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holylulusworld · 3 years

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The B*tch

Title: The b*tch

Summary: It’s a game for you and Bucky. Sometimes you even burn a whole town down if you must.

Square Filled ‘Second Chances’ for: @buckybingo

Rating: Explicit 18+

Pairing: Mobster!Bucky Barnes x fem!Reader

Characters: Steve Rogers, Dot, Sam Wilson, Wanda Maximoff

Warnings: angst, language, love-hate relationship (toxic relationship), public blowjob (light), light fingering, mentions of anal sex (nothing happens, no description), mentions of infidelity/break-up, implied/mentions of threesome/foursome, smut, unprotected sex, public sex, forced voyeurism, possessive Bucky, hair pulling, roughness, implied character’s death, therapy, roleplay

Words: 5,3k

2021 BUCKY BINGO masterlist

Divider by @firefly-graphics

A/N: Please head the warnings. The reader and Bucky have a toxic relationship in this. Both are awful people.

“Steve, tell your boss to keep his bitch in line,” you growl, tapping your glass to order another drink. The bartender smirks, watching Steve Rogers, the right-hand man of the most feared man in Brooklyn cower in front of you. “This is my club, and I don’t like hussies at my club, nor whores.”

“Doll, don’t make a fuss,” Steve tries. “I know you and Buck got a war of roses going on, but he didn’t think much of bringing that girl here.”

“I said, I don’t want his whores at my club,” you whip your head to meet Steve’s eyes, narrowing your eyes. “And I don’t mean girls making money with riding dick. I like prostitutes, Stevie. They are always polite and know how to dress. Suzie over there works here every night.”

“Y/N, stop right now. You know every club pays Bucky good money. Every club except for you,” Steve warns.

“I don’t give two shits on Barnes. I make the rules here,” Steve doesn’t like you slide your hand over your thigh, patting the hidden knife. He knows you love to wear a knife strapped against your thigh beneath your crimson silky robe.

He follows the motion, eyes glued to the slit in your dress, revealing your thigh and the tattoo on it. The one you will remove soon enough.

“Still got the tattoo, doll? I knew you can’t get rid of me completely,” a smug grin on his lips, and a dopily smiling Dot on his arm Bucky waltz toward you as if he owns the club.

“Oh, the trash made it out of the house,” you batt your eyelashes, chuckling lightly. “Didn’t think she can walk on her own.” turning around to face the bartender you give her a sweet smile. “What do you think, Wanda, doll. Does that woman look like she should be at my club?”

“I don’t know, boss,” Wanda smirks. While refilling your drink, she looks at Dot, shrugging as she doesn’t want to get in trouble with Bucky. “I’m not into cheap chicks.”

“Give me two cherries,” you coo, ignoring Bucky fumes right next to you. “Maybe give Steve water to make sure he doesn’t dehydrate. He looks so pale tonight. We don’t want him to get sick.”

“On its way, boss,” snickering Wanda pours Steve water, relieved she doesn’t have to talk about Bucky’s latest arm candy.

“Steve, tell my ex to shut her nasty mouth before I stuff it,” Bucky barks orders at Steve before he sits next to you on his favorite barstool, the one he used to occupy when you still were a thing.

“You wish,” you sip at your martini, looking anywhere but at Bucky. “Why do you come back here? There are other clubs in Brooklyn, with owners liking you, Barnes.”

“I like the atmosphere and the drinks are good,” he smirks, placing his favorite knife onto the bar top. A silent warning for you to watch your tongue. “What can you recommend?”

“To leave,” you quip, sipping at your drink.

“You know, it’s a crime to put cherries into a martini,” Bucky mutters, watching you place one of the cherries on your tongue, moaning at the taste.

“I give a shit on your opinion, Barnes. If you would excuse me now, there are tables, a dancefloor, and restrooms you can use,” you jerk your head toward Dot stand next to Steve, still grinning at you. “Take your bitch and leave me to my drink and the music.”

“Ya know,” Bucky leans closer to breathe in your neck, “you should fuck more often to get the stick out of your ass, my love.” his fingertips ghost over your back, draw circles in your skin.

“Ya know,” you get your knife out to press the tip into Bucky’s crotch before Steve can even flinch, “men like you should watch their tongue and balls. One day someone will break into your house and cut them off. Now go.”

