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bucky-bucky-bucky-bucky · 6 months

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I Can Go Anywhere I Want- Just Not Home | Bucky Barnes x Reader

Hi, friends. I've been BUSY with school and this one took fucking forever. But it means a lot to me, I hope you like it. :)

Word count: 13.3k

AUTHOR'S NOTE: do me a favor and pretend Bucky didn't disappear in the blip. ok thanks bye.

Warnings: talk of financial struggles, food insecurity, housing insecurity

A familiar shape stepped onto the sidewalk just ahead, freeing itself from the shadows of a rundown motel. The lines and curves of this body forced your heart into your throat. Time seemed to stop. The world round you ceased its turning. You’d know those broad shoulders anywhere, and you’d remember that sharp jaw even after your soul left this mortal coil.

You stood there, your feet rooted in the concrete, watching him with a longing that tore through your chest. How long had it been since you last saw him? How many months had passed since you last spoke? You made yourself stop counting the days long ago; it was too depressing, too pathetic. But while you forced your brain not to continue the tally, your heart kept count.

His sudden motion caught your attention, pulling you from your thoughts. The shape that once resembled home headed down the street, slipping through your fingers a second time. But you couldn’t let him get away- not again.

Even after you freed your feet and increased your pace, he remained ahead. His long legs carried him away from you as he glided past people on the sidewalk. His hands rested in his pockets, concealing his trademark from the world. His head bowed forward, he kept his gaze down. He didn’t want to catch the eye of the public. But he caught yours.

“Bucky?” your call came out a desperate plea. Blowing his cover wasn’t your goal, but he was too fast. You had to stop him before he vanished again.

He stopped in his tracks at the sound of your voice. You could’ve sworn you saw his head fall another inch or two, as though he were disappointed to know you’d found him.

But he turned. And for the first time in almost a year, he faced you.

“Bucky.” It wasn’t a question this time, but an affirmation. A reassurance. An unstoppable smile pulled at your lips, a sigh of relief left your chest. You almost wept. “Hi…”

The darkness that clouded your mind in his absence parted all at once, making way for a golden glow of twinkling lights. You hadn’t seen him since the battle. Since the shimmering portals. Since everyone returned home after Thanos fell.

He simply stopped answering your calls. Your texts. He didn’t return your voicemails.

To this day, you wondered what you did wrong. What you did that pushed him so far away. It wasn’t like him to ice you out, to cut you off without warning. He had baggage, sure, but he never shied away from you. Not like this. At one time, you were his closest friend. His most trusted confidante. And he was yours. You spent every moment together, taking shelter in each other. But not anymore.

Each night, you recounted the last time you saw him. You analyzed every detail, scrutinizing the minutiae of the interaction. Maybe you said something that offended him. Maybe you did something hurtful. But no matter how hard you wracked your brain, not one single red flag made an appearance. And it made Bucky’s sudden disappearance from your life all the more maddening. More hurtful.

Sometimes, you liked to think that he just used you. That he got what he needed from you and moved on. It somehow softened the blow of his loss. Painting him as a manipulator took the blame off your shoulders and made him the villain. But you could never convince yourself of this narrative for long. Bucky wasn’t the type of person to use others. He gave and gave until he had nothing left. Or until he left.

With a few strides, you closed the gap between the two of you. “It’s so good to see you, Buck,” your instinctive reach for a hug left your arms hanging in the air as he took a small step back. It was then you realized just how embarrassing it was to drop your arms to your sides after an unwanted embrace.

“Hey- hi,” he cleared his throat and cut his eyes to the side, almost like he couldn’t bear to look at you. He stared at the passing cars, the flier-covered streetlight. Anything to keep his gaze from lingering on you. He wasn’t sure he had the strength.

But he couldn’t help himself- he had to look at you. And as his eyes finally landed on yours, a familiar warmth sliced through his trepidations. He’d been aching for so long now; he’d didn’t know what a life without pain felt like. Every day, he hurt. He suffered. But the biting agony stilled as he stared at you.

His lungs filled to capacity for the first time in months. The knots in his stomach untangled themselves. He’d forgotten how light he felt around you. You had a way of making things feel so easy, so simple. Everything in his life was complicated, and each day grew more difficult than the last. No matter how hard he tried, he never quite got his head above water. But with you standing there before him, he broke through the surface for the first time in ages.

He drank you in for a long moment, taking inventory of the ways you’d changed, and the ways you’d stayed the same. Your radiant smile still poked dimples into your cheeks. Freckles still splashed across your skin. But he noted the all too familiar braid in which your hair was twisted. The letter ‘N’ dangling from a dainty gold chain around your neck.

Bucky knew losing Nat wasn’t easy on you. Knew that you’d been mourning her all on your own. He should’ve been there for you, should’ve been your shoulder to cry on. He hated himself every day for making you go it alone.

“It’s um,” Bucky didn’t know where to start. “It’s been a while…”

A quiet, awkward laugh rasped out of your throat at his understatement, “Yeah, you could say that.”

A long pause forced its way between you. Things with Bucky never used to be this awkward, this tense. He was nearly a stranger now. And it killed you. Your friendship always flowed without difficulty, without pressure. It became second nature. The two of you moved together almost as though choreographed, anticipating the other’s actions instinctually.

But those instincts died and were buried, along with your hope of ever patching things up.

“Um, are you- where are you headed?” you asked, breaking the silence.

“I was just gonna- I thought I’d grab some breakfast.”

“Oh! Me too!” Finally, you had something in common. “Can I-” you quickly rephrased, fearing you may scare him off. “Do you wanna go together? Maybe we could catch up?” You knew you were throwing yourself at him, but you couldn’t stop. You were so overwhelmed, so desperate to be near him; you didn’t care how crazed you seemed.

Bucky’s shy smile made an appearance, “Yeah, that would be nice.” He kicked himself for not appearing more excited, more overjoyed by the reunion. But he couldn’t find it in himself to feel anything other than anxious.

The walk to the diner was less awkward than you anticipated. The conversation flowed a little smoother, the words came a little easier. But it was still clunky. And though more silence than you would’ve liked hung in the air, you breathed easier knowing that he was merely a few inches away.

Things between you simply needed to thaw. You needed to shake the rust off and find your way back into the groove you carved out for one another. At least, that’s what you told yourself.

“I thought you said you were getting breakfast,” you joked, “not just coffee.” You sat across from Bucky in a beat-up booth, it’s cracked, torn vinyl dating the restaurant. When the waitress asked for your order, Bucky insisted you go first. And when you’d finished rattling off your perfect breakfast, Bucky dismissed her with a “nothing for me.”

He shrugged and took a sip of his coffee, “I’m not really hungry anymore.”

“Wow, I didn’t know I had that kind of effect on people,” you said, only half-joking. Maybe he really did hate you, after all. The months of dead silence suggested as much.

More often than not, you tried lived in denial. You told yourself any lie you could come up with- anything to ease the pain of missing him. Even after his less than enthusiastic reaction to your reunion, you buried your head in the sand. Surely, he was just surprised to see you. He just needed some time to warm up, to come out of his shell.

But he only ordered coffee; clearly, he didn’t plan on staying long. He had an escape strategy locked and loaded. You knew he planned to fulfill your request for a catch-up session and run for the hills as soon as he emptied his mug. Upon your realization, everything came crashing down. His scant order slapped you with the cold hard facts: he’d cut off all communication, ignored you for months, and seemed to lose his appetite at the very prospect of sharing a meal with you.

Maybe missing him was a waste of your time.

“No, it’s not like that,” very real concern coated Bucky’s words. “I’m so- I’m really happy to see you.”

His fingers twitched as the logical side of his brain shut down his attempt to touch you. All he wanted to do was reach out and rest a hand atop yours, maybe stroke your knuckles a few times. It was something he used to do all the time, something that, at one point, reassured the both of you. But things were different these days. He didn’t have the right to be so familiar with you, not after he chose to make himself a stranger.

He gripped his coffee mug with both hands, stemming any impulses to reach for you. “How have you been?”

There’d been a time when you would’ve told him everything. You would’ve spilled your soul and let loose every ugly detail of your life. Being honest with each other used to be easy. Neither one of you had to fear judgment or ridicule; you were safe in the other’s hands.

But those days were long gone. He clearly didn’t want to be your best friend anymore- he barely wanted to know you at all. He was, at most, an acquaintance whose soul used to be tied to yours. And so, you opted to forego the truth. You didn’t tell him that you cried yourself to sleep most nights. You didn’t tell him that you missed him so badly it caused you physical pain. You didn’t tell him that you needed him. Instead, you gave him what he wanted: an easy, canned response.

“I’ve been good,” you forced a smile to your face and shrugged. “Just been working, doing the whole SWORD thing.”

He raised his brow, “Oh, wow. You work for SWORD now? I had no idea. Good for you.”

He feared his feigned surprise came off too fake, too forced. But you didn’t seem to clock it. You really believed that he was out of the loop, but you should’ve known better. It was ludicrous to think he’d ever be uninformed about your life. Of course, he already knew you worked for SWORD He knew that you moved into a new apartment. He even knew that you were planning on adopting a cat soon. He asked Sam about you almost daily, scrounging for any details he could get.

He just needed to know that you were okay, that you were safe. And happy.

“Yeah, I started a few months ago. It’s been-” You paused a moment, allowing the waitress to set down your food. The table in front of Bucky looked so empty; with no food anchoring him to the restaurant, he could leave at any moment. “It’s been alright. But how about you? What have you been up to?”

He took a moment to formulate his response. He needed to be careful. Precise. Allowing too much to slip could ruin everything. “I’ve just been working with Sam,” he shrugged. “We had to take care of that whole Flag Smashers thing.”

“I saw that!” you said, your mouth full of pancakes. “You guys did a great job.”

“Thanks, yeah,” Bucky’s cheeks flushed pink. “And I had my pardon hearing.”

You nodded, “I watched all the news coverage about it.”

He forced his eyes down to his mug; he never used to get embarrassed around you. “You did?”

“Of course.”

Bucky wanted you there that day. He wanted to rest his hand in yours and experience the peace only you could provide as he waited for the judge to call his name. And when he finally received his pardon, he wanted to turn around and see you- wide smile, eyes brimming with happy tears. He wanted to wrap his body around yours and thank you for being his rock.

But he didn’t invite you along.

He, instead, sat alone in the hall, with no one to hold his shaking hand, until a bailiff ushered him into the courtroom. Sam wanted to be there, but his nephew begged Captain America to make an appearance for Bring Your Dad to Work Day. And who was he to say no?

When the judge awarded Bucky his pardon, no one cheered. No one ran to his side and granted him a congratulatory hug. He collected his papers and made his way out of the courthouse. Alone.

He got a heap of texts and calls from you that day, though. He watched his phone ring with your name and picture taking up his screen. He poured over your kind texts and listened to your congratulatory voicemails. Even after he shut you out, you made sure he knew that you supported him. That you still cared. But he didn’t return your messages.

He did, however, listen to your voicemails on a loop. Hearing your voice again gave him an escape, a life preserver. You’d never know how much those messages meant, how often they saved him. He promised himself he’d tell you- one day.

“Honestly, you shouldn’t have even needed a pardon,” you said with an eyeroll. “I mean, you didn’t do anything. None of it was your fault.”

Bucky had nearly forgotten how unabashedly supportive you were. How you were always on his side, no matter what. He wondered why you still wanted to be on his team after months of silence.

“Well, the US government feels differently,” he sighed out a soft laugh. “And it’s taken care of now, so it’s all good.”

He appeared hopeful, almost optimistic. He had Sam, he had his pardon- he seemed to be doing well. And though you wanted more than anything to be in his life, you just wanted him to be happy. Maybe your friendship didn’t serve him the way it served you. Maybe he felt like you didn’t give him what he needed. Maybe his life was better without you in it. The thought stung. It forced your throat closed, nearly sending you into a choking fit. But you swallowed your pancakes along with your pride, and vowed never to beg Bucky to come back to you.

“Good. I’m happy for you.” You stopped yourself from reaching for his hand. “Can I ask something that might be a little invasive?”

Bucky’s heart stopped, “Um, sure.”

“I saw you coming out of that motel…” you shot him a suggestive glance. “What was that about?”

Bucky stiffened. He grew tense, anxiety flooding his system. “What do you mean?”

“I mean… was there maybe a little-” you raised a brow at him, “hook up situation going on?”

He laughed at your overdramatic wink, the way you licked your lips. And he thanked his lucky stars you came up with a cover story for him. “Oh, yeah…” he grew bashful about his fictional sexcapades. “It’s just a- it’s casual, you know. Nothing serious.”

The confirmation of your suspicions made your jaw drop. Bucky Barnes, the old-fashioned gentleman, actually had a friend with benefits. He’d had a secretive, motel rendezvous. Hell, he probably had hickeys and nail marks hiding under his shirt.

A pang of jealousy tore through you like the nails of his lover. Why did she get to be near him? How did she rank above you? The unsettling feeling of envy almost possessed you, but you pushed it aside.

“Woah, look at you,” you feigned appluase. “I always knew you were a ladies’ man, I just never got to see it in real time.”

He rolled his eyes, “yeah, yeah, I’m a real heartbreaker.” He regretted his word choice immediately, knowing full well he broke your heart.

You sidestepped his comment and forced the conversation forward, his comment stinging your open wound. “Seriously, Buck. I’m happy for you.” Once again, you stifled the urge to touch him. “You deserve to have some fun.”

He stared at you for a long moment, a genuine smile on his face. You were so sincere in your support of him, so unashamed of how deeply you cared. Sam was an incredible friend, of course- but you were his soulmate. He was tied to you with an unbreakable thread, unable to free himself even if he wanted to. And he wanted to. But not because he didn’t adore you; it was a simple matter of worthiness.

But no matter how hard he tried, he still thought of you daily. Almost constantly. He missed you, pined over you, wished he could exist in your world. But he couldn’t- not yet.

He shook the grin from his face and pulled his gaze down to his mug once again. “I’m um- I’m sorry I haven’t been around. Things have just gotten…” He cleared his throat, “I’ve been really busy.”

A scream scratched at your throat, but you forced it away with a bite of eggs and a swig of coffee. Of course, Bucky was busy. But he wasn’t the only one. It seemed that SWORD wanted to run you ragged. They were always assigning you extra operations and looking to you to solve problems. But even with the mountains of work, even in your sea of grief for Nat, you still managed to reach out to Bucky. You still called, still texted.

But he clearly didn’t want to make the time for you.

“I totally understand,” you lied. “Shit has been crazy. Don’t worry about it.”

You worried about it every day.

