he sighed. "I always loved two for the price of one deals."
Rumlow raised his hands and jerked his arms back. Thick metal bars came over his hands.
You clenched your teeth, shifting your feet to prepare to fight. The barrel of the pistol still trained on him.
"I'll take it easy on you," he said. "Wouldn't want to bring General Molchalin a corpse."
"I'm not that breakable," you said before firing the gun.
Rumlow blocked the bullets by raising his arms in front of his head. The bullets ricocheted off the metal.
He stormed across the room in three long strides. A grunt left his mouth as his arm swung in the air, metal fist coming straight at your face. You ducked down, the wind from the punch rustled your hair.
Straightening, you punched his mask covered cheek twice. Your knuckles hit the hard side of his mask. Then you kicked him back with your foot.
Rumlow stepped back at the force of the kick. He recovered quickly, raising his right gauntlet. A sharp blade shot out of the gauntlet. That blade was coming for you.
You reflectively leaned back, dodging the blade that whizzed inched from your face.
Then, his metal covered fist connected with your chest, more specifically-your sternum. Pain erupted throughout your body, the breath was knocked out of you. You fell backwards to the ground with a wheeze.
You struggled a little to get back to your feet. Each breath you took brought a new throbbing, almost stabbing pain. Bracing a hand on the ground, you pressed your other hand against your chest, wincing. Sweat dripped down your temple.
"Give up yet?" Rumlow taunted.
Slowly, you moved the hand that was on the floor toward your boot. You were crouched in a way so that he didn't see you grasp the knife from your boot.
With the speed of lightning, you threw the knife at his right gauntlet. The blade lodged between one of the hinges and a bolt, creating sparks that flew from the contraption. A whirling sound came from the gauntlet.
While Rumlow was distracted by the system failure, you ran to him and yanked the gauntlet from his arm. You drew your arms back and wacked the side of his head with it. He stumbled to the side and onto one knee.
You took the opportunity to take the pistol from his holster. Shoving him down further, you grabbed the pistol and shot at him multiple times. He raised his arm to deflect the rounds. So you aimed lower at his stomach. Most of the bullets hit the armor harmlessly, but Rumlow had to of felt each bullet land.
Your finger squeezed the trigger but it clicked, empty.
He slowly lowered his arm, his eyes blazed with fury. A low growl rumbled in his thoat.
Gun shots from a few hallways down made you jump. You looked toward the source but Rumlow's voice made you look down at him again.
"It's useless to fight this. Wherever you go, you will never be safe from what you have done. Do you remember all of those people? The blood you shed?" he spat.
You glared at the man, not giving him a response. There was shouting down the hallway.
You knew that there wasn't a change to beat Rumlow and still be able to walk out of here. Your chest was on fire.
So, glancing one last time at the downed man, you threw the empty gun at him and ran. You booked it to the open door.
You ran in the direction of the gunfire, knowing Bucky was there. You were right, and when you were about to round a corner o the left, you nearly slammed into him. You gracefully stumbled around him to avoid running into him. He grabbed your hand and pulled you down the hallway straight ahead. Behind him, there were men in armor shooting, running after the two of you.
The sight of red caught your eye and you looked down at the front of Bucky's dark green shirt, which was stained with blood from the gunshot wound. Your arm and chest hurt something awful, but you kept pushing forward. You couldn't exactly stop for a breather now.
The windows to your right lit the hallway you and Bucky ran down. At the end of the hallway was a door, a door that would lead outside.
Bucky shouldered the door open with his left side. It burst open and the brightness of the day compared to inside the factory made your eyes burn.
You ran out into a parking lot. Suddenly, you remembered the car keys in your pocket. Taking the keys out with your free hand, you raised it in the air and frantically hit the unlock button. A few parking spaces down, tucked between three cars, a black car beeped, locks lifting. Bucky caught on and the two of you sprinted to the car.
You wretched the driver door open and practically threw yourself in. Bucky quickly got into the passenger seat. You stabbed the keys into the ignition and started the car. Gunfire spattered the side of the car. You slammed the door shut and put the car into reverse.
The tires skid against the pavement as you back out. You put the car into drive and sped out of the parking lot. Bucky held onto the dashboard to steady himself with one hand, his other was over his stomach wound.
When the car was on the road and the factory was behind you, you finally relaxed into the seat. Adrenaline dissipated from your system and you felt everything now. Your chest hurt bad. You placed your hand over your sternum, silently willing the pain to stop. You had a headache, you ears rung, your chest hurt, your arm burned and your knuckles bled.
Bucky was in worse shape. The bleeding wound on his stomach would have to be patched up quickly to allow it to heal properly.
You peered over at Bucky. He looked exhausted, his face was paler than it should be. He was loosing blood fast. You sped down the road faster.
But you were alive. You were bruised, and bleeding, and broken, but you were alive.
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17 and/or 59 for Bucky?
17. Needing to kiss to hide from the bad guys • from this prompt list
Bucky Barnes x Reader
They were closing in behind you, and fast. Both of you were quickly running out of options, and if they caught sight while you both were clearly up to no good, your covers would be blown.
There had to be something. Your eyes dart around the moment you round the corner and slide into a new hallway— there. Your salvation takes the form of a maintenance closet. With a quick tilt of your head in its direction, Bucky follows right behind you as you wrench the door open and pull it shut behind him, cloaking you both in darkness.
For a moment, only your harsh breathing and racing heart fills your ears. The space is smaller than yours initially thought, and the front of your entire body is pressed flush against Bucky’s. As the second tick on and you allow yourself to calm, you’re able to pick up the sounds of approaching footsteps in the hall. The guards are shouting in another language, but it’s clear that they’re searching for fleeing suspects.