“Little bitch.”

“I used to be your doll,” you say, a little too bitter. “Sadly, you couldn’t keep it in your pants,” you chuckle.

“Bitch,”

“Cheating bastard,” you dip your head to glance at Dot. “You should hurry to disappoint the next woman. Maybe you will keep your promises this time – huh? Or maybe she’ll get empty promises too.”

“One day someone will cut your sharp tongue off,” you press the tip harder into his crotch, smirking when a hint of pain flashes across Bucky’s features. “Maybe I’ll be the one to do so.”

“Aw, you can’t take the pleasure away from all men in Brooklyn who want a blowjob from me. You know,” leaning closer you brush your lips over Bucky’s ear, “men love it when I use my tongue.”

Bucky shudders, remembering the way you went down on him. Teeth, lips, and tongue. “You weren’t that good.”

“What a pity,” you smirk, hiding the knife in your garter. “I just wanted to remind you how good I can blow you off.”

“You sure?” Steve chokes on his water when you slide off the barstool to pat his cock, right in front of his boss.

“What the fuck, doll?”

“Oh, you believed I wanted to suck your dick?” you chuckle. “No, I wanted to go down on your tall blonde piece of meat and show him a good time.”

“Go ahead and show Steve a good time,” Bucky challenges, watching you slowly unbuckle Steve’s belt.

You don’t care the club is crowded or that Bucky is right next to you and Steve.

“Y/N, doll,” Steve mumbles when you slide your hand over his chest down to his abs. “Stop, you don’t want to do this.”

“Stevie,” you coo, giving his lips a peck, “you should know I do what I want, and right now,” you tug harshly at his pants, shove them down his legs, “I wanna suck your dick and show you a good time.”

Steve swallows thickly, but what can man do when a woman like you shoves her hand down his boxers to run it up and down his swelling length.

“Oh, you are packing, sweet Steve,” you moan, hand leaving his boxers too soon to shove the fabric down his thighs.

No one at the club dares to watch you. You’re at the VIP section, the one reserved for and your friends. This part of the club only belongs to you, and you can do whatever you want without anyone spying on you.

“Doll,” Steve’s breathing quickens when you ever so slowly sink to your knees to cup his balls. “You shouldn’t.”

“Don’t tell me what I can do, Stevie,” you smirk, hand fisting his cock harshly. “That’s a nice cock, a big one and I’ll worship it. Don’t you want my lips around your dick?”

“Y-yeah-“ Steve chokes out. “But B-Bucky is right next to us, doll. Can we go somewhere private?”

“No, baby,” chuckling you roughly grip Steve’s cock. “I want to prove a point, Steve, and want to choke on your cock right here and now.”

You lick over the wide head, smiling to yourself when you hear Bucky bark your name. He dangerously growls it, wants you to stop but you relax your jaw and go for the goal.

“If you dare to suck his dick, I’ll end your life,” he growls. “Y/N, I’m warning you, doll. Don’t you-“

It’s too late, you suckle at the tip of Steve’s cock, ignoring Bucky throws a tantrum.

“What, James? You told me I’m boring and you want to move on with a hotter chick. Obviously, Stevie has a different opinion and is hard as a rock for me. Now lemme get him off, he’s so hard it would be a waste to not suck his dick.”

“Stop being a brat,” fisting your hair Bucky drags you off Steve, leaves his friend panting and unsatisfied behind.

“Let go of me Barnes,” you try to swat Bucky’s hands away, but he pushes you onto the couch at the VIP section, growling low in his throat. “I wanna suck Stevie’s dick, James. Let me suck his fucking cock!”

“Be good now,” panting heavily Bucky pins your hands above your head, to hold you down. “You will not suck Steve’s cock, not before you did so with mine.”

“I won’t suck your pitiful dick,” you spit into Bucky’s face, grinning viciously when he growls low in his throat. “Now get off me! This is still my club.”

Bucky’s eyes drift toward your legs, especially the tattoo on your thigh, the one with his name on it.

“This is still all mine, doll. Forget about Steve’s cock, mine is all you’ll get. No one in this town will ever touch you.”

“You fucker!” you try to kick Bucky but he takes the opportunity to settle between your thighs, smirks as you can feel his erection press against your thigh. “Get off me! You made sure no guy I hit on fucked me?”