Breakfast wrapped up all too soon. Bucky argued when you paid for his coffee, you hushed him with a promise to let him cover yours next time. And in the blink if an eye, you found yourself standing next to him on the sidewalk, praying he wouldn’t walk away.

“I should really get going,” he said, taking a step away from you. “I have a meeting.”

“Cool, yeah,” you forced a smile, “this was great- I’m so glad we ran into each other.”

Bucky nodded, “yeah, me too.”

It seemed to you that Bucky couldn’t care less if he ever saw you again. He was disengaged, disinterested, inching ever farther away. He tried to be subtle about it, tried to slowly escape the interaction. But you caught his tiny steps in the opposite direction. His body remained closed off, the space between you growing with each long, awkward pause.

But even so, you couldn’t let go. You couldn’t let him walk away without knowing if this was the last time you’d see him.

“We should do this again-” you sounded so needy, so anxious, but couldn’t find it in you to care, “but only if you want.” Never had you felt so pathetic. There you were, practically begging Bucky to signal that he gave a shit about you.

But all he could muster was a nod.

“Awesome,” you pulled out your phone. “Do you still have the same number?”

Again, he nodded.

It killed you. All this time, you’d hoped that he got a new number and simply forgot to tell you. That your texts and calls went unanswered because he didn’t receive them. But he did, indeed, receive them. He just chose to ignore them.

With a swell of tears gathering behind your eyes, you sped through your goodbyes. You threw Bucky a hurried “great to see you, I’ll call soon” and quick smile before turning away and heading for a hiding spot, a concealed place to cry. The person you cared about more than anything, the person you adored, the person for whom you’d lay down your life, didn’t want you anymore. The bitter taste of rejection coated the inside of your mouth. And as you ducked into a bodega down the street, you feared you might get a second look at your breakfast.

You were gone too soon. Bucky wanted to call your name, to run after you. Even after months apart, he could still sus out when you were upset. He remembered your tells. Your dead giveaways. The way your jaw hardened against oncoming emotion. The tendency of your voice to grow thin and hollow as tears loomed on the horizon.

He knew he hurt you.

But he found himself stuck, his body defying the orders of his brain. He couldn’t speak, couldn’t move. He could only stand there, helpless, watching as you disappeared.

He knew you couldn’t possibly be happy with him after he abandoned you; he was surprised that you even acknowledged him on the street- let alone invited him to breakfast. And after the way he acted at the diner, he was shocked that you asked to see him again.

The conversation you had replayed on a loop inside his head, and he kicked himself for being so closed off. So cold. He’d sullied your reunion so severely- it was almost aggressive. He was dismissive. Curt. And he lied to your face- multiple times.

He was so happy to see you- he didn’t want you to think otherwise. But he didn’t expect to run into you like that. He didn’t expect to be near you for another few months, at least. He had a plan, and he was doing his best to follow it with as few setbacks as possible. If he kept his head down and pushed himself, he could get to the point where he could explain. He could tell you the truth and make you part of his life again if you even wanted anything to do with him. Though he wouldn’t blame you if you didn’t.

But running into you outside the motel wasn’t part of the blueprint. And he panicked.

He'd held you at arm’s length, never daring to get too close. He kept everything superficial. Surface level. It was the shallowest interaction he’d had with you to date. And it felt wrong. It didn’t fit who you were as people, who you were as friends. Your bond was never the skin deep, small talk type. No, you delved into one another’s deepest thoughts. Bared your souls. He’d never kept a secret from you- nor you him. But that was a different time.

Disappointed, Bucky unrooted his boots from the concrete and trudged off in the direction of his morning meeting. And while he did his best to focus, to participate, he could think of only you. The heartbreak in your eyes. The hurt in your voice. A wave of nausea barreled into him as he replayed the interaction again and again. You deserved better. And Bucky wished more than anything he that could be better. For you.

But two nights later, your phone rang.

It was late- nearly midnight. You were curled up on the couch under a blanket, neck deep in your Vampire Diaries rewatch when your phone started to buzz. An unfamiliar number popped up on your screen, accompanied only by Siri’s suggestion of who might be calling.

‘Maybe: Kings County Jail’

You stared at it for three rings, wondering how someone from the jail got your number. And just as you were about to deny the call, something in your gut told you to answer it. Maybe it was curiosity, maybe it was divine intervention. Either way, you hit accept and held the phone up to your ear.

“Um, hello?”

An automated message responded, “You are being contacted by a detainee at Kings County Jail. The detainee-” the recording paused, leaving space for someone to state their name. Your favorite gruff voice followed, “Bucky-”

“-is trying to contact you. Do you accept the charges?”

A riptide coursed through your brain. Questions upon questions piled up, each one trying to escape your lips first. But you swallowed them for the time being.

“Yeah- yes, I accept.”

The line connected, and Bucky’s soft “hey…” came through from the other end. “Thanks for picking up.”

“Buck? Is everything okay?”

He sighed, “Yeah, I’m- I’ve been better. But I’m fine. I was just wondering if,” he couldn’t believe he was doing this. “I was wondering if you could come bail me out?”

He gave no context, no reasoning, for his stint in the county jail. But you didn’t care. “I’ll be there in twenty minutes.”

Even after he ditched you and left radio silence in his wake, even after he practically ran from your reunion at the diner- you’d do anything for him. And there was no way in hell you’d ever just leave him there; you couldn’t. Bucky didn’t belong behind bars.

And so, you pulled yourself off the couch, found some shoes, and headed in his direction.

The bail money didn’t matter to you. Sure, things were easier now that SWORD paid you the big bucks. But even if your account was running on empty, you’d sacrifice your last remaining cents to free Bucky.

A guard led him down the hall by the arm and shoved him through the door. This wasn’t how he wanted you to see him. None of this fit into the plan he’d so carefully crafted all those months ago. But there you sat in the lobby of the police station, clad in your sweats, waiting for him. The shame nearly tore him apart from the inside out.

But as he locked eyes with you across the room, he didn’t find the judgement or irritation that he expected. You should’ve been angry with him- why weren’t you angry with him? He’d called in a favor after abandoning you. He made you come down to the police station, made you pay his bail. You should’ve left him to rot in a jail cell. But you didn’t. Because you cared. Even after everything he did, you still cared about him. He wished you didn’t. He wished you’d scream at him in front of everyone- but you were too good for that. Too kind.

He threw you a bashful wave, but averted his gaze when a warm smile crossed your face. He couldn’t quite stand the way your gracious expression made him feel. Why did you seem so happy to see him? Why weren’t you furious- or even a little frustrated?

As he waited in line to gather his backpack and personal belongings from the desk, he hoped for something to prolong his time away from you. A clerical error. A massive stack of paperwork. What was he supposed to say to you? How was he supposed to explain this whole mess? He needed time to put his thoughts in order. To organize his lies.

But, for the first time in history, a United States government agency did things efficiently and without error. And after only a few minutes, he made his way to your side.

“Hey,” he granted you only a flash of eye contact before dragging his gaze to the floor. “Thanks for- thank you for coming to get me. And for paying my bail…”

You shrugged, “yeah, absolutely”.

“I’ll pay you back, I swear.” It was then he realized that he didn’t want you to be angry with him. Sure, you cursing him out in front of everyone would be easier. Less complicated. But he’d rather die than upset you again.

“I know. I’m not worried about it,” you granted him another kind smile, “I trust you.”

It was a dagger to the heart. How- and why- did you still trust him? He’d excised you from his life without warning and left you in the cold; he wasn’t worthy of your trust.

“Are you all good here?” you asked, “Should we get going?”

“Sure- yeah.”

The walk to the car was quiet; Bucky couldn’t bring himself to walk next to you. Existing in your sphere, being seen by you- it was too much for him. Too shameful. Even if he was only in your peripheral. And so, he opted to position himself a few paces behind you. In the safety of your shadow.

He got settled in the passenger seat of your car as you turned the key in the ignition. But you couldn’t bring yourself to pull out of your parking spot. Everything in you wanted to ask how he ended up in handcuffs. He wasn’t a troublemaker. He wasn’t violent. He wasn’t the type to make waves. Something bad must’ve happened- something out of his control.

But you knew it wasn’t your business. He clearly didn’t want you around anymore, didn’t want to clue you in on the details of his life. And you never liked to pry.

As the seconds passed, however, your resolve crumbled. No matter what happened between the two of you, you’d always care about Bucky. You’d always worry about him. And your concern finally got the best of you.

Before you could stop yourself, the words came tumbling out of your mouth. “Are you okay?” you stared at him, anxiety brewing in your chest. “You don’t have to tell me what happened- I won’t force you- but I’m worried about you.”

He nodded, “I’m fine.” It wasn’t rude, but his tone didn’t invite further probing.

With a sigh and an unconvinced “okay”, you put the car in drive and prepared to take Bucky home.

Your blinker clicked incessantly as you waited for a few cars to grant you a clear path. Bucky had ample time to give you directions, but he remained quiet. He didn’t offer up information of any kind, not even a neighborhood. It broke your heart that you didn’t know his address.

“Um, where do you live? Should I turn left or right?”

You waited patiently for an answer that Bucky didn’t seem to have.

“Actually, do you mind if-” he flashed you an apologetic smile, “could we just drive around for a while?”

Maybe he had some residual adrenaline from being arrested. Maybe being in jail gave him flashbacks to his captivity under Hydra. Either way, you knew he wouldn’t have asked to go for a drive unless he really needed it. Part of you was surprised, though, that he’d willingly spend more time with you. That he’d choose to share a confined space with you. He was all too happy with removing you from his life, and practically sprinted through your reunion breakfast. But after so many months of missing him, you’d take whatever extra time you could get.

The drive was quiet, though it did seem to help Bucky relax some. His leg stopped bouncing; his shoulders loosened up. Being around you had that effect on him; it wasn’t something he could help. But as he mellowed out, the questions swirling around your brain only multiplied.

At a red light, you tested the waters. “Can I ask you something?”

Bucky nodded.

“What happened tonight? How did you end up in jail?”

A litany of emotions ran across Bucky’s face. Frustration, worry, shame, and sadness tied his expression in a knot. Part of him wanted to lie. He could say it was a bar fight. He could make up an elaborate story and placate you for the rest of the ride. But you bailed him out. You answered his call and showed up for him when he needed you. You sat, clad in your pajamas, in the waiting area of a dirty police station. For him. He owed you the truth.

“I was arrested for sleeping in the park,” he said, his tone flat.

It wasn’t at all what you expected to hear. No answer formed on your lips. You couldn’t pull your eyes from his face. The words sunk in, burrowing their way through your flesh and plunging into your heart.

“Um, it’s- the light is green,” he said, snapping you out of your trance.

You hit the gas and accelerated on autopilot. And as soon as you made it through the intersection, you pulled over. Bucky’s confession knocked the wind out of you and robbed you of your focus. And if he had more to say, you wanted to give him your undivided attention.

“Why are we stopping-”

“Buck, why were you sleeping in the park?”

Bucky let loose a deep sigh that seemed to come right from his soul. “Because I don’t have anywhere else to sleep,” he shrugged. “I ran out of money.” He was silent for a moment, wondering just how honest he should be. “I’m supposed to be getting some POW benefits from the government, but you know, bureaucracy is slow.”

“Oh, Buck…” After everything he suffered through under Hydra, after the way the US treated him upon his arrival home, the least his country could do was pay him back. Or provide him with a safe place to sleep. But, once again, they failed him.

“You know that motel you saw me at the other day? I wasn’t there for a hook up; I’ve been staying there-” He corrected himself, “Well, I’ve actually been staying at a few different motels. None of them are extended stay, so I can’t be there more than a few nights.”

He noticed the way your eyes grew sad, the way your mouth fell open the slightest bit. Heartbreak was written all over your face. “Sorry to disappoint you, I know you hoped I was getting some strange with someone from Tinder,” he shot you a wink and flashed a smile your way. But you couldn’t bring yourself to laugh.

Bucky, of all people, deserved a comfortable home. Someplace warm. Permanent. Someplace he could call his own. Someplace he could feel safe. But, instead, life gave him the short end of the stick. Again.

“Anyway, no matter how cheap those motels are, paying for them every night adds up, you know? So, now I’m broke,” a rush of heat flooded his cheeks. Admitting to his situation was so embarrassing, so shameful, he thought he might drown in it. He was a grown- overgrown- adult who didn’t even have a roof over his head. “I got a warning from the cops last night -and the night before- for sleeping in the park. But tonight was my third strike, so…” He shrugged, “they arrested me.”

“Jesus Christ, cause not having a place to live is criminal?” you scoffed, “This country is ridiculous.”

“Trust me, it’s not for lack of trying,” Bucky quickly added on. He didn’t want you to think he wasn’t working on it, that he was slacking, that we was complacent in his situation. “I tried for a long time to get an apartment, but I either didn’t have enough money for the deposit or I’d get turned away when they realized who I was. Though it’s not like I could ever make rent…”

When he learned how much an apartment in Brooklyn cost these days, a suffocating sense of hopelessness swallowed him whole. He knew he’d never be able to afford the one place he ever really saw as home.

“And I tried a few shelters, but they wouldn’t take me, either.” He didn’t know a shelter could turn people away; experiencing it first-hand broke him. “So um, the motels were my only option.”

Sobs blocked your airway and burned the inside of your nose. Tears pooled along your inner lash line; you prayed to god Bucky wouldn’t see them. You could sense his shame, his embarrassment; the last thing he needed was you crying over his circumstances.

“What um,” you fought to keep your voice steady. “What about Sam?”

Bucky shrugged. “Sam’s been helping me with all the stuff for my benefits and getting my record expunged- he’s been a godsend. And he’s offered to let me stay with him more times than I can count. He’s offered me money- he even snuck some cash into my jacket pocket the other day,” Bucky gave a soft laugh. “But I can’t take any more from him; he’s already done too much for me.”

“I get that…” You knew Sam would happily let Bucky crash. But Bucky wasn’t the type to impose. “Sam’s a good friend.”

“He’s the best. I’m gonna pay him- and you- back, either when my benefits come through or whenever I can get a job. Whichever comes first.” It was a promise, a verbal contract. He didn’t want you thinking he wasn’t good for it- even if he wasn’t good for it quite yet. He knew he would be someday. And as soon as he had the money, you and Sam would be his first priority.

“I keep applying for jobs on the off chance that someone will cut me some slack, but until my record gets expunged, I’m fucked. Every place I’ve applied to has done a background check, and every time, my name is surrounded by red flags.” He let out a sigh, “I’m still a criminal.”