You need to put on a convincing show.
You press your palms flat against Bucky’s chest and tilt your face up to where you assume his to be. “Kiss me,” you hiss quietly.
“Kiss me, now! Before they come in!”
He hesitates for one, two, three heartbeats before swooping down and pressing his lips against yours. It’s awkward at first as you both fumble in the dark. Bucky shifts his knee while better repositioning himself and you gasp as it presses up between your legs. He takes the opportunity to deepen the kiss, cupping your cheek with his gloved metal hand and tilting your head to the side. Your fingers clutch at his dinner jacket, and the world and mission around you behind to fade away.
—and then the door is wrenched open and you both jump apart and stare wild-eyes at the entrance. You’re not sure whether or not it’s part of the act, but Bucky pulls you against his chest, hiding your dazed expression from view as the guards mutter their apologies.
Certainly not how you expected this mission to go, but personally? You couldn’t think of a better way for it to have turned out.
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If It Isn’t Love
Pairing: Bucky Barnes X Reader
Summary: Bucky acts stupidly and loses you when he could’ve had it all. Based on If It Isn’t Love by New Edition. lyrics are in bold+italics
Word Count: 922
Warnings: Sad Bucky feels, total angst, rejection, jealousy. Fluff in part 2
@buckybingo square: heartbreak
For @princessmisery666’s Daily Mixes Challenge! Congrats on your milestone and happy birthday in advance! I loved the song man, I couldn’t not write for it asap XD dividers by @firefly-graphics !
A/N: repost of my own // hope you guys enjoy!
Part 2 coming soon
Main Masterlist • Marvel Masterlist
I don’t love her, Bucky tries to tell himself as he watches you through the mirror.
You’re leaning against the bathroom door frame in your t-shirt and pajama shorts, face soft and eyes drowsy as you brush your teeth. You’re standing right beside each other and he thinks you’re adorable.
You’ve never been a morning person, something that Bucky had found out soon after you two had started living together. Well, not until you’ve had your coffee just the way you like it that is. It’s worse since you had a bad week.
You give him a half-smile which actually makes you look like a zombie, but it nevertheless manages to fill him with a warmth.
If it isn’t love, why do I feel this way?
He catches his own reflection next and wonders if his eyes betray him by showcasing his feelings to the world. It had been you who had told him once that he was an open book, after all.
Or is it just you who’s able to read the language in them?
“You can shower first.” It’s the smile that tugs on your lips again, and since it’s caused by his words makes it so much better. And with a whispered, “Thank you,” you unconsciously pull him down the hole again.
The domesticity gives him a feeling of safety, and he’s sure it has something to do with you and he never wants to let you go.
And then, he just goes and fucks everything up.
His vision is blurred with tears, though he knows for certain that they wouldn’t fall.
Not now, at least. No, they’ll be free to roll down his cheeks in the privacy of his room, with you only a door away. And then too, he won’t have the courage to come up to you and say all that he has wanted to, but is not able to say.
Bucky is talking to a woman who looks nothing like you, but somehow, you’re still on his mind. He needed a distraction and let Sam recommend a new bar to check out. He has only had two shots and his heart already yearns for you.
A scowl crosses his features when that woman presents another glass of hard alcohol in front of him and he just downs it without a second thought. He doesn’t remember her name, or if he even asked it in the first place, but it doesn’t matter anymore, for he sees you.
He blinks, thinking maybe he had too much to drink at first, causing him to hallucinate, but then he opens his eyes and you’re still there, looking gorgeous in a baby pink dress he remembers teasing you about.
You look beautiful and he can’t describe the feeling. He wishes he wasn’t a coward, he wishes he could just walk up to you and talk and say everything that has been going on in his mind, but it’s like he’s frozen in place, just like two days ago.
The memory haunts him like a nightmare now.
You looked at him with a wide smile and said, “I love you.”
You had not mumbled, in fact, your words had been clear as day, and yet he had stupidly asked, “What?”
And still, there was no hesitation in your voice while repeating your confession.
“I’d never fall in love,” he had muttered after an awkward second, “it’s not you, it’s me."
It didn’t take him long after that to understand why those words are hated by anyone who’s on their receiving end. He doesn’t have an excuse for what he said that day, but he knows that he regrets it. Because, he lost you.
No, not yet.
He makes up his mind. It’s now or never.
Maybe she’ll take you back, a small voice in his head assures.
A murmured apology is uttered to the woman in front of him as he gets up, putting some cash on the table just so she doesn’t at least regret the money she wasted on him, along with her time.
His eyes are only on you at the moment, his breathing is uneven as he takes short steps, trying to calm his heart before he faces you.
I made a big mistake, he recites in his head to say to you, now I can feel it. I really love you too.
But then someone abruptly pushes him to the side, "Sorry,” the man says and Bucky nods as he steps in front of him.
The man takes longer strides than Bucky did, confidence exuding from his body. It’s as if Bucky is just a spectator as the man takes a seat on the barstool next to you and greets you with a smile. Something, he realises, is exactly what he was going to do.
It isn’t long until your laughter reaches his ears and he wishes he can go back in past and tell himself, If it isn’t love, why does it make me feel so sad inside?
Suddenly, you glance towards him and your gaze meets his. His heart feels broken now when your lips still carry the same smile without wavering, even more than when he had heard your sobs through the thin walls of your shared apartment after he had rejected you.
Mustering up a smile is the only thing he can do as he watches you wave at him before turning back to your conversation with the guy.
If it isn’t love, why does it hurt so bad?
Part 2 coming soon
I’d love to hear what you think of it! Please like, reblog and comment to let me know Xx
Wanna read more of my works? Check out the masterlist linked at the top!
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