“It’s the law,” Bucky breathes against your lips, “Y/N, Y/L/N is Bucky Barnes property. I laid claim on you years ago, my beloved wife.”

“The fuck! I’m not some fucking property, you dickhead,” you cry, fighting Bucky with all your strength. “I will kill you the moment you get off me. I will start with cutting your balls off and end it with carving your heart out of your chest!”

“Damn, you really want to suck Steve’s dick,” Bucky grins. He pecks your nose, snickering when you try to bite him. “Did ya hear, Stevie? Y/N wants to suck your cock so badly.”

“Barnes, get off me,” you mutter, tilting your hips to rub your core against Bucky’s erection. “Or get me off.”

“Interesting,” he smirks, eyes drifting toward your chest. “But I don’t fuck bitches,” you huff at Bucky’s words, wiggle harder in his hold.

Your stiff nipples strain against the thin fabric of your silky dress, force Bucky to remember how it felt when you pressed your sweaty body against his chest, nipples scraping his skin.

“Then get off me, Barnes, and leave my club. Take your sweet puppy with you,” you growl. “I’m gonna find another dick to suck tonight.”

“You had to fuck with her again, didn’t you, Buck?” Steve sighs, tugging his cock back into his pants. “Damn, why didn’t you let her finish me? She’s so good at sucking dick.”

“That was a one-time thing, and we were all drunk,” Bucky growls. “And it was one of her fantasies. Y/N is not for you to touch.”

“Didn’t look like it when you encouraged her to give me a blowjob,” cursing under his breath, Steve stomps toward the car. “I had a raging hard dick.”

“Do you think I give a shit! She’s still my wife, Steve,” Bucky sneers. “If not for our friendship, you would lie six feet under right now.”

“Bastard!” tossing the divorce papers onto Bucky's desk, you scowl at him. “James, you told me you’ll sign the papers weeks ago. Now you sent them to me, unsigned and a picture of your dick glued to it.”

“I’m not going to sign that crap, kitten. And I know you loved the picture. I bet you got off looking at my dick,” leaning back in his chair Bucky roams your body with his eyes. “You look ready to get eaten in that black pencil skirt, baby doll. Why don’t you come over here and let me shove my hand down your panties?”

“Everything is a joke to you,” you roll your eyes, not in the mood for one of Bucky’s games. “You wanted out of this marriage, you got out. You can’t suddenly change your mind.”

“I can and did,” he shrugs, eying you shamelessly when you cross your legs. “What happened last night will never happen again, doll. If you ever try to let another man touch you, he’ll die. Everyone in town knows you are mine.”

“You can’t-“ you growl, hands balling into fists. “What do you want for letting me go? I don’t want to fight anymore. I’m tired of your games. Do you want my club? You can have it! Just sign the papers and I’m out of town for good.”

“You would give ‘Artemis’, the club you built out of nothing, up to be free of me?” you shrug. Nothing you can’t accomplish. When you are free of Bucky you will start anew.

“New town. New club,” Bucky huffs at your words. “It’s nothing special. People want to dance, drink, and fuck everywhere. The only difference is, there will be no James Buchanan Barnes fucking me over.”

“I did not fuck you over but fucked you thoroughly,” you scream in frustration, grasp the first thing on Bucky’s desk to throw it at him. “I even let you fuck Stevie.”

“That was a birthday gift, and you had your turn too,” getting up you want to attack Bucky, but you don’t get far.

“Come here doll and get some,” he already grasps for your arm, moves faster than you can blink to push you onto the couch at his office.

“Get off me,” you fight with Bucky. Slap his face, tug harshly at his hair, fist his clothes before you end up on top of him.

He has you on his lap, your legs on each side of his thighs moments later to shove your panties aside, fingers pushing inside your dripping core. “Fuck, you’re dripping for me, doll.”

“I’m just needy thanks to you, Barnes,” you growl, hands pawing at his jacket, tugging harshly. “Give me something, anything…”

“My dick?” he cocks a brow, groaning when you nod eagerly. “Just a minute baby doll,” husking the words Bucky rips your panties apart. “Lemme call Steve to join us.” He grins, revealing he tricked you again.

“Fucking asshole,” you slap his cheek harshly, growling his name. “There I believe you can act like an adult.”