Your heart buckled. He wasn’t a criminal- he never should’ve been burdened with such a title. He didn’t do anything wrong, he didn’t choose to be the Winter Soldier. But people didn’t care about the truth.

“What about SWORD?”

He shook his head, “They don’t want me. Hiring an ex-Hydra assassin doesn’t really work for their image. They’re trying to steer clear of the whole SHIELD thing…”

The two of you sat in silence for a long moment. Bucky hadn’t originally planned on laying everything so bare, he just couldn’t help himself. Opening up to you came naturally. But in the quiet, he felt naked. Exposed. He regretted spilling the details of his pathetic existence for you to see.

But you’d never judge him. You simply wanted better for him. And wished he’d come to you when times got tough.

The shards of your broken heart sliced through you with every breath. Imagining Bucky in rundown, roach infested motels or sleeping on an uncomfortable park bench on a cold night made you want to vomit. Waves of utter devastation crashed into you one after another, barely giving you enough time to breathe. But you couldn’t allow yourself to fall apart. Not when Bucky needed you.

When you finally steadied your breathing, you spoke. “Buck, can I ask- and I don’t mean this in an accusatory way,” you prefaced, “but why didn’t you come to me?”

“Because I care what you think about me,” he said, almost automatically. “Your opinion of me is important.”

“Well, my opinion of you hasn’t changed now that I know what’s been going on…”

A smile fought its way to Bucky’s lips. Logically, he knew you didn’t think less of him now that you knew the truth. He knew you were too kind to look down on him. But his anxiety didn’t think logically. The smile lasted only a second, as his worries about your perception got the better of him.

“My life is a disaster,” he said. “I have almost nothing to my name. I don’t have any money. I don’t have a place to live. It’s humiliating.” He ran his palms up and down the length of his thighs, fighting the nervous energy. “I wouldn’t have even called you to bail me out if Sam was in town; I didn’t want you to know about all this.”

Without a word, you pulled back onto the road.

Bucky eyed the surrounding street, “Um, where are we going?”

“My place,” you kept your eyes on the road. “I’m taking you to my apartment.”

Panic bloomed in Bucky’s chest. “Oh, no, it’s- that’s okay. I’m fine. You don’t have to do that.” A swell of anxiety barreled into him at the thought of you taking him home like a dirty, stray dog. He didn’t want to be a charity case or your good deed of the day. And as much as he would’ve loved to spend time in your home, he wished to do so under different circumstances. Circumstances that didn’t involve pity.

“You can really just drop me off anywhere-”

His words tore through you. “Buck, it’s late,” you cut a glance at him. “And it’s cold out. I’m not just leaving you on the side of the road somewhere. I-” you cleared your throat, “I care about you”

Part of him wanted to open the door and jump from the moving car. Surely, it would be less humiliating. But the look on your face kept him from pulling the rip cord. Concern pulled your brows together. Worry made you bite at your lip. You genuinely cared about him, genuinely wanted to help. And though he could actually feel embarrassment seeping from his pores, he chose to stay. Because you caring about him trumped any and every other feeling.

“Okay, so, this is my place,” you said as you led Bucky though the front door of your apartment. You flicked on a few lights and kicked off your shoes, “make yourself at home.”

Bucky didn’t know how to do that anymore.

He stood stone still just inside the door, too overwhelmed and unsure to move.

“Um, so, obviously, this is the kitchen- and that’s the living room,” you said, pointing to an area with a massive suede couch. “My bedroom and the guest room are down that hall, laundry is to the left, and guest bathroom is to the right, next to the office.”

Bucky was impressed. The apartment was beautiful. You’d decorated to match your warm personality; it made him instantly comfortable. And it was nice- fancier than anything he could ever dream of affording. He was so proud of you. He knew you’d worked hard to get here, and seeing the fruits of your labor brought a smile to his face. He only wished he could’ve been a part of your journey.

“This is really nice,” he said, taking a few more steps inside. “Is it all yours? Or do you have a roommate?”

“Nope, no roommate. Just me.”

Bucky’s brows lifted as he drank in the space. You paid for this place all on your own, no help from a roommate. He wondered what it felt like to be that stable, that secure. He never knew where he was sleeping from one night to the next, and you practically lived in a penthouse.

“Um, we can sit, if you like,” you gestured toward the fancy couch, “it’s more comfortable than it looks, I promise.”

But Bucky didn’t go for it. “Actually, would you mind if I took a shower? I’m just- I feel pretty grimy from the motels. And the park. And the jail,” he felt his cheeks flush at the admission. He really was the filthy mutt you brought home from the pound. “I just don’t wanna sit on your couch when I’m gross like this.”

“Oh, sure. That’s- I totally get it. I should probably change my clothes, too.”

With a wave of your hand, you gestured for Bucky to follow you to the bathroom. As you guided him through your apartment, he admired the art on your walls and the expensive rugs covering your floors.

With a clearing of your throat, you gestured to the guest bathroom. “Everything you need should be in there but let me know if I can get you anything else. Can I throw your clothes in the laundry? I’ll wash whatever’s in your bag, too.”

Bucky gave you a strange look, “I appreciate it, but I don’t think you want me walking around here in a towel.”

You didn’t necessarily shy away from the idea, but this wasn’t the time for a suggestive response. “Okay, but- what are you gonna put on after you shower?”

Bucky shrugged, “I don’t know. Whatever I have in my backpack.”

You eyed the bag slung over his shoulder and imagined the heap of clothes he’d balled up and shoved inside. “Are they clean?”

Bucky thought for a moment, “Define ‘clean’.”

“Buck,” you laughed, “just let me put your stuff in the wash.” You gave his backpack a gentle swat and motioned for him to relinquish it to you.

“So, you do want me walking around in a towel,” Bucky quirked a brow at you. “I knew it.”

“Oh my god,” you rolled your eyes, “just come with me.”

Bucky did as he was told and followed you into your bedroom. It cloaked him in an instant warmth, a sense of home he hadn’t experienced in eighty years. The whole room seemed to glow with a cozy, welcoming aura. He wondered what it was like to fall asleep here every night, to wake here each morning. Well-loved books populated a large bookcase in the corner, an armchair sat near the window. Bucky could practically see you curled up on its large cushion, your nose buried in Pride and Prejudice. But a photo on the wall near your bed caught his eye.

“Is that me?” He took a few steps inside your door and found his suspicion to be correct.

It was a slightly out of focus candid shot of you and Bucky laying on the floor of the war room at the compound. Nat snapped it as the team talked through different strategies to bring everyone back from the blip. In the photo, you sported a massive smile, and had your face smushed against Bucky’s arm to stifle your laughter. Bucky’s eyes were squeezed shut, his metal hand covering his mouth. You were both exhausted, and loopy, enjoying a moment of levity amidst a sea of tragedy.

“That’s my favorite picture,” something about your words came off sad. And Bucky knew it was because of him. The joy, the closeness exhibited in the photo didn’t exist anymore. He’d stripped your friendship of everything warm and left you out in the cold. Alone.

You made your way over to the dresser and fished around in the bottom drawer, “let’s find you something to wear.”

“Um, I don’t…” Bucky chuckled, “I’m not gonna fit into any of your clothes.”

You cut glance at him, “I know that. That’s why I’m giving you…” With a grand gesture, you unearthed a pair of sweatpants, “your clothes.”

Bucky’s mouth fell open. He stared at the pair of charcoal gray sweats he lent to you ages ago, the pair you loved, the pair he told you to keep. He didn’t say anything when you plopped them in his hands; he was too stunned to speak.

“And here’s this,” you said as you draped a faded blue ‘NYC’ t-shirt over his shoulder. He’d loaned you that shirt so many times back at the compound, you wore it more than he did. Eventually, he started putting it in your closet instead of his on laundry day.

“Now, give me your bag and I’ll throw your stuff in the wash.”

Bucky finally dragged his eyes from the pair of pants and furrowed his brow at you. “Why do you still have this stuff?”

Something in you grew nervous. Was he mad? Or did he think you were a creep for holding onto his things? Maybe it was too weird of a gesture. Maybe you should’ve let him hang around in a towel after all.

“Cause I like wearing it,” you said with trepidation in your voice. “Your clothes were always more comfortable than mine. And I-” you cut yourself off. Saying ‘I miss you’ was too much. Instead, you rerouted, “I like to wear oversized stuff.”

Bucky nodded and gave a quiet “right” before thanking you and heading for the bathroom. At your request, he left his bag in the hall. You scooped it up and dumped his clothes into the washer before doubling back to the bathroom, where Bucky had dropped his dirty jail-clothes outside the door. You changed out of your dirty clothes from the police station and threw them in the laundry with Bucky’s. It was the closest you’d been in months.

Bucky nearly teared up as the water sliced through the layer of grime coating his skin. He couldn’t remember the last time he’d had a shower this hot. The motels always seemed to have faulty water heaters that only allowed for subzero temperatures. And at some of them, the water didn’t quite run clear. Sometimes, there was a brown tint. Other times, it was gray. And showers like those left only him feeling dirtier.

But he didn’t want to think about the rust-eaten pipes of the decrepit motels in which he stayed. Instead, he basked in the nearly scalding water, the tiles that didn’t have moldy grout. For the first time in a while, he didn’t feel like a husk of himself, but a real person. All his time shuffling between park benches and rat-infested motels had stripped him of his personhood. And something as simple as a shower restored it. Though, deep down, he knew it wasn’t the incredible water pressure or the lavender body wash that had him feeling human again. It was you.

With the entirety of Bucky’s wardrobe in the washing machine, you paced lap after lap around the kitchen. Only a few days ago, you feared you’d never see Bucky again. And now, he was in your shower. After your chilly reunion at the diner, you couldn’t help but be mad at him, no matter how much you’d missed him. He was cool and aloof. He didn’t open up. And he didn’t seem at all interested in repairing your friendship.

But listening to him in the car laid almost every piece of the puzzle out before you. And though there were still gaps and empty spots, you nearly had the picture complete. Bucky didn’t ice you out because he hated you or didn’t want you anymore. He was simply too embarrassed to admit what he was going through.

A sharp twinge of guilt needled at you. You shouldn’t have been mad at him after what happened at the diner. You shouldn’t have jumped to conclusions or assumed the worst. Bucky deserved better. You should’ve known in your heart that he was only pushing you away to protect himself. It was his nature; it always had been. You’d just been too hurt to see it.

“Your shower is unbelievable,” Bucky said as he padded into the kitchen, his hair still damp. “And those towels? They’re amaz-” A stack of Tupperware on the island caught his attention. “What’s all this?”

“Leftovers. I cooked dinner earlier tonight…” You shrugged, “I thought you might be hungry.”

He shifted his wide-eyed gaze from the food, forcing his eyes to land anywhere else. “Oh, no, that’s okay. I’m fine.”

You quirked a brow at him, “You’re not hungry?”

“No.” It was quiet but firm.

“Really? Cause the Bucky I knew needed to eat like, six thousand calories a day.” Bucky’s insatiable hunger was a running joke between the two of you back then. He always finished your food when you couldn’t clear your plate, and snacked on anything he could get his hands on. On one occasion, he even fell asleep in your bed with his hand in bag of honey mustard pretzels. Hearing him refuse food was strange, almost alarming. “You always called yourself ‘Earth’s hungriest hero’”.

Bucky gave a small laugh, “yeah, damn super soldier serum will do that to your metabolism.”

You stared at him, “So…”

“So?”

“So, do you want something to eat?”

“No, really,” he shook his head, “I’m fine.”

But you noticed the way his stare always returned to the stack of containers. Even after he’d pulled his focus from the food, his eyes found their way back. You sensed a longing in him, a deep desperation that left you gutted. Any jovial, lighthearted quality your words held fell to the wayside, making way for concern.

“Buck, when’s the last time you ate?”

Bucky did his best to think back to his last meal but couldn’t find an answer. Part of him wanted to lie, to appease you with details of a made-up dinner from earlier that night. But he didn’t get the chance; his pause was too long for your liking.

“Okay, if it’s taking you that long to remember, you need to eat.” It wasn’t an offer or a request, but an order. “Help yourself.”

But once again, he shook his head. “No, it’s okay. I don’t want to impose-”

“It’s not an imposition,” your words came out with an unexpected fierceness; it almost sounded like a scold. The idea, the mere suggestion that Bucky could impose on you was ridiculous. You took a breath and softened your tone, “I live alone, and every recipe is for more than one person. There’s plenty.”

Before Bucky could refuse again, you opened the Tupperware and allowed him a look at the fruits of your labor. “There’s roasted chicken with rosemary and thyme, garlic mashed potatoes, and maple-glazed brussels sprouts.” Bucky’s eyes lit up. You could practically see drool leaking from the corner of his mouth.

A sense of satisfaction enveloped you, like you’d finally banished Bucky’s unnecessary fear of imposition. But just in case he wasn’t sure, just in case you hadn’t won him over, you threw one last piece of information his way. “Oh, and there’s chocolate chip cookies over there.”

Bucky was almost overwhelmed. He took in the beautiful spread and gave the cookies a long glance; it was almost too much. “Woah, you weren’t kidding…” He gave a small laugh, “this is a lot of food.”

You shrugged, “I don’t know how to cook for one.”

With that, you handed Bucky a plate and let him go to town. He filled his dish with chicken, mashed potatoes, and brussels sprouts. But the look on his face signaled more relief than joy, more solace than happiness. You wondered how long he’d been without food, how long he’d worried about where his next meal would come from. As he stood over those plastic containers, that anxiety vanished- for the most part.

A debate raged inside of Bucky’s head. He was famished, literally starving. And you’d given him full access to a massive meal. But he didn’t want to overdo it. He knew he shouldn’t empty your Tupperware and leave you with nothing; he just he didn’t know when he’d eat again. And he could practically feel his body digesting itself.

Before he could tighten the reigns, though, you spoke up. “Seriously, Buck, don’t be shy. I can’t finish all of this- it’ll just go bad.”

He nearly broke down. For so long, he knew only wanting, only appetite, only emptiness. And you offered him a respite. “I haven’t had a home cooked meal in…” Once again, his pause was too long; it crushed you. “Anyway, I really appreciate this.” He pulled his gaze from the food and gave you a long look filled with admiration. “And I’m impressed- I didn’t know you were such a culinary talent. I distinctly remember you burning ramen noodles to a blackened crisp more than once.”

The laugh that erupted from your chest filled the kitchen, “Well, I distinctly remember you eating my disgusting ramen without hesitation.”

Back when things were good between you and Bucky, you’d always volunteer to make dinner. Between strategy sessions and long, complicated meetings, the team simply forgot to eat. But you knew they needed nourishment to make defeating Thanos a realistic option. No one, however, wanted your charred ramen. Except for Bucky. He always accepted your offerings with a kind smile and a mountain of appreciation. He was grateful, no matter how awful it tasted, because it came from you.

“My therapist actually suggested I get into cooking,” you told Bucky as he popped his plate in the microwave. “I was really depressed and stopped caring about eating or taking care of myself. It felt pointless. But she told me some people find comfort in cooking. It’s almost meditative, you know? And if you focus on the recipe, you can’t think about all the um, the painful stuff.”

Bucky knew he was ‘the painful stuff’.

“There was a bit of a learning curve, but now,” you shrugged, “I love it.”

“Oh, wow, that awesome. So you get some peace and a delicious meal? Sounds like a good deal.” He mulled it over, wishing he had a kitchen into which he could retreat. But the motels only ever had a microwave, and most of the time, it didn’t work.

“I had a therapist- well, a court appointed therapist,” he said, “she was the worst.”

You sighed. Why were things always so hard for him? Why did people treat him so terribly?

“What was so terrible about her?”

“Honestly, I think she hated me,” defeat coated his words. “She was mean- I know that sounds childish, but I mean, the things she said were biting. They hurt. And she did it on purpose. I left every session feeling worse.” He thought back on his sessions with Dr. Raynor, on how she broke him down piece by piece until he was only a pile of ash. “She said I wasn’t a victim, and that I needed to take responsibly for the things I did and the choices I made.”

Anger surged inside your chest, “The choices you made?”

He nodded. “She was actually so terrible that I thought she worked for Hydra. I thought they were trying to get me back and that she was working undercover with them to manipulate me.” A small laugh broke free from his chest, “But she wasn’t. She’s just an asshole.”

“Jesus Christ, Buck…” You couldn’t imagine anyone being so awful, so hateful, toward Bucky. He was kind and warm. He showed people compassion and understanding. Why the world didn’t show him the same baffled you. “I hope you don’t see her anymore.”

He removed his plate from the microwave, “Oh, I don’t.”

You sighed with relief, but it was a short-lived respite.

“I couldn’t afford to.”

He dove into his food before you could even usher him to the table. Between huge bites of potatoes and chicken, he praised your cooking. He swore on his life that this was some of the best food he’d ever had. It warmed your heart for a brief moment, but reality put a stop to the fuzzy feeling. Sure, you were a good cook. But you were certain than Bucky’s gushing compliments were the product of his empty stomach. He couldn’t even determine how long it had been since his last meal; of course, he was going to inhale his food with gusto and deem it ‘the best’.

It gnawed at you to see him like this. He laughed as you guided him to the table and settled into the seat across from him, but you didn’t match his lighthearted energy. He’d been struggling, suffering in silence without knowing where he’d get his next meal. For decades, Bucky knew nothing but pain. He was tortured, abused, treated like an animal. Hydra infected him like a parasite and devoured him from the inside out. They saddled him with PTSD and enough demons to fill even the deepest pits of hell. And after all that, life refused to give him a break. It killed you.

“I thought- correct me if I’m wrong, but- I thought court appointed therapy was paid for...”

“Sometimes it is, sometimes it isn’t,” Bucky said with a mouth full of brussels sprouts. “It depends on the situation”. He threw a shrug your way and speared a piece of chicken with his fork, but a thought stopped him from shoveling it into his mouth. “Even if my appointments were supposed to be covered, I don’t think anyone wanted to give me anything for free.”

A heavy silence fell over the room. Only the sound of Bucky’s fork scraping his plate interrupted the blanket of quiet. But the stillness made him squirm. Suddenly, he piped up.

“So, I did the required amount of sessions with that therapist and promised myself I’d never go back. It was tough, but I made it work. I scraped by.” His gaze took on a hollow quality, “That’s when I started staying in the really shitty places. The ones with asbestos and mold. And there was this one place where the sheets were stained with what looked like blood.” He grimaced, “I haven’t been back there.”

You forced a laugh, “Good call.”

Bucky shifted his focus back to his plate; he’d sprinted through his meal, leaving only a few bites remaining. The flicker of a frown ghosted across his face. The food was gone too soon, replaced by an empty plate. He was tired of everything in his life being empty- his bank account, his stomach, his heart. But he didn’t dare let himself wallow in self-pity with you sitting mere inches away. Instead, he overcorrected with a large smile, hoping you hadn’t noticed the look of disappointment he wore just moments earlier. He’d rather die than appear ungrateful, even if his hunger pangs had already returned.

“You can help yourself to seconds, there’s more than enough,” you took a look at the containers still sitting on the counter. Even after he’d piled his plate high, not a dent was made. “You can have thirds, fourths- I don’t care.”

Bucky shook his head as he cleaned his plate, “No, that’s alright. I’m good. Thank you, though.”

It was an egregious lie; maybe the worst you’d ever heard.

“Buck, I can practically hear your stomach rumbling from here.” You knew him. Even after all this time apart, you knew him. You knew he was still hungry, especially after having gone so long without eating. His metabolism burned through fuel at a massively accelerated pace; he needed the calories. “Please, have some more.”

Once again, he shook his head. “I’m okay, really,” he gave you a smile. “Plus, I don’t want you to think I’m a freeloader.”

His words struck you in a strange way. Bucky never used to worry about your perception of him. And you never thought twice about how he saw you. There was a mutual respect and sense of comfort that didn’t fall victim to judgement. You accepted each other without hesitation. But Bucky couldn’t find his sense of security. He shifted in his seat and averted his eyes every so often, fearful of your inner monologue.

“Why are you so worried about what I think?”

Confusion lifted Bucky’s brow, “what do you mean?”

“You just said that you don’t want me to think you’re a freeloader. And in the car earlier, you said you didn’t reach out and ask me for help because you care about what I think.” You shrugged, “I just want to know why my opinion matters so much to you.”

“Because you’re my friend,” his tone was sure, steadfast. “I’ve always cared about your opinion.”

“Yeah,” hearing him call you his friend eased some of the tension in your neck. “And I care about what you think of me, too, but- I was never worried about it.” A sudden thought popped into your head, “I mean, I’ve been worrying about it lately, cause it kinda seemed like you hated my guts for a while there, but…”

Bucky stared down at his empty plate. He didn’t want you pulling at this thread, didn’t want you unraveling his thought process. He prayed you’d drop the whole thing and move on.

You didn’t.

“Sam’s your friend, too. Don’t you care what he thinks?” You feared coming on too strong, but you needed answers. “He knows about what you’ve been going through. You let him help you. You didn’t-” you stopped yourself.

Bucky gave you an expectant look, “I didn’t what?”

“You didn’t cut him off.”

Bucky’s face fell. You never meant to hurt him, to make him feel bad about pushing you away. No matter how badly he hurt you, you’d never throw it in his face- especially after you learned why he did it.

“Buck, I’m sorry, I didn’t mean it like-”

“No, don’t apologize,” a sad smile crossed his face. “You’re right.” He was quiet for a moment as he gathered his thoughts. He planned on having this conversation with you someday, months from now. He didn’t have his script organized, didn’t know how to best express what he was feeling. Worry encapsulated him. What if he misspoke? What if he messed things up even worse?

“Things with Sam are different. He and I became friends because of Steve. We promised him we’d look out for each other.”

It sounded all too familiar. “You and I promised each other the same thing…” It was a pinky promise made on the living room floor of the compound. In the middle of the night, by the light of the fireplace, you swore to be there for one another come hell or high water. Never did you even consider breaking that covenant, that bond. You upheld your end of the bargain without issue. But Bucky fell short.

He thought about that promise every night, berating himself for breaking it until he fell asleep.

He sighed, “I know we did, but- that’s not the same thing. You and I became friends when everything fell apart. The entire universe was in chaos, everyone’s lives imploded.” He dragged his gaze downward, “You and I were on an even playing field back then.”

“What do you mean?”

“Back then, we were equals,” a faint smile flickered on his lips at the thought of those days he spent with you. They were dark, sure, but he remembered them fondly. Those were the days when he never left your side, the days when we woke up and fell asleep next to you. His favorite days. “We slept on the floor at the compound. We lived off ramen and red bull and worked around the clock to try and figure out how bring everyone back. We struggled. Together. But now…” He looked around your beautiful kitchen, “everything is okay again, and everyone has gone back to their lives. You’re doing well- really well. And I’m stillstruggling. I’m in almost the exact same position as I was back then.”

Words formed a traffic jam in your throat. Each new idea of how to comfort Bucky seemed too sappy, too corny. Just as a new phrase tried to exit your lips, you swallowed it. How were you supposed to make him feel better? How were you going to make any of this okay?

Bucky knew you were at a loss. He could see your desperate attempts to come up with a fix-it phrase for his situation, a way to assuage the way he felt. All you ever wanted was to make him feel better. “You have this great apartment and you’re working for SWORD. You found your way out. Meanwhile, I’m scrounging together any cash I can find to pay for a few nights in a rat-infested motel. Or I’m sleeping in the park- and getting arrested for it.”

He was going through a hard time- a really hard time. His life was in shambles and a new hardship greeted him at every turn. But you couldn’t make sense of his departure from your life. If anything, he should’ve grown closer to you, shouldn’t he? He should’ve leaned on you, asked you for help, sought comfort in your arms.

“I guess I’m just- does that automatically mean we can’t be friends?”

Bucky’s humiliation piled on top of itself. It grew with each breath, with each passing moment. Admitting just how destitute he was, how utterly lacking- it destroyed him. “No, but- who wants to be friends with that guy? Who wants to hang out with the guy who can’t figure his shit out?” A strange mixture of frustration and melancholy dripped from his words. “I have nothing. And I’m just not- I can’t be your friend yet.”

His words hit you like a train. “We were already friends; you were my closest friend-”

“We were rock bottom friends,” his voice was low, hollow. “We were wartime friends.” It came out almost as a recitation, as thought this was something he told himself to justify his actions.

You swore he made up that phrase right there in your kitchen. It seemed more like an excuse than an explanation. “What does that even mean?”

“A wartime friend, it’s- it’s the person you cling to when the world implodes. The person you’d never actually be friends with in real life, but you lean on them when life falls apart because they’re just- they’re there.”

The day you two met, Bucky found you crying in a supply closet at the compound. You were at the end of your rope, heartbroken over the loss of friends and family. Never had you experienced such an earth-shattering loss. You had no one- nothing. But Bucky was there for you. For a moment, you weren’t alone. You had someone. And he quickly became your favorite someone.

“People get desperate during wartime, you know?” Bucky continued, “They’ll befriend anyone if it brings them even a sliver of peace or comfort.”

“So, you thought-”

“I thought for sure that’s what you were doing.”

Bucky stood from his chair. Anxiety ate away at him from the inside, leaving him unable to sit any longer. “I mean, you knew who I was. You knew I was a mentally ill, train wreck of a person. I figured we’d buddy up until the clouds parted- since neither of us had any other options- and then when things when back to normal, you’d find your real friends.”

He considered himself a consolation prize, a leftover. He didn’t know that, from the very beginning, you considered him a ‘real’ friend.

“But after knowing you for a few days, I wasn’t okay with that anymore,” his words came out hurried, almost frantic. “I wanted to be friends with you for real. I wanted you to want me around after we fixed everything. But I knew there was no way you’d want me as a friend outside of the shitstorm.”

The realization played out across his face in real time. You watched happiness turn to disappointment, to despair, to desperation.

“So, I just resigned myself to enjoy our time while it lasted. I knew it was all the friendship I could ever hope to get from you-” A shy smile pulled at his lips, “though, I was lucky to be close to you for any measure of time.”

The smile faded, “but then when it was all over, and things went back to normal, you kept reaching out. You kept trying to get in touch with me and I- I couldn’t handle it. I couldn’t make sense of it-”

You gave a small shake of your head, “I missed you. I needed you. I just wanted to see you…”

“I know, and I’m sorry. I just didn’t know how to react. I panicked.” The nervous energy left Bucky’s buddy all at once. He slid into his chair and let his spine rest heavy against the wood. A sense of dejection befell him like and angry, icy sleet. “I didn’t want you to see me struggle in real life. I didn’t want you to see how much my actual life resembled the disaster we’d been living in. Cause when you look at my situation in the cold light of day it’s…” he swallowed the urge to hide from his humiliation. “It’s ugly. There’s no romanticizing what I’m dealing with.”

“I know you’re going through a lot right now.” For the first time in almost a year, you reached across the table for his hand. And for the first time in almost a year, he let you. “But Buck, you are not the only person struggling. I know it feels that way, but there are still so many people trying to get their lives on track after the blip- I’m still trying to get my head right. No one has a perfect life.”

Bucky gave a gentle scoff, “I know, but yours is a lot closer to perfect than mine.”

Again, you found yourself at a loss. No pep talk, no encouraging words, could make Bucky feel better about his situation. And nothing you could say had the power to fix how he felt about the state of his life. Instead of speaking, you opted to wrap his hand in both of yours the way you used to. You only hoped it would comfort him like the old days.

After a while, Bucky spoke again, “I just wanted to get my life together before I saw you again. You know? Cause my situation right now is embarrassing. I was afraid to admit the truth of my reality.”

You nodded, “And that’s why-”

“That’s why I was so weird when we ran into each other the other day,” he confirmed. He cringed at the way he acted, the way he treated you. It was all wrong. “I knew you saw me leave the motel. I knew I couldn’t pay for a meal at that diner. I was afraid that, as we spent more time together, you’d put the puzzle pieces in place and figure out that I’m a mess.”

His sense of frantic desperation reclaimed him all at once. He leaned forward and captured your hands in his own as his gaze bore into yours. “I never wanted to cut you out of my life- you have to know that. I need you to know that.”

Tears formed along your lash line, creating a haze around your vision. “I know.”

“I just needed time,” he said. “I needed time to prove that I’m not a loser, that I’m good enough- I just wanted to be good enough for you.”

“Buck, you didn’t have to prove anything to me. And what do you mean you needed to be good enough? I’ve only ever wanted you to be yourself...” It was the most certain, the surest you’d ever been of anything. Bucky was exactly enough. He was himself, and that was all you could ever ask.

“And hey, I bailed you out of jail tonight without having any idea what you did- I didn’t even ask. I didn’t care. I was going to be there for you, regardless. Because I care about you.”

The storm clouds in his eyes parted. He hadn’t even thought about that, about how you paid for his release without context. If ever he doubted how you felt about him, that gesture was enough to set him straight.