“Just let me call him and he can watch me fuck you like a man,” Bucky grips your waistline, fingers digging in your flesh to hold you on top of him. “I want him to see how good I can make you feel.”

“I wanted to get off, not give your best buddy something to jerk off,” you growl, pushing against Bucky’s shoulders. “Jesus, we are a mess, Barnes.”

“I know, but I love you,” you sigh, forehead pressing against Bucky’s. “Can we not try again? I know that I fucked up, but give me another chance, doll.”

Your hands cup his face, and you breathe against him. Your forehead still touches Bucky’s heated one, and you just take a moment to feel him against you.

“I want Dot gone, not just out of your life but out of town. I don’t care if you send her to hell or Timbuktu. Just get rid of that grinning bitch,” you mutter. “If you get rid of her, we can talk again.”

“Uh-erm,” Bucky tilts his hips to press his erection into your core. “Can we still fuck? I didn’t touch Dot, I swear. Yes, I had a few flings here and there, but I know you were riding Steve’s dick over the last months.”

“What can I say – he has a nice dick,” you smirk, hands kneading the knots out of Bucky’s shoulders. “Maybe we can invite him once in a while?”

“What will I get in return?” Bucky husks, searching your eyes. “Doll?”

“You can do that thing with your thing,” a deep guttural growl leaves Bucky’s chest before you find yourself underneath the mobster, pinned to the couch.

“Give me five and I’ll get her out of town. And then, I want to do the thing with my thing in your ass.”

“Not today,” you grumble. “Get me off first and show me you’ll not stray again. If you can prove you are worth my time, you can conquer my ass.”

“I wanna-“ Bucky whines. “You better let me fuck that tight ass, doll. If not, I’ll not let you cum for months…”

“Promises…promises…”

“Bye, bye, Dottie,” you coo, waving at Steve. The tall blonde drags said woman out of her apartment, not caring Dot screams, fighting Steve with tooth and nails. “Have a nice trip!”

“Bitch!” Dot growls, screaming on the top of her lungs. “You can have that bastard back. He barely made me cum.”

“Did you fuck her?” growling the words you glare at Bucky. “James Buchanan Barnes! Did you fuck that woman?”

“Maybe a little?” Bucky shrugs, rubbing his hands over your arms, grinning sheepishly. “I was barely inside, ya know.”

“What the fuck! There is no ‘I was barely inside’, James. You were inside and fucked her or you weren’t,” you punch his chest harshly. “There is no halfway!”

“Fine, I fucked her ass,” your husband grumbles. “What can I say? We were on a break, and I was lonely.”

“Don’t you fucking dare to tell me you were lonely, Barnes,” pushing against his shoulders you ignore Steve tries to drag you off his friend. “Good thing I rode Steve’s dick excessively. Damn, he was so good!”

“If you don’t stop talking about Steve’s dick I’ll let him fuck you right here, in front of all my men! Maybe I’ll let them have a turn too – huh? All of them!” Bucky threatens, not liking the grin on your lips.

“Oh, please! As if I didn’t already fuck all of your men! Sam was the first I blew off in your car! He tasted like a goddamn popsicle!”

“Lying bitch!” Bucky is in your face, breathes heavily when you exclaim Thor had you on your husband’s desk, followed by his raven-haired brother. “You didn’t fuck my men!”

“I did and if I want to, I’ll do it again. Right here. Right now. All of them in all my holes,” you jab your finger into Bucky’s chest, snickering when he wraps his metal hand around your throat.

“You better think before you speak to me again,” he growls. “Get in my car and shut your mouth.”

“Aw, don’t you want one of your men to shut my mouth with his dick?” you retort, laughing when Bucky roughly shoves you toward his car to bend you over the hood.

“You want to act like a whore, I’ll show you what you’ll get,” Steve tries to stop his friend when Bucky rips your dress down your body, followed by your panties.

“Oh, do you want to fuck me, or will you ask a real man to do so?” laughing manically you spread your legs. “I’m ready for all of them, James.”

“Fucking bitch,” he unzips his pants, impatiently getting his dick out. “I’m gonna fuck you right here for all my men to see.”

“Promises again-“ you giggle, not missing Steve tries to stop his friend. “Will ya fuck me now or shall I ask one of your men?”