He bowed his head a moment, thanking his lucky stars for your gracious nature. “I know you care about me. And I’m so sorry I abandoned you like that- I never wanted to hurt you. I just didn’t know what to do…”

“It’s okay,” you sniffled.

Bucky freed your hands for a moment, allowing you to wipe the tears flowing down your cheeks. He recaptured them as soon as he could, even if your knuckles were still damp.

“Well, it’s not okay- like, don’t do it again,” you joked. “But I understand now why you felt the way you felt. And you understand that I want you in my life, full stop. Right?”

Bucky nodded, “Yeah, I get that now.”

With the deepest sigh of relief you could muster, you banished the feeling of abandonment Bucky with which Bucky saddled you. You shed your fears, your worries. The deep pit that formed in your stomach all those months ago closed, the prickling anxiety in your chest faded away. And for the first time in long time, you breathed easy.

“Just so you know- and I don’t wanna hear any complaints or refusals on this-” you gave Bucky a look, prompting him to nod in agreement. “You have to have at least one more plate of food.”

A rebuttal brewed beneath Bucky’s surface, his fear of imposing rearing its ugly head. He’d already called in a massive favor, had you pay his bail, used your shower, and eaten your food. The anxiety of overstepping vibrated inside his skull. But he kept his promise and nodded in agreement.

“And-”

“And?” he gave you an exasperated look.

You gave a firm nod, “Yes, there’s an ‘and’!”

Bucky sighed out a tired laugh, “What more could there be?” A sudden darkness eclipsed his expression. His smile fell, his laugh halted. Anxiety had him by the throat. His snaked his hands away from yours and tightened them into tight fists. “I already feel like I’m taking advantage…”

“You’re not. I promise.” All at once, you were fed up with sitting across from him. You needed to be closer, as close as possible. Bucky needed to feel your sincerity, to hear your words loud and clear. In a flash, you gave up your seat across the table for the one right next to him. “You can’t impose or take advantage- not here. Because…”

Bucky eyed you with a nervous glance, “because?”

“Because… you live here now!” A victorious laugh fluttered out of your throat, “Sorry, I don’t make the rules.”

Shock overtook Bucky’s expression. He didn’t know what to say, what to do. His heart raced, his hand shook. All color drained from his face. “No, I can’t- that’s too nice…” He stared at you, “Are you serious?”

You nodded, “Dead serious. This is your home now, too.” Suddenly, you felt the need to clarify. “But only if you want. This isn’t like, a hostage situation or anything.”

Bucky’s head fell back in a loud laugh that nearly brought tears to your eyes. He hadn’t felt this carefree, this at peace, in a very long time. He didn’t remember the last time he laughed this way.

“Well, that is a relief,” he said with a chuckle. “I’d love to live here with you, I’d be- I’m so…” Suddenly, his hands found yours. He squeezed your fingers until your pulse throbbed against your skin. His anxiety practically seeped into your bones. “But I swear, I’m not gonna stop looking for a job or trying to get my benefits. I promise. I’m not gonna sit around like a deadbeat and mooch off you-”

“Buck, don’t worry about that right now, okay?”

He shook his head, “And I won’t stay here too long, I’ll-”

“Hey,” With great effort, you pulled your hands from his and places your palms against his cheeks. “There’s no move out date. There’s no ticking clock. You’re allowed to live here as long as you want- I want you here.” You shot him a smile, “Plus, I’ve missed you- a lot. So this arrangement is good for me, too.”

A swirling cloud of worry hovered above Bucky’s head. He was overwhelmed, you could tell. He tensed his jaw, his shoulders. His every muscle went rigid. “But are you sure? This is generous- it’s too generous.”

“I’m sure. Here-” You stood from your chair and gestured for him to do the same, “I thought you might need this.”

With that, you enveloped him in a tight hug. Back at the compound, a hug from you could solve any and every problem for Bucky. And his embrace did the same for you. There was something so warm, so welcoming about the arms of the other. It was salvation, it was solace. It was home. Without a place to live, Bucky could survive. But without you, without his home, he’d been lost. As he wrapped his arms around you, though, his entire world changed. And the severed soul tie you feared would never heal grew back once again, stronger than ever.

-----------------------------------------

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chorusofcrows · 2 months

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NINE.

"I can arrange the chairs together. I'll sleep there." Hero offered, turning away from the bed.

Villain scowled, "No need. I'm taking first watch, I'll wake you up in three hours and we can switch. Besides, I need a shower."

Hero laughed, "Watch, really? Afraid the monster under the bed is going to come get us?"

Villain looked at the bed for a solid moment, "I wouldn't be surprised."

Hero sighed, "But three hours? How am I supposed to get my beauty sleep in three hours? Besides, by the time it's my turn for watch, I'll be too tired to watch out for anything! We're in a motel, it has secerity!"

Villain scoffed, "You mean the three security cameras on this entire property? Two that are actually working?"

"No one followed us! You're so paranoid!"

"The more you argue the more it sounds like you want me to cuddle you to sleep." Villain sneered, "I'll take full watch, you can get your beauty sleep, though I doubt you need it. You'd still be beautiful torn to shreds and worn to exhaustion."

Hero was far too flustered to complain, much less sleep that night.

#hero x villain #villain x hero #villain prompt #hero prompt #writblur #writing #villains and heroes #one bed trope

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thy-lover · 8 months

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"YOU'LL LOVE ME IF I SAY YOU CAN" - Mortal Kombat Characters.

SUMMARY - Mortal Kombat Characters are Fuck Buddies with the Reader(Gender Neutral and Slightly a Villain) who is their ENEMY, In a Brief Moment of Clarity They Realize What They've Done....for the Millionth time

CHARACTERS - Shao Kahn, Johnny Cage, Scorpion, Sub-Zero, Noob Saibot, Jax, Kano, Baraka

WARNINGS - Minors Do Not Interact, Sexually Explicit Descriptions, Foul Language, Spousal Manipulation, What Could Be Considered as Phone Sex, Death Threats

𝔰𝔥𝔞𝔬 𝔨𝔞𝔥𝔫 -

➺ There he sat, on the side of his bed with but a thin white blanket across his lap covering his Manhood. Scratches alongside his back, across his arms, as if he's been clawed at by a wild animal.

➺ Half Moon fingernail prints on the side of his thighs, and bites along his neck. A spent cock between his thighs.

➺ Maybe it was the Sex, maybe it was seeing you walk into the Palace without a care in the world. Spitting on his concubines knowing you could play the great Shao Kahn for a fuckin fiddle. Yeah, it was the sex.

➺ It was the Romanticization of spearing his cock into the enemy that prevented him from taking your head and placing it on a pike. It was the way you fucked him, you fucked him, that made him want more. You were wild, fighting him, testing his restraint, or perhaps encouraging no restraint whatsoever.

➺ Only You. A "Pathetic" Earthrealmer who was a part of the Special Forces and Part Time Leader of a Secret Organization that wished to demolish Outworld. Could make him cum like you did. Not Sindel, not anyone, no one could force him to cum over and over like you.

➺ He was Outworlds Protector...wasn't he? Could he fool himself into believing crawling on top of you every night and fucking you till he could fuck no more, was in a way saving Outworld by possibly preventing the inevitable? No, he couldn't. He could only do as the bad guy does and pretend like this was part of the plan. Like he was the one using you.

➺ Even more so, as you stood up from the bed and began to clean yourself of the cum dripping down your legs and chest. Every time you stood up to leave he could see his handiwork. A fair share of bruises that he gave you from such animalistic sex. With his cum he marked you, with the bruise around your neck he claimed you, with that bite mark on your shoulder you were his. Damn anyone from his council who stood against it, damn anyone who found out. You were not his dirty secret you were his trophy.

➺ You looked fucked in such a delicious way of the term. When you put your clothes on and rearranged your appearance you all but smirked at him in the reflection of his mirror. Shao Kahn would never admit pain. He couldn't, he could never allow himself to be hurt not by you not by anyone. But every time you entered his lair, you hurt him with every kiss, it hurt him, broke him harder than any sword any scratch could ever.

➺ "See ya tomorrow." You said walking over to Shao Kahn and kissing his cheek. "Don't come back." Shao Kahn said not moving to kiss you, how many times had he said that very phrase? "I do what I want. If you don't want me coming back here to fuck you, then I'll come back here to take your throne."

➺ "I loved you....I love you....I'll kill to have you, I'll konquer the world to keep you."

𝔧𝔬𝔥𝔫𝔫𝔶 𝔠𝔞𝔤𝔢 -

➺ Hollywood has always been known to do some sketchy shit but this took the cake. He had sex, or he was having sex or he's been having sex with the same asshole that wiped out half of the Special Forces and damn near killed his own Daughter.

➺ This is why Johnny is laying in this lousy motel room, in fuck knows where. Naked a cigarette hanging from his lips, shit he didn't even smoke! Laying in this bed his eyes subconsciously searching for a blanket to cover his Manhood but to no avail.

➺ Why you? How could you have this power over Johnny Cage? The man who was never that sensible but never in the right mind betrays his friends by sleeping with the enemy.

➺ Even if there were a blanket his mind was too busy forcing his eyes to look back at the doorway where you stood naked staring at your reflection and wiping his cum off your body before slowly getting dressed.

➺ sometimes Johnny wanted to know why he was even here, there wasn't even really a solid reason why every night he snuck around paparazzi, and lied to Cassie and everyone who ever cared for him about where he was going on every night.

➺ But every time he got an anonymous call on his cell and every time he answered and heard your beautiful voice, he would bite his lip, palm his cock through his pants and write down the address to the new hotel to meet at.

➺ All he knew was that when you push him against the door, kiss down his neck. When he grabs your hips. When you push him on the bed and ride him like you'd die tomorrow, was secretly what he lived for.

➺ You made him lose control, you made him bury his head in the pillows like a virgin who's never been fucked, and you made him howl so loud the people next door banged their fists against the wall.

➺ You leave the bathroom and stand next to Johnny, your hand trailing from his calf to his inner thigh, so terribly close to his spent cock that he was so close to being hard again "Buh-bye Johnny boy, I'll be seeing you." You teased. "When?" Johnny asked his head low in shame. Your hands squeezed his thigh, embedding your nails in the muscular flesh "Whenever I fuckin want to."

➺ "I need you....even if you can't be mine."

𝔰𝔠𝔬𝔯𝔭𝔦𝔬𝔫 -

➺ You were his wife's killer...well not exactly actually, you just helped Quan Chi. By selling out the whereabouts of his wife all for a pretty sack of gold which made you smile when Quan Chi handed it to you. You sat upon a hill, tossing the gold sack in your hand, watching the Shirai Ryu burn.

➺ You were supposed to be dead, as dead as his dead wife, he would have made sure of that. Scorpion would have bought front-row tickets to see you roasting in the Netherrealm, but that wasn't the case.

➺ Instead of watching life drain from your eyes, he watched you sit up on the Shikifuton, your lips swollen, your eyes weary and dark. Instead of seeing your skin burn by the Netherrealm flame, he watched your skin currently flush a light pink, you were nude, bare for him. And he was nude, bare for you.

➺ Every night he prayed that whatever elder god who cared for him would cover his dead wife's eyes so that when he joined her in the death, he would not have to experience Harumi's shameful gaze. So that his dead children would not turn their backs to their father.

➺ He wouldn't blame them if they did. How could he? He wouldn't feel so guilty if he had the strength to kill you. But to raise his hands to you would feel wrong....he would feel like he was hurting his lover. But you were not his lover so how could he feel guilty for killing you? There was no love when you entered his home every night.

➺ You did not come into his home to love or make love with him. You came to his home to fuck your brains out. To pin him down, to play with his cock till his cum coated his stomach. To engage in the dirtiest sex and do things Harumi dared not to.

➺ Even now as you stood up, your legs shaking ever so slightly, cum dripping down them, his cum. Every night after you had your fun, he wanted you on your stomach face buried in the pillows fucking you till he came in you more times than he could count. He fooled himself into believing if he did that he would have power over you, but he was wrong. His real purpose for doing that was to claim you as his, though that's what you let him think.

➺ How much lust could you get out of pleasure, before that lust and that pleasure turn to guilt and shame? How could he lie to himself and say that this was the way to gain power over you? Every time that he spilled his seed within you was a bitter deep betrayal to the Shirai Ryu.

➺ When you gave him a dissatisfied glance, not because you were displeased by his performance, as a matter of fact, he gets better at fucking you every night you come back, but dissatisfied because you could hear his thoughts. Not his thoughts about Harumi or his child, no you knew about that so fuck that noise, no you're talking about the thoughts he didn't want to admit the thoughts that made you annoyed "Bye." You said coldly, he hated that, he hated this, he hated you but he hated that blank tone most of all. He watched you leave not saying a word he couldn't bring himself to

➺ "I can change you into something that can be loved."

𝔰𝔲𝔟-𝔷𝔢𝔯𝔬

➺ You helped Quan Chi create his monster of a brother Noob Saibot. And something which isn't a secret not even now and not even then, was that your eyes now aimed to take the Lin Kuei

➺ Sub-Zero is the leader of this clan, he swore an oath to protect and serve the Lin Kuei, and should anything, anyone pose any kind of threat to the clan whatever that threat might be was to be exterminated. Unfortunately, he was the threat. Every time you decided to waltz into the Lin Kuei compound and were granted entrance you posed a threat. And every time you pulled him into your arms he became a threat. For his weakness for the pleasure you could provide put the Lin Keui in constant danger.

➺ He was so pathetic when he was in your arms. With every rough touch you set upon his body, came a guttural groan. You were feral to him. You were festering upon him like a flame. Burning him with every kiss.

➺ He was so....unused to this. A virgin when you first had him. He was unmarried and never married previously. Sex was never a thought in his mind and love came 5th in the Lin Kuei. In the Lin Kuei love was given to you by your parents, not a spouse or a lover.

➺ How could he allow something like this to go on, how could his weakness allow him to let the person who was partially responsible for turning his brother into a revenant take his virginity, and for the next few months allow you to continue this sexual relationship. For months now.

➺ At some point, he encountered his brother Noob Saibot and after the fight, while Noob was about to teleport away he taunted his brother on precisely how he had you first, and that you'd never be his.

➺ Perhaps the sibling rivalry was still there or maybe he was serious. Either way Sub-Zero made it a point to no longer hesitate when having sex with you. Learning all too quickly to fuck you like a pro. He should have killed you all those times you crawled through his window, pushing him against a nearby wall and biting his neck. He should have strangled you the moment you wrapped your own hands around his neck and squeezed it lightly. He should have froze you in time the moment your warm hand grabbed his cock.

➺ Sometimes he wishes you would have killed him to stop or prevent the inevitable shame he brought upon the Lin Kuei by loving a partner who did not love him or the Lin Kuei back. Instead wanted to help Frost take over.

➺ His hands held your hips far more gently than he should have and that began to piss you off. He held you with his eyes with adoration, the first and only body he knows more about than his own. Every scar, every mark, every blemish, and every bit of beauty he held in his hands when he touched you. You growled, grabbed his hand, and pushed them off you, in a swift movement you pushed off of him, Sub-Zero watched with blind fondness as you grabbed your clothes and threw them on "Just stop!" You shouted rushing to the door and slamming it shut behind you. Sub-Zero was lost in a puppy love sort of trance. Could he never love you? Could your heart and his pride never allow it?

➺ "Could you ever allow yourself to obsess over me, as I am obsessed with you?"

𝔫𝔬𝔬𝔟 𝔰𝔞𝔦𝔟𝔬𝔱/𝔟𝔦-𝔥𝔞𝔫 -

➺ He tried to resist your temptation. He tried for the sake of the Lin Kuei to resist you, you were named Quan Chi's Left Hand, often called The Temptor. However, this was different, at least it was different for Bi-Han. You saw the dark ideas that plagued his head, saw his thoughts, and used him against him.

➺ Bi-Han could resist no more. The Lin Kuei felt more like a trap than a clan as the days went on. Bi-Han felt no love and no support from his dead parents' memory or his clan members. He felt nothing but he felt you. He felt your beating heart against the back of his spine. He felt the hand that explored his abs, he felt the hand that wrapped around his cock pumping it with a tight fist.

➺ Bi-Han felt your lips against his neck biting and licking the wound, he heard the sweet whispers in your voice every time you told him to surrender. You told him to surrender his strength, surrender his loyalty to the Lin Kuei, and surrender his identity to your master Quan Chi. But before he surrendered all that, he should surrender himself to you.

➺ Before Bi-Han became Noob Saibot he was mad for you. You had Bi-Han at your feet. You were giving him this intense feeling of something that compensated for the lack of affection he was given. You turned his strength for the Lin Kuei against him. And in turn, gave him the strength to go AWOL on the Lin Kuei.

➺ During those days you knew where to find Bi-Han. He was in your bed for months. He was not exactly a virgin, he had some experience when he and another Lin Kuei member attempted to have sex but unfortunately only ended in both of them being scared out of their wits. You however showed him what you wanted and sometimes waited patiently for him to give it to you.

➺ All was fine for the few months he left your chambers until an encounter with a vengeful scorpion left him to fall into the abyss. And Quan Chi saw an opportunity to use his necromancy for an interesting pet project.

➺ Noob Saibot was born and he felt nothing. Except for an odd feeling in his chest when he saw you walk by alongside Quan Chi. Your eyes were empty, and it was as if Noob Saibot finally realized the game you played with his past self Bi-Han. You looked at him without interest. Like you got what you wanted from him and didn't care to have more. Didn't care for him. You got what you wanted Bi-Hans identity for Quan Chi so he could massacre The Shirai Ryu and pin it on Bi-Han.

➺ You were his enemy for all intents and purposes. Only he had not expected a sliver of Bi-Hans conscious to remain. At night when Noob Saibot attempted to meditate he could hear screams. Not screams of pain. And in the darkness of his imagination he watched himself and Saibot fuck you in his head. Saibot held you to him as Noob used you to chase his high.

➺ He craved you. He needed you to give in to him. He wanted to surrender to you as Bi-Han has. But now, now you've changed you see him as a nuisance and when he managed to catch you before a fight he asked that exact question "You avoid us. Death is unavoidable. So why try to fight it?" He asked twirling his scythe. "Bi-Han loved me because I manipulated him to do so. I sense something in your soul, something that feels something for me, that I did not put there intentionally."

➺ "Life could not dwell in my heart, so the image of you will do just as well."

𝔧𝔞𝔵 -

➺ An enemy of Sonya's was an enemy of his. That's what he told himself when he first met you. The moment your eyes landed on him there was a villainous smirk that crossed your lips. You were Kano's Mad Dog and Jax also hated Kano. Only Jax couldn't bring himself to hate you. Not when your lips looked so pretty on his cock.

➺ Why you? Why Kano's Mad Dog. The sex was just so good. There were days when Jax wanted to fuck you nice and proper, then there were days, usually after he found out the terrible deeds you've done on the news, where he just wanted to fuck you till you couldn't move.

➺ After Jacqui left the house, in came you. You saved him from the sad depressive loneliness that was his home. He put away the beer more than usual so that he was sober when you dropped by and when you eventually find the spare key he attempts to hide and enters his home, scaring him half to death when you enter his bed while he sleeps.

➺ He wakes up with you silently beside or on top of him. He knows what you want, before you even speak, which is usually good because he hates you and more often than not doesn't want you to say anything, as all you usually have to say is something cocky.

➺ After the fact he usually lays down staring at the ceiling with labored breathing, ashamed of what he had done. What if Sonya finds out? What if Jacqui finds out?

➺ Fortunately for you and unfortunately for him the moment you roll over and begin to play with his Manhood all his worries disappear if but for a short while. And his mind fills with thoughts of you. Of your body. Of your sweet voice praising him for giving it to you rough.

➺ With Vera he was always gentle with her, always asking her if he was doing too much, if she was comfortable in this position. He was always so...careful not wanting to hurt her. And Vera was always, always gentle with him. He made love with Vera. But with You, it was rough, it was harsh, you praised him for being almost brutal with his pace and growled at him when he even dared try to be all sweet soft, and loving. You were wild and he was in denial what an interesting match.

➺ When you left more often than not it was in silence because you were never good at goodbyes and you never cared if he had wanted you to say something anything to break the uncomfortable silence because, in the end, you got what you wanted from the Special Forces lap dog. And it always made you just a bit annoyed with him when he looked at you like...like that. Like you were fuckin Vera Incarnate.

➺ When you put on your clothes you sit on the bed. Jax sat on a small table in his room pouring a whiskey and finishing a cigar "You're acting like you expect something more from me." You said coldly. "I do. Y'know, you don't sneak into someone's house and fuck the owner every night if you don't feel something-" "I DON'T FEEL ANYTHING!" You shouted swiftly leaving his room in a flash.

➺ "You're an exotic animal that can't be tied down and won't let any too close. But everything can be tamed."

𝔨𝔞𝔫𝔬 -

➺ The Australian asshole was not new to being Devious and using sex to get what he wanted. He was much like you in a way, only compared to you, you at least had morals to the very least. Kano knew the weak were more susceptible to being used and the strong are most susceptible to abusing the weak he knew this and he lived by it in a silent sort of way.

➺ You were Red Dragon, he was Black Dragon, arch enemies. The only problem is that you both decided to go undercover as Special Forces agents at the same time. Tension grew between you too as you had to play the good neighbor policy not trying to blow your cover.

➺ Kano however was rather lazy with it. Special Forces were starting to look into him but luckily he began to get chummy with Sonya and Sonya was starting to like him during a meeting, You and Kano sat across from each other at the table listening to the debriefing Sonya was giving. Sonya was talking about the Red Dragon and Kano said something that nearly gave up your identity had you not kicked his leg so very hard under that table causing him to yelp.

➺ Let's just say that the very moment he realized your legs were in reach of his crotch had him getting a bit wild.

➺ What started as a game of very risque footsie led to him visiting your room in the barracks and leading you away. Once you defected from the Special Forces and left it wasn't long before Kano decided to do the same only foolishly entering a Mortal Kombat Tournament.

➺ A few days after Kano's initial freedom he sought you out, first as a peace treaty and almost immediately turning into sex as Kano was a rather insatiable man. He knew that no one in the Black Dragon would agree with this, hell, if he were any more foolish he would use this to his gain, killing you and taking over the Red Dragon. Only he liked it too much. He liked you too much and it began messing with his head.

➺ His urges began to become obsessed over you. You were dangerous, he liked dangerous. You fucked him like he would fuck someone who wasn't worth shit. You took your pleasure from him disregarding his needs.

➺ No. No, he couldn't blackmail you he couldn't hurt you. He needed you to satisfy him like only you do. He wasn't one to question why he was so desperately in need of you, he didn't ask why, or how, or what because he was fine with being obsessed with you he's fine. With it. You are his drug and he was perfectly fine with being addicted. No need to wonder or worry. What could anyone really expect Kano's unethical and morally incorrect.

➺ You pushed yourself up off the bar counter as the hard oak rubbed way too harshly on your bare back. Kano groaned and pulled his cock out of you, stumbling backward till he stumbled into a booth. You smirked and jumped off the bar picking up your clothes and walking about in the nude "You're pathetic." You say chugging a bottle of alcohol after. "Mhm. Same time tomorrow?" Kano asks slightly hopefully. "I'm busy. I'll be back whenever I decide to."

➺ "You'll be mine. I don't care what I have to do. I'll kill the special Forces just for you."

𝔟𝔞𝔯𝔞𝔨𝔞 -

➺ You wanted Tarkatans to die. You wanted to cleanse Outworld of them, why? Who knows, most say you just decided to pick the most sadistic pastime and that was to kill the Tarkatans. Others said you were hired by the Great Emperor Shao Kahn to kill the Tarkatans and hopefully Baraka at the same time for....downsizing.

➺ The first time the Fakas of the Tarkatans saw you was when you burned down one of his villages and he was helping his people escape. He saw your silhouette a shadow atop a hill standing there staring at the chaos. He dropped everything he was doing and ran towards the figure but when he got atop the hill no one was there except for this sweet scent that lingered in the air. It smelled like the exotic fruits of Outworld. It also smelled like Tarkatan blood.

➺ When he tracked you down all those days ago he had not expected to get beaten in Kombat and he certainly hadn't expected to find the person who was assaulting him to be so damn attractive and he sure as shit wasn't expecting to find himself harder than all the rocks in hell. When you straddle him during the fight to finish the job you certainly were not counting on whatever was snug between your warm thighs getting bigger with each movement.

➺ That was the initial start of this sexual relationship. You would sneak into the Tarkatans war camp, crawl under the tent flaps, and into bed with him where he would fuck you till the day after tomorrow.

➺ Every time you left his company after having him you were always left with at least 10 permanent scars along your lower back, hips, and thighs. What you did note was that he must have had a breeding kink or some such because by the end of it all he left quite the mess on you.

➺ Tarkatans were territorial so perhaps the first sign of his growing obsession for you was when he bit your neck permanently leaving his mark on your skin that told other Tarkatans you were his.

➺ The second time something was wrong was when he found you flirting with someone, naturally for the sake of gaining information, and when he spotted this he swiftly eliminated the person you attempted to fancy. This caused some wild hate sex that made Baraka growl to the moon and back.

➺ For all these days he gave into his lust for you, left low Morale to his people. They distrusted his leadership, believing he was being controlled by an earthrealmer slut, believing he lost his sense of honor as he had no wish to avenge the fallen Tarkatans that died by your hands. He fought a fellow challenger every day in an attempt to beat his loyalty out of them to which it partially worked. For every fight came another fuck at night. He wondered if he was doing the right thing as a leader....as the Fakas to the Tarkatans. But he couldn't resist you. You brought out the animal in him. Satisfied his lust. He needed you like he needed air.

➺ He attempted to hold you to him. To keep your body close. No matter how sweat-ridden the both of you were. He wanted to breathe in the sweet scent of your skin. Trail his long tongue along your thighs the next time he wakes up. Play with you till you begged him to fuck you. Mark your chest with his cum. But you still pulled away "You think I belong to you." You said. "Don't you? I've ruined you for another man, I spilled my seed in you every day." Baraka growled stroking his cock at the sight of you standing up, your body "Heh. You belong to me. You're mine. I will never be yours. Claim another and I'll bury you with them."

➺ "Don't you know a koin has two sides? I'll hurt you and whatever man or woman dare take you from me. I'll kill them."

.↭

𝔞𝔲𝔱𝔥𝔬𝔯𝔰 𝔫𝔬𝔱𝔢: Hey y'all it's Leif here, hope you enjoyed this work! If you like it lemme know. Writing this I was listening to "FU in my head" by Cloudy June. I recommend listening to it while reading!

Gif Credits:

Shao Kahn gif by solidsmax

Johnny Cage gif by mortal-kombat11

Scorpion gif by mortal-kombat 11

Sub-Zero gif by hollywoods-star

Bi-Han from the movie Mortal Kombat gif by temporaryusername2015

Jax gif by thedestinysunknown

Kano gif by fortheloveofaminorcharacter

Baraka gif by raidentalfloss

Anime Cigarette Case by fly-me-to-the-moon

#Spotify #mk baraka #shao kahn #johnny cage #scorpion #sub zero x reader #mortal kombat #mortal kombat headcanons #mk imagine #jax briggs #kano #bi han #noob saibot x reader #scorpion x reader #shao kahn x reader #Jax briggs x reader #Kano x reader

458 notes · View notes

satoruyes · 2 months

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current thoughts: pro-hero!bkg x actor yn

(gender neutral, suggestive.)

While reading listen to “Lick Her - Jaxon Rose” (this based off it)

both you and bakugou are booked to shoot together in a music video. he’s kind of against the idea but is convinced otherwise by his team. hes been in commercials before as a pro-hero. but never acted in a music video before; much less in such an intimate manner. he’s supposed to be out slaying villains.

he gets to set the day of, kind of antsy. he was told he’d find out who plays his love interest is the day of. he meets the artist and they talk about the concept of the music video.

he’s slightly annoyed you aren’t there yet. making him all nervous. he’s leaving the consession area when he sees you. with the aura you had and the way you looked he doubted you were just a set worker.

he sees you walk up to jaxon and hug him. you greet eachother and he points over to bakugou. he’s caught off guard and spits up his drink a little. he averts his gaze and continues sipping.

for the first scene you’re in a dingy looking motel room. he’s on top of you breathing heavy - wearing only white boxers. you’re also only in undergarments. he has you caged under him, one arm on the pillow by your head and the other on your cheek. the music plays through and you hold this intimate position for a while.

the camera pans to the alcohol bottles around the room, and back to you two. bakugou reaches for a glass of whiskey; on the rocks. you sit up and take a sip from the glass while holding intense eye contact.

he almost breaks it. the way you looked at him like you knew him for years and were actual lovers was dangerous. he snaps out of his thoughts and do what he was instructed to do prior to shooting.

the next thing you were supposed to do was graze each others lips.

he takes the glass from you and places it back onto the motel set dresser. he’s back on-top of you now. both of his arms on the pillow, your legs tangled together. he leans down on you - the camera zooms out and focuses on his now prominent back muscles flexing. romantic. he comes down closer, his elbows the only thing keeping him from your lips.

his lips graze yours and you grab his face, trying to sell your character as much as you can. you lift up and kiss him. he can taste the whiskey on your lips and for a quick second he forgets there’s others in the room watching.

he lavishes in the soft plumpness of your lips and quickly returns the kiss, passionately. he wonders do you feel the same as he do or are you used to this. the acting inlove. the kiss felt so real to him. you pull away and you almost catch the quick disappointment that’s in his eyes.