“Shut up,” his cock slaps against your ass, and his men turn around, not wanting to peak on you getting fucked. “If anyone takes his eyes off my wife, he’ll fuck her after me!”

“Did you just offer my pussy to all of your men? Naughty, James,” you grin, imagining getting filled by all of Bucky’s men. “Damn, yes.”

“I might add, anyone putting their hands on my wife will die, slow and painful!” you whine, disappointed you’ll only get Bucky’s dick. “Now shut the fuck up and just take my dick like a good girl.”

“Aw, you still think I’m a good girl, Bucky. That’s so sweet of you,” giggling you tap your fingers onto the hood. “Will I get your dick now or do you have performance issues in front of your men?”

“Fucking bitch,” his metal hand roughly fists your hair, presses your face into the cool surface of his car, gives you a stark contrast to his hot cock that nudges at your slit. “I hope you are wet because I don’t care if it hurts for you.”

“Bastard,” filled to the brim seconds later you struggle to breathe. Bucky is not gentle by all means, he roughly grips your shoulders, holds you down like you are nothing but a hole to fill. “Fuck me like a man, if you can.”

“Buck, can we not leave,” Steve grumbles, eyes glued to your body pressed to the car. He would never tell anyone so, but Steve loves to fuck a girl on a car.

“Watch and maybe, you’ll get a turn too. Sloppy seconds and all,” Sam tries to not look, knowing Bucky is too engrossed in starting to fuck into you. Brock on the other hand rubs his hand over his dick, listening to all the noises you make for your husband.

“Buck, this goes too far,” you moan loudly, feeling Bucky speed up. He doesn’t care if you get off or enjoy the ride; he simply wants to lay claim on your body again. “Bucky!”

“You’ll watch me fuck my wife, Sam,” Bucky moves his hands to your hips, holds your body in a tight grip. “I dare you to look away.”

“Bucky likes to have an audience while we fuck,” you quip, pushing yourself up onto your elbows to meet Steve’s darkened eyes. “Look at you Steve, so hard while your best buddy fucks his wife.

“Can you stop flirting with Steve?” Bucky starts to drag you onto his length, groans with every harsh thrust. “If you don’t stop, I’m going to not let you cum.”

“Don’t challenge me, Barnes!” while you bicker with your husband, his men silently sneak toward their cars, leave you to your coupling. “You better make me cum!”

“Little bitch wants to dictate my life,” he ruts into you, hands pawing at your flesh. “My doll wanted to fuck Stevie, and I let her. But then I want to fuck Natasha and she freaks out.”

“As you didn’t ask me to do so! You fucked her in our bed, and she wore one of my dresses,” you growl, pushing back onto Bucky’s length. “All those bitches, you fucked them on our bed. I would’ve never fucked Steve on our bed!”

“Hypocrite!”

“Cheater!”

“Fucking cum.”

“I’m trying but you lost your mojo,” you pant, smirking at Steve. He’s the last man standing – or rather the only guy watching you and Bucky fuck.

“Steve, make a mental note. We will put my wife in the dungeon and play with her all night long,” whimpering you look at Steve, imagining all the cruel things both men will do to you.

“Please.”

“Cum and I’ll hurt you so good…”

“I forgot we got a freaking sex dungeon,” you roll on your back, stretching your sore body. “So, who’s going to get me food?”

“Steve?”

“I don’t feel my legs, Buck,” Steve groans. “How about you go, and I’ll just lie here, ignoring my sore dick.”

“Don’t be such a baby,” you tut. “I only tried to show you a good time. How should I know you can’t take it?”

“Stevie, if you want to keep up with my wife, you must train your dick,” Bucky snickers, looking around the room to find his pants. “Sam, why are you still on the floor?”

“I need a break,” Sam pants, glancing at Bucky who ushers toward the door to unlock it. “I never thought I will ever not want sex.”

“Aw, my sexy soft bear can’t get up from the floor, Bucky,” you sigh deeply, closing your eyes for a moment.

“Did you hear me?” the female asks, disturbing your moment of silence. “Mrs. Barnes, did you hear me?”

Your eyes snap open and you feel the heat creep into your cheeks. Your therapist looks at you, expectantly, waiting for you to answer her question. “What did you imagine?”

“I-I,” you sigh, realizing you daydreamed once again. “To pay him back and, have some fun,” you sniff now.

“How did you do it? Who are you when you pay him back?” she asks. “Describe the person you are in your dreams.”

“When I imagine paying my husband back, I’m sexy and wild. Not meek and boring. If only I was a little more like that woman, he would’ve never found someone better, sexier, and more interesting.”

“Mrs. Barnes, you are not boring nor unsexy. Men cheat on their women for other reasons,” she tuts. “We talked about your low self-esteem.”

“Doesn’t change the fact she’s a ten and I’m a two, maybe even a one,” you sniffle. “I guess he will file for divorce soon enough to marry that woman. I can’t do anything and feel so helpless. What can I do? Bucky doesn’t love me anymore, maybe he never did.”

There is a knock on your therapists’ door, causing her to frown. “Just a minute, Mrs. Barnes. I wonder who dares to disturb our session.”

“It’s okay,” you give her a soft smile. “I can open it for you, and you can make some more notes.”

“We need to talk,” when you open the door, Bucky stands in front of you, panting heavily, an envelope with papers in his hands. You assume he wants to deliver the divorce papers today, so you nod silently.

“Okay, come in,” defeated you open the door a bit wider to let Bucky inside. “Let’s get this over with.”

You walk toward the couch, holding back the tears while Bucky strips his coat off, tossing it onto the couch, ignoring your therapist completely.

“You need to stop talking to your therapist about me,” he begins. “Y/N, what will happen when she tells anyone about the stuff you told her.”

“I only told her about my doubts, that I feel like a grey mouse,” you sniffle. “There is nothing wrong with it. I try to feel better and get over the fact that I never was pretty or sexy to you.”

Tears run down your face, and you choke out a sob, hating yourself for it. “What the fuck, doll. I gave you time and space, but you’ll not talk about shit with a stranger. I want you to talk to me!”

“About what, Bucky? There is nothing left to say. You want that sexy woman, and I’m going to fade in grey again,” you shrug. “It is what it is.”

“Fade to what?” running one hand down his face Bucky sighs. “Y/N, doll. I was drunk and Natasha asked me if she can stay in the guest room. When I walked into our bedroom she was there, wearing little to nothing.”

“How could you resist a woman like her while having someone like me at home. I’m not-“ your voice cracks when you look down your body.

“I-I’m sorry that I almost had sex with her. I was stupid. We had this fight, and I was weak that night, baby doll,” he crouches down next to you, gently touches your foot. “Look at me, doll. Natasha can’t compare to you.”

“’s okay, Bucky,” you shrug. “Men like you shouldn’t go for girls like me. You belong to Natasha or anyone else but me.”

“Fucking shit, Y/N! Yell at me. Scream. Throw things. Do anything but blame yourself for my infidelity. I was drunk and made out with Natasha. This was not your fault, it was mine, doll,” he runs his hand up and down your leg, tries to make you talk to him.

“I will sign the papers, no problem.”

“Papers? What papers? I got you the photos you wanted of the puppy,” Bucky opens the envelope to place the pictures of one of the puppies you liked onto your lap. “I-you see.”

“Puppies? I don’t understand, Bucky,” sniff, wiping your eyes with the sleeve of your shirt.

“Y/N, can we not talk about what happened?”

“Mr. Barnes, I’m glad you made it to one of our sessions,” your therapist clears her throat, watches you make space on the couch for your husband. “Why don’t we talk about your problems? Maybe I can help you?”

“OHMYGOD, Bucky,” you giggle, slapping his bare chest while he tries to slip inside of you. “Hey, shouldn’t we do one of those pair therapy exercises?”

“I’m on it, beautiful,” your husband slams into you, ignores you are still sore from your last encounter. Well, you barely made it out of your therapist’s office without fucking the life out of each other. “Aw, you were such a cute shy girl, and I, the big bad mobster just came to the session to help you cope.”

“You’re an asshole,” you pant, cunt already soaked again. “But fuck me, baby. My therapist will be so fucking proud of me for taking the next step.”

“Next step, huh? You went straight to fucking me, Steve, and Sam. That’s not the next step, it’s the ultimate.”

“Yeah, and it was great,” your nails bite into Bucky’s back, leave angry red lines but you don’t care. “I’m gonna lay claim on you again Barnes.”

He growls, hips crashing into yours. “This cunt is mine. No more Sam or Steve,” you hum to yourself, lean back, and decide to just enjoy the ride. “What? Don’t just lie there, doll.”

“I’m tired but want an orgasm. Come on, Buck, work that body,” you grin, watching Bucky move on top of you. “That’s what you wanted. Right? A girl like Dot, who just lies there and takes it.”

“Damnit, doll. Move your body,” he groans when you decide to buck your hips. “More, Y/N. I wanna feel you move your body…”

“So, a second chance?” your therapist asks when you shyly sit on the couch next to Bucky. Oh, how you love to pretend you are not the devil in disguise.

Your red lips curve into a smirk and you wonder if that smart woman will ever find out the truth about you and Bucky.

“Yes, we will go for more sex and fewer puppies,” Bucky grunts, patting your thigh, squeezing it roughly with his metal hand. “Truth is doc; my girl needs a cock more than anything. Sometimes I’ll bring Steve in, to help me fuck her.”

“What?” your therapist stutters, looking at you with wide eyes. “Mr. Barnes!”

“Oh, she loves it, doc. Last time it was an orgy. I watched Steve, Sam and Thor take turns. She was covered in cum and screamed only my name,” Bucky grins like the devil, already patting his hidden gun.

“I-I,” unsure what to say or how to react to such a confession your therapist slowly gets up from your chair. “I think I’ll need fresh air.”

“Sit, doc,” his voice dangerously low now Bucky dips his head to look her straight in the eyes. “Did you think I don’t know you were selling all those nice information my wife gave you to my enemies?”

“Buck,” you sigh. “Don’t kill another therapist. I liked that one—”

“Great, now I must find a new therapist thanks to you,” watching Bucky parade around your bedroom, a smirk plastered all over his face you roll your eyes. “Seriously, Barnes. You killed three of my therapists in not eight years.”

“The first dared to say we should file for divorce. I know he only wanted to get a taste of your pussy,” your husband mutters.

“Yeah, but what about therapist number two? He didn’t do anything wrong, still, the cops knocked on my door not days after his disappearance.”

“Hey, it wasn’t me!” Bucky snickers. “Maybe Steve didn’t like your therapist blamed him for our failed marriage.” The bastard shrugs. “Or I had to show him no one touches my wife.”

“He didn’t touch shit, Barnes,” you growl, watching Bucky open the door to the bathroom to reveal his next gift to you. “What?”

“May I present to you—” he smirks when a black cat waltzes into the room, “that’s Hades, its soul is as black as yours.”

“Don’t say shit about black cats,” patting the mattress you watch Hades jump onto the bed, purring. “I love black cats.”

“I know, doll,” laughing Bucky sits on the bed to watch you pat the cat.

“This is your last second chance, Barnes. Next time I’ll just kill you...”

Tags in reblog.

#bucky bingo round 1 #The B*tch #bucky barnes x reader #mobster!bucky #mobster!Bucky x Reader #bucky barnes fanfiction #smut #angst #tw: cheating #plot twist #bucky barnes x you

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bitsandbobsandstuff · 4 years

Text

Ink on his heart

Summary: Here’s how Bucky Barnes got a haircut and then decided it was about damn time he controlled his own destiny - starting with a bit of ink.

Star Spangled Bingo Square: “A thoughtful gift”

Characters: Bucky Barnes x TattooArtist!Reader

Words: 7,400 Warnings: Tattoo experiences, a couple stories about war. Some swearing. Mostly lots of feels and fluff.

A/N: This one has been in my head a long time, I love tattoos and I love the idea of Bucky getting them! While I desperately wish I could draw the designs in my head, hopefully you get enough of a word picture to imagine. And yes, it is kinda long (I know, I know), but I couldn’t stop myself!

Want to find all my stories? Search #bitsmasterlist or try the link in my bio!

*****

Not that Bucky’s counting, but it’s been three days, 18 hours and 26 minutes and he can’t get over it.

In the damp, chilly hours before dawn, he sits on the floor of the tower living room, watching the marshmallows in his hot chocolate melt in white swirls. Now and then, he lifts his eyes to the windows, finds the faint edges of his reflection in the dark glass, and tilts his head. Tentative fingers scratch through close cropped hair and a slow smile appears. Even now, he expects long strands trailing through his fingers. Believes he can feel the phantom tug of a snarl.

It was just a haircut. What a simple, ordinary thing.

But Bucky Barnes has never been ordinary.

That small act triggered a startling transformation. Decades of heartbreak fell away with that dark hair, revealing the shape of a man he begins to remember, and it makes him think. About small things, about change. About simple acts making an extraordinary difference.

The last haircut Bucky remembers before the beginning of his first ending, was January 1945. The memory came back one evening, of a tent in Austria, the heavy silence of snow drifting down. He remembers Steve with a dull scissors, snipping carefully along his ear, remembers the catch of a knife gently shaving his neck. It was a ritual they shared for years. When pennies were tight and life was tough, they took care of each other.

And then? Then there was after.

After the fall, after capture, after the world went pear-shaped. Hydra wasn’t concerned with the formalities of self-care, a haircut was functional. Sharp scissors biting into his scalp, rough hands tearing his hair, a harsh slap if he considered resisting. Get it done and get it done fast. The Asset has work to do.

He despised those haircuts.

But now, here he is. No more handlers and horrors. No more running. No more hiding. No more ropes dragging him somewhere he doesn’t want to be.

Wresting back his independence was exhilarating.

When Steve had finished this haircut - because Bucky still preferred a Steve Rogers special to anything - he’d dusted off Bucky’s shoulders and waited. Sam stood behind him, and Bucky rolled his eyes, expecting a barrage of sassy comments.

But Sam just ruffled the freshly cut hair and laughed.

“Not bad old man. Still not as handsome as yours truly, but hey - maybe someday.”

Such a simple thing, a haircut.

It makes him wonder what else he might do, just for himself.

Fuzzy and disconnected, an old memory flickers to life. It buzzes in his brain, images and connections filtering through the cracks and Bucky lets out a breathless laugh.

“Yeah,” he murmurs to himself. “Okay.”

He closes his eyes and sips his hot chocolate.

*****

Steve yawns when he answers the door. Blond hair spikes in every direction and he rubs his eyes, looking for all the world like a sleepy, overgrown toddler.

“Hey, man. Everything okay?”

Bucky leans against the doorframe and chews his thumbnail while he gathers his thoughts.

“Sure, just - can I get a favor?”

Bemused, Steve ushers him inside and Bucky plops in the red bean bag chair Steve keeps tucked beside his dresser. Stretching out his legs, he waits for Steve to flop back into bed and snuggle his pillow, before he speaks.

“Remember back in ’37 when we were coming home from that shitty bar in Midtown, and we saw that sailor getting a tattoo?”

Whatever Steve expected, it wasn’t this. It takes him a moment to conjure the image, but when it comes he belts out a laugh.

“That terrified kid gettin’ a big heart on his arm? Looked ready to shit his pants?”

Bucky grins at the memory, a milk-faced kid with hair dark and shiny as an oil-slick.

“Thought he was gonna puke on the guy.”

“Yeah, and didn’t we stand outside that window arguing while you tried to convince me we both needed one? Something about good girls liking bad boys?”

“Hey, I stand by that statement!”

“Oh fuck off, you know exactly what your Ma would’ve said if we’d come home with tattoos.”

“Yeah,” Bucky chuckles. “God, she’d a skinned me alive.”

“Damn straight,” Steve agrees and they fall quiet, momentarily lost in shared memories of a woman with a voice of steel and a heart of gold.

Bucky leans forward and rests his chin on his knee.

“You know, all these years and I’ve never really - done anything like that,” he admits wistfully. “Gotten something done to me, I mean. Something I decided on my own. If that makes sense?”

Controlling his own destiny, choosing to do something by himself, instead of always accepting things done to him - the idea is intoxicating. He remembers the pained grimace on that sailor’s face and he relishes the prospect.

Pain you choose to feel holds a different meaning, than the torture he knows.

“S’never too late, Buck,” Steve says drowsily. “You can do anything you want.”

Bucky contemplates Steve’s words. He can do anything he wants. Heart beating fast, he takes a deep breath.

“So listen, I was thinking -”

*****

For two straight weeks, Steve works on ideas.

The floor of his bedroom is littered with sketches and concepts, crumpled sheets of paper dappled with flowing lines. Finally, after midnight on a dreary Thursday, he knocks