“and…SCENE!”

#lulawrites #katsuki bakugou #katsuki x reader #bakugou x reader #actor!au #x gender neutral reader #gn!reader

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candycandy00 · 7 months

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The Scarecrow Walks at Night - A Shigaraki x Reader Halloween Fanfic

You spend Halloween night alone at your grandparents’ farm, but there’s something strange about the scarecrow you’ve always felt a connection to.

Part of the League of Villains Halloween Horror Anthology! Featuring Shigaraki as a scarecrow!

Smut. 18+. Horror (the creepy kind not the gory kind). Mild blood. Fem Reader.

🎃🎃🎃🎃🎃🎃🎃🎃🎃🎃🎃🎃🎃🎃🎃🎃🎃

On your way back from a concert you just attended several states away, you decide to stop and spend the night at your grandparents’ farm. You thought it would be fun to drive to the concert instead of flying, make a solo road trip of it and stop here and there along the way, seeing the sights.

Turns out there aren’t that many sights to see in rural farm country. So you decided to just drive straight home after the concert, but you’ve been getting drowsy and decide you need to stop somewhere today and rest. That’s when you remember the farm your grandparents live on, just a thirty minute drive out of your way, sitting at just about the halfway point between the concert venue and home. It’s the perfect place to rest, and you just know your grandparents will be thrilled to see you.

As a child, you visited the farm often, spending many summers there. But when you were around nine years old, your parents stopped taking you to the farm. Something about your grandparents buying an RV and looking for any excuse to travel, so they came to visit you and your parents instead of the other way around. You missed playing on the farm, feeding the animals, running through the massive cornfield. But over the years your memories of the farm faded, until your time there was more like half forgotten dreams.��

Still, you had GPS, and when the signal cut out on your phone due to the unreliable rural cell service, you had your hazy memories to guide you to the farm.

It was hard to miss actually, being large and having a beautiful big white farm house, a bright red barn, and various other structures like tool sheds, storage buildings, and things of that nature. All things you suddenly remember playing around or in as you pull into the driveway.

You immediately notice that there are no vehicles in sight. You know they still own an SUV and an old pickup truck aside from the RV, but none of them are parked nearby. You tried to call them a couple of times before you lost service, but couldn’t get through to them. They were old fashioned though, and disliked cell phones. If they were not home, chances are you’d never get ahold of them.

After getting out of your car, you walk to the front door and knock. No answer comes. The whole house is silent. In the distance you hear chickens clucking, but no other noise. With a disappointed sigh, you walk over to a free standing garage your grandpa had built way before you were born. There’s a crack between the heavy wooden doors big enough for you to peek inside. You can see the SUV and the pickup, but no RV. They must be out traveling somewhere.

You’re about to give up and go find a motel in town when an idea strikes you. When you were a child, you remember your grandparents leaving a house key under some stones in the front yard. You jog over and search, easily finding a shiny metal key. It was amazing how many memories were coming back to you now that you were here.

You step back onto the front porch and use the key on the door. You know your sweet, easy going grandparents wouldn’t mind you staying at their house even if they aren’t home.

As you open the door, you notice a homemade wreath decorated in orange and black colors, a plastic pumpkin glued to it. You’d almost forgotten that today is Halloween!

After carrying in your overnight bag and looking around the house a bit, you walk back outside. There’s something you need to see before it gets dark out.

You walk through the cornfield, the path feeling familiar to you, almost like second nature. Yes, you remember now. How could you have ever forgotten? You walked this same path so many times as a child, walking it now is like muscle memory.

Finally, toward the end of the cornfield, close to the edge of the property, you find it.

“I’m back, Tomura,” you say, looking up. “Did you miss me?”

High above you, affixed to a wooden stake, is a scarecrow. He’s dressed in faded denim pants and a red and black flannel shirt that is in surprisingly good shape. On his head sits an old hat, long scraggly corn silks hanging out from under it serving as his hair. Two red-colored stones function as his eyes. As always, he seems to be looking right at you.

While there are many scarecrows on the property, this one is special to you. Even as a child, you were drawn to it. You came out here to play every day, and you pretended he was your “boyfriend”. Which meant you had tea parties with him and imagined him dancing with you at Cinderella-style balls. Most of all, you just talked to him. You told him everything, every mundane detail of your day, every secret, every fear. And somehow, it felt like he was listening.

Some local kids who came over to play with you occasionally told you his name was Tomura, and you never forgot it. You almost forgot the scarecrow himself, but not that name. It was burned into your mind.

They told you other things about him too. Things that made you cry. What was it again? Something about Tomura once being a real young man. Ah, the memories were coming back more clearly now.

It was the kind of silly story kids make up to scare each other. They told you that long ago, way before your grandparents owned the farm, Tomura lived there with his family. When he became an adult, he wanted to leave the farm and move to the city. But his abusive father wouldn’t accept that, and as punishment, Tomura was tied to the stake like a living scarecrow and left in the cornfield. It was just supposed to be an unpleasant afternoon, but something went wrong, and Tomura died out there.

For some reason, his corpse was left tied to the stake, and exactly one year later, on Halloween night, Tomura came back to life and slaughtered his entire family in his madness.

But that’s not the part that bothered you. No, you were crying over the cruelty of his father, the sadness Tomura must have felt. As a child, you ran to the scarecrow and hugged his feet, sobbing out apologies for what had been done to him. Around that time your grandparents told you to stop playing with the scarecrow, apparently worried that you were growing too attached to the thing. Come to think of it, that was the last summer you spent with them.

There was another part to the story the kids told you, a part that did actually frighten you, but you can’t remember what it was. As you gaze up at the scarecrow, you wonder if that memory will return while you’re here.

When you were here last, you could barely reach his feet, but now you’re tall enough to reach his waist. You step closer to him, feeling oddly shy before giggling to yourself. He’s just a scarecrow. It was just a dumb story. You find yourself wrapping your arms around him, giving him the hug you couldn’t quite manage before.

Looking up into those red “eyes”, you smile at him. “I don’t know if you remember me,” you say, feeling a little foolish for talking to him but also feeling the need to say this, “but I came here a lot when I was little. I played here, talking to you and pretending we were friends. I know you couldn’t talk back, but I always felt like you heard me. Thanks for that. You made my childhood a little less lonely.”

You release his straw body and back away. “I’m sorry it’s been so long since I came to see you. I’ll be here tonight and a little while tomorrow. I’ll come say goodbye before I leave.”

Blushing slightly at your own silliness, you walk back into the cornfield, toward the house. You feel a little better now that you’ve gotten that off your chest. You knew he couldn’t actually hear you. He was an inanimate object after all. But you said those words for yourself, not him.

You feel your phone vibrate in your pocket just a few feet into the corn. You check it to see that you have two bars of signal out here. You make sure there are no important messages or missed calls, no contact from your grandparents, before going back to the house.

The sun is setting as you step onto the porch, and you take a moment to appreciate the view of the lovely pink sky over the farm before going inside.

Over the next hour, you make yourself comfortable. You shower and change into comfy little knit shorts and tank top, what you use as pajamas, and help yourself to some snacks in the kitchen before curling up in front of their surprisingly impressive tv to watch a movie. Being Halloween night, most channels are having horror movie marathons, so you settle on part eight of a random horror franchise. It’s a movie you saw when you were a teenager, but you’ve forgotten most of the “plot” by now.

Only twenty minutes into the film, you hear a knocking at the front door. Your first thought is that it’s your grandparents, but then you quickly remind yourself that they wouldn’t knock on their own door. So who could it be? Trick or treaters? Possible, but this house is practically in the middle of nowhere. Maybe your grandparents are known for giving out great candy? If so, these kids are going to be disappointed.

You grab the Little Debbie cake and small bag of chips you’d laid out for yourself and head to the door. When you open it, no one is there. You sit the snacks on a nearby table and step out onto the porch.

“Hello?” you ask, rubbing your bare arms with your hands. You didn’t realize the nights were so chilly here in the fall. The porch light is glowing bright yellow above your head, and you get the distinct impression that someone is looking at you, watching you. It suddenly feels like you’re under a spotlight as you gaze out over the inky black darkness of the farm, only broken up by a couple of lights situated near the tool shed and the garage.

Mildly creeped out, you hurry back inside, making sure to lock the door.

You return to the movie, having apparently not missed much. As the minutes pass by, you begin to relax again, figuring you were probably just mistaken when you thought you heard the knocking. This is an old house that you’re not overly familiar with. Of course it’s going to make creepy sounds occasionally.

Just as your eyes begin to slide closed, drowsiness overtaking you, the knocking comes again. This time louder, more frantic. You practically jump off the couch in alarm. You stand there for a moment, listening, your heart beating wildly. This is not your imagination. This is definitely not just the sounds of an old house settling. This is literal banging! And it won’t stop.

You mind races. Could this be trick or treaters? Doubtful. The banging certainly doesn’t sound like it’s coming from children. A Halloween prank then? Perhaps some local teens spotted your car in the driveway and decided to have a little fun with you?

As the banging intensifies, you can’t help considering the darker possibilities. Maybe someone had planned to break into your grandparents’ house while they were away and now you’re just an unexpected obstacle they would have to deal with. Or maybe it’s a serial killer on the prowl? Or hell, maybe the house is fucking haunted.

You slowly step closer to the door, and when you’re just a few feet away, you scream out, “What do you want?”

The banging immediately stops. You stare at the door, disappointed that it’s an old wooden type that has no peephole or windows. You don’t hear a response. You don’t hear anything. No voices, no footsteps walking off the creaky wooden porch. So are they still there? Just waiting on the other side of the door?

“I have a gun!” you shout. “If you try to come inside, I’ll blow your fucking brains out! I don’t care who you are!”

You listen for any sort of reaction, but hear nothing. You creep closer to the door, trying to hear footsteps, hoping to hear them leaving. Just as you get close enough to press your ear to the door, something on the other side bangs against it loudly, making the wood tremble on the hinges. You scream and leap back.

That’s it. You’re not putting up with this any longer! You run over to the landline phone in the kitchen and pick it up to call the police, but to your horror, there’s no dial tone. You check two more phones in the house, but get the same results. Did the person outside cut the phone line? Or had your grandparents been off traveling for so long that they didn’t bother paying their phone bill? Either way, you’re fucked.

You check your cell phone just in case, hoping for a miracle, but there’s no service.

Suddenly you remember something, more of that story the kids told you all those years ago. Something happens every year on Halloween night, that’s what they said. But what was it? You try to force yourself to remember the rest, but you just can’t. Anyway, it was just a dumb kids’ story. You have more important things to deal with, like the banging on the front door that just won’t stop.

All you want to do is run to your car and drive away from here, but you’re too scared to go outside. Also, you’re parked close to the front porch, which is exactly where the threat is.

“Go away!” you scream through the door. “I called the police! They’ll be here any minute!”

The banging suddenly stops again. Did your bluff work? You creep closer to the door again, cautiously. Then you hear it, the sound of footsteps! The porch floorboards creak and groan as someone makes their way across it, slowly and steadily. Then it sounds like they’re going down the steps.

You run to the living room and try to peep out the window without being seen, but you only catch a quick glimpse of a shadow going around the corner of the house, toward the back.

Is the back door locked? You never checked it after you got here, but surely your grandparents left it locked. Then again, this was exactly the sort of place where people would feel safe leaving their doors unlocked.

You make a mad dash for the back door, running through the living room, kitchen, and laundry room to find the brown wooden door.

It’s unlocked!

Just as you reach for it, there’s a sudden banging on the wood, making you jump back in terror. You’re too late! You back away from the door, waiting for it to open and reveal some dangerous figure ready to kill you.

But it doesn’t open. The knob never even turns. Are they not even going to check to see if it’s locked? The banging stops then, and is replaced by another sound. Scraping. Like metal on wood. Like a blade scratching the door.

What the hell is going on?! If they’re not coming in, are they actually just trying to terrify you? Is it a Halloween prank after all? Or is it a killer who just wants to toy with you for a while first? The fact that they’re still here after your bluffs about the gun and the police suggests they aren’t just pranksters.

But… something else occurs to you. If they’re back here, then they’re not on the front porch. Which means you could possibly make it to your car! There’s a risk involved. If there’s more than one person out there, one of them could be waiting to ambush you. Or the person could run around to the front before you make it to your car. But the risk of staying put is even greater. Whoever is out there could come in at any moment. Even if the back door was locked, there were several windows that could easily be broken and climbed through.

With no time to give it any more thought, you make a split decision. You dash through the kitchen, grabbing a knife from the wooden knife block on the counter as you go, then to the living room where you grab your keys and your phone. You cram the phone into your bra, having no pockets in the tiny, thin pajama shorts you’re wearing, then you unlock the front door and fling it open.

Thankfully, there’s no one on the other side, and no one on the porch when you step outside. With the coast clear, you run straight for your car and throw yourself into the driver’s seat. You stick the keys in the ignition, still clutching the knife in one trembling hand. You turn the key, and you hear the engine begin to start, and then… nothing. It dies. You turn the key again, but the car still won’t start. You try several more times, growing more panicked and frantic with each attempt. Screaming in frustration and slapping the steering wheel, you accidentally cut your own hand with the knife.

“Shit!” You wipe the blood off on your white tank top and jump out of the car, popping the hood at the same time. You know nothing about cars, but you feel like you should check anyway. When you look under the hood, you feel your stomach drop to your feet.

The engine is completely demolished. It looks like someone took a large blunt object and just… wrecked it. Destroyed it. You close the hood and look toward the house. Do you have time to make it back inside and lock the front door? What if the person outside the back door finally tried to open it and is now hiding in the house?

While you’re still debating with yourself on what to do, you see movement coming from the side of the house. Someone is coming! You want to see who it is, but you don’t want to be discovered out here. You had the good sense to shut the front door, so it might take them a while to realize you’re no longer in there.

You dart into the cornfield, using it as cover. You try to look through the stalks, but you can’t see the person clearly. You can only make out what looks like a red shirt, and some sort of long, shiny weapon.

Suddenly you remember that your phone got a couple bars of service earlier today when you were close to the end of the field, near Tomura. Deciding this is your best shot at getting help, you run through the corn as fast as you can.

It takes several minutes for you to reach the end of the field, and you’ve already got your phone out, checking for bars, staring at the brightly lit screen in the darkness. When you reach Tomura, you’re focused on your phone, but there’s still no service. When you finally glance up, you realize something is wrong. You step back and tilt your phone up, using its light to see.

The stake is empty. Tomura, the scarecrow, is gone.

The confusion is so strong that it briefly overrides your fear. Did someone steal him? For what purpose?

And then, like puzzle pieces fitting together, you remember the rest of the story those kids told you so long ago.

“Every year, on Halloween night, Tomura comes back to life. He climbs down from his stake and stalks the farm, killing everyone he finds!”

You stare at the empty stake, trying to convince yourself that it was just a story, that someone is pulling a very elaborate prank on you. But somehow, in that moment, you know the truth. You sense it. Tomura had been outside those doors. Tomura had destroyed your car. And Tomura was going to kill you.

The vibration of your phone startles you, causing you to yelp in fear. You look at the screen one bar! Praying it’s enough, you quickly begin dialing 911, but the bar disappears before you can finish.

“No!” you hiss at your phone, trying to walk around to different spots to get more service.

You’re so focused on the phone again that you bump into something in the darkness. You freeze, swallowing and slowly turning the phone’s screen around to illuminate what your body is currently pressed against.

A red and black flannel shirt. You scream and jump back, realizing that Tomura is right in front of you, narrowly avoiding the blade of an enormous reef hook that he’s swinging at you. In the chaos and the dark, you don’t see his face clearly, but you know it’s him. He swings the reef hook again, then a third time, each time barely missing you as you shriek and dodge.

“Please stop, Tomura!” you cry, still holding the knife in your hand but unable to get close enough to use it.

He freezes mid swing, the weapon held high above his head. The shiny metal blade seems to quiver for a moment as you scramble to back away, but then he swings it down. You try to jerk out of the way, but it swipes your shoulder, severing the strap of your tank top and leaving a thin, bloody slice in your skin. You cry out in pain and clutch the wound. It’s not very deep, but it hurts, and blood is leaking out around your fingers.

Again, Tomura seems to freeze in place. This time you manage to run back into the cornfield, turning off your phone so the light doesn’t give you away. You run and run, not even sure which direction you’re going in. Are you going back to the house? Or somewhere else? Where even is the nearest neighbor?

When you finally break free of the corn, you find yourself in front of the old barn. It hadn’t been used in years even when you used to visit as a child, so you’d often played in it. You remember being scolded for climbing into the hayloft. With precious few options, you decide to try hiding inside it.

The barn smells a bit musty, but not too bad otherwise. Your grandparents were sticklers for maintenance, even on old buildings they no longer used. You find a corner, behind some hay stacks, and hide there, trying to be as silent as possible.

If the story those kids told you is true, and it’s certainly looking that way at this point, then Tomura only has Halloween night to roam about. So when morning comes, he’ll have to return to the stake. You look at your phone. It’s not quite ten yet! You don’t know if you’ll be able to evade Tomura until sunrise.

Sitting here hiding, you finally have a moment to think about what’s happening. Tomura is alive. He’s a scarecrow, but he’s alive! But his body didn’t feel like straw when you bumped into him in the cornfield just now. It felt more solid than that. Almost like a real human body.

Regardless, he is trying to kill you, and that thought pains you even more than it scares you. Why is he doing this? You’ve always felt a connection to him, an affection for him. Did he hate you all along? Or does he simply kill whoever he sees on Halloween night, no matter who they are? Maybe he doesn’t even recognize you. Maybe he doesn’t even have an actual consciousness, but is just a killing machine. Every possibility seems sadder than the last.

Your thoughts are interrupted when you hear the door to the barn swing open. You clamp your hand over your mouth to muffle your breathing, and try to sink closer to the ground, to blend in with the darkness and the hay.

You hear footsteps walking through the barn, stacks of hay being tossed aside. He’s searching for you! This is a bad idea. You need to get out of the barn, try to get to another house, maybe even flag someone down on the road. Before he gets any closer, you jump out of your hiding spot and run toward the back door of the barn. He sees you, of course, and you hear the footsteps running behind you. But you’re close to the door. You can make it! You can disappear into the cornfield again and-

It’s locked. Just as you reach the back door of the barn, you realize it’s locked up with a chain and padlock. You let out a frustrated whine and turn around just as the reef hook swings toward you. Ducking to avoid it, you run to the side, where you find a ladder to the hayloft. You know climbing up there is a terrible idea, that you’ll just be trapped up there, but at the moment, it’s the only path open to you. Maybe you’ll get lucky and be able to push him off the edge.

So you climb, and you feel a strangely warm hand grab at your bare thigh. That’s definitely not straw! You jerk away, shaking off his grip as you climb further up, finally reaching the hayloft and then backing away from the ladder, watching him climb up after you, his weapon’s handle stuck in the waistband of his jeans.

Once he’s up here with you, he walks slowly toward you, and when he steps into a beam of moonlight shining in through a small window in the barn, you finally see his face.

Oh. He’s not a scarecrow at all. Not anymore. Standing before you is a totally alive human man. Young, early twenties you’d guess, with long silver hair that looks almost blue in the moonlight. He’s pale, with a few small but noticeable scars on his face, and striking red eyes that are staring at you as he gets closer.

He’s beautiful. He’s everything you imagined all those years ago, when you dreamed of him being a “real boy”.

You back away, almost in a daze, and end up tripping on some hay and falling to the floor. You manage to get to your knees, but by this point he’s reached you, looming over you with his weapon gripped in both hands. You’re a mess at this point. There’s blood all over your tank top, cuts on your hand and your shoulder that are still bleeding, one strap of your top sliced through and hanging low, almost exposing your breast, your shorts ripped.

You look up at him, knowing there’s no escape, deciding to at least die seeing your precious Tomura alive and real. He lifts the reef hook over his head, still staring down at you, and all you can say is one word.

“Tomura…”

He falters. The reef hook trembles in his grip. “Why are you here?!” he screams, his voice strained, his face twisting in pain. “Why would you come here, tonight of all nights?! Any other day… any other night… and I would have been so happy to see you…”

“What are you talking about?” you ask, totally confused.

He growls in frustration, the weapon still shaking in his hands. You get to your feet. The knife from the kitchen is still in your hand. Right now, you could stab him. You’re close enough. But that’s not what you want to do. Instead, you do the one thing you’ve always wanted to do, since you were a little girl.

You hug him.

The weapon slips from his hands and lands with a dull thud on the hay strewn floor as you hear him make a faint gasping sound.

“Please talk to me, Tomura,” you say. “I can finally hear your voice. So please just tell me what’s going on.”

“It’s Halloween night!” he yells, his arms dropping to his sides, not touching you. “Don’t you know? It’s the one night a year my body is restored! And I… I can’t control myself… all I can feel is rage and hate and… I just want to kill, to destroy… that’s the only way I can feel alive!”

He stops for a moment, and you can hear him breathing, feel his heart beating in his chest. He truly is alive!

“Every year, your grandparents leave the farm on Halloween,” he says, his voice a bit calmer now. “I haven’t killed anyone in years, and all this bloodlust I feel has been building and building… and then you show up. You! The one person I never wanted to hurt!”

You look up at him. “You recognize me?”

“Of course I do! For years you were the only person who talked to me! I knew you the moment you came to see me today in the field, even if you’re grown up now.”

His red eyes seem to sweep down over your figure, and you feel heat in your face. “Wait… does that mean you’re conscious when you’re a scarecrow?”

“Yeah. I’m aware of everything that goes on around me.”

Now you’re really embarrassed. All that time you were talking to him, he really was listening! But you can’t dwell on it for long. He pushes you away from him suddenly.

“You need to run. Get off the property. Or get inside the main house. I’m not allowed to go inside it.”

You shake your head. “No, Tomura, I don’t want to leave you out here. I dreamed of you being real, being alive, all my life. I want to stay with you!”

His beautiful face looks anguished. “I don’t know how long I can keep myself from attacking you! Every inch of my body is screaming to hurt you, to do anything to feel alive!”

You step closer to him again. You thought you felt something when you hugged him before, but you want to be sure. You press yourself against him, and sure enough, you can feel that he’s hard, his erection straining against his pants. You reach down one hand and lightly rub over it. His breath hitches as his eyes widen.

“Maybe there’s another way you can feel alive,” you tell him.

A faint blush spreads over his face. “Is that… something you want?”

You nod. “Do you want it too?”

Without a word, he suddenly kisses you, finally wrapping his arms around you for the first time as his lips press to yours. You breathe out a sigh against his mouth, content to be held by him.

Then his hands are moving over you, a bit clumsily, tugging at your tank top, trying to pull it up. You laugh as you pull back from him. “Have you ever done this before? I mean, before you…”

“Before I died?” he asks, looking a little shy. “Yeah, a few times. It’s been about a hundred years though.”

You slip your tank top off and unhook your bra, letting it fall to the floor while he stares with wide eyes. “It’s okay,” you say as you wrap your arms around his neck, “I’m sure it’ll all come back to you.”

He smiles then, his warm hands sliding down your bare back, stopping to squeeze your ass through your shorts. You kiss him again, this time more deeply, your tongue in his mouth, and then your hands fly to the buttons of his flannel shirt, undoing them as quickly as you can. When he lets you pull his shirt off his shoulders, your eyes rake over his toned body appreciatively. In life, he was a farm boy, and it shows.

His fingers hook into the waistband of your shorts and panties, pulling them both down in one go. You step out of them, then unbutton his jeans. Before you can slide them down his hips, he’s pushing you gently down into the hay, on your back, and climbing on top of you.

You’d been chilly before, but now your whole body feels hot as his half-clothed body grinds against yours, his mouth warm on your neck. One of his hands is gripping your thigh, pulling it up beside him and making it easier for him to position himself between your legs.

His mouth moves down from your neck to your chest, his lips enclosing over one nipple, his tongue darting out to flick it. You moan, your hands in his soft hair. When he slides one hand down to stroke the wet, hot flesh between your thighs, your back arches automatically, your body smashing against his.

You can’t wait any longer. You shove his pants down to his knees, not entirely surprised that he’s not wearing underwear. He was a scarecrow until a few hours ago after all. Even though you know he’s a living breathing human right now, you’re still relieved to see that he has all his parts and they’re in working order.

He begins kissing you again, and when his hand brushes over your shoulder, it grazes your wound, making you wince. He draws back, looking at the cut. “I’m sorry,” he says, sounding hurt, “I was so confused. I wanted to kill you, but at the same time I couldn’t bear the thought of losing you. So I held back, and I hesitated.”

“I’m glad you did,” you say, raising up to kiss him again. “You could’ve taken my head off if you hadn’t held back.”

“I could never…” he murmurs, moving himself against you, rubbing his warm body across your form. You open your legs, giving him easy access, closing your eyes with a moan.

“Tomura… I want you inside me…”

His breathing gets faster, more ragged, as he gets into position, then he gently pushes inside you, slowly filling you up. His mouth finds yours as he slides all the way in, and then begins thrusting into you, carefully at first before picking up speed. When you respond with moans and cries of his name, your arms tight around his neck, he begins thrusting more deeply, more roughly, using your reactions to judge how you want him to move.

He fucks you so well, his body must have remembered exactly how it was done. He’s good, good enough to make you tremble in his arms, clutching him with all your strength as you cum on his cock.

You wrap your legs around him just to steady yourself as he fucks you through your orgasm, and he kisses you, groaning into your mouth as he cums deeply inside you.

The next few hours are precious to you, because you know he’ll go back to being a scarecrow when morning comes. You feel like Cinderella enjoying her last few minutes at the ball.

The two of you sit in the hayloft together, you snuggled up in his flannel shirt, and talk. He tells you about his life before, what really happened to him and his family. His father really had strung him up in the field as punishment, and Tomura really had returned to life one year later and killed his whole family. Aside from his older sister, who had married and moved away from the farm before his death. He seems happy that she was spared, and regretful about killing his mother and grandparents, even though the rage was at its strongest that year.

He doesn’t know why he comes back to life every year, what sort of magic or curse restores his body and drives him to kill. But the biggest surprise is that your grandparents know about him.

“They’re nice. I like them,” he says. “They’re a little scared of me, I think. They tend to stay away from me even when it’s not Halloween. But they put new clothes on me when mine get worn out and they even throw a tarp on me when it’s raining real hard.”

The fact that your grandparents take care of a cursed scarecrow makes you smile. But then a thought occurs to you. “Has anyone tried to destroy you?”

He laughs. It’s the first time you’ve heard it but you like the sound of it. “Some have tried over the years,” he says, “but even when someone burned me up in a fire, a few hours later I was back on my stake like nothing happened.”

Happy to know he’s indestructible, you lean your head on his shoulder as the last bit of time you have together slips by. When the sky begins to lighten outside, the two of you walk into the cornfield and to his stake, hand in hand. When you reach it, you pull off his shirt and help him put it back on before he climbs onto the stake and holds his arms up to the wooden frame.

For a moment, you just watch, but then you climb up onto the stake with him and give him one more kiss. “I’ll come back to see you, I promise,” you tell him.

“I’ll be waiting,” he says back, and then his head droops as rays of sunshine spread across the farm. In an instant, he’s no longer flesh and blood but made of straw. You hug his now thin body before climbing down from the stake.

****************

It’s Halloween night, one year later, when you park your new car close to your grandparents’ farm house. They’re gone, of course, and despite their misgivings about you being there on Halloween night, they ultimately agreed to let you stay there.

You’ve been back to the farm several times over this past year just to visit Tomura and talk to him. But today is special. In just a couple of hours, he would come to life and be able to speak to you, touch you, hold you.

You walk through the field until you reach Tomura. Knowing now that he can hear and see you, a smile spreads over your lips.

“I’m back, Tomura. I’m really excited about tonight. You are too, right?” you ask, standing at a perfect distance for him to see the cute outfit you wore just for him. You reach down and take hold of the hem of your flowy skirt, then slide the fabric up your thighs, revealing your black lace panties.

You know it must be your imagination, but you could swear his red stone “eyes” are shining. You laugh and drop your skirt back down. “Just a little preview of what’s waiting for you in the barn tonight,” you say, giving him a sensuous smile before walking back into the field. As you disappear into the corn, you call out, “Happy Halloween, Tomura!”

#shigaraki x reader #shigaraki tomura #shigaraki smut #shigaraki #lovhalloweenhorror #shigaraki x you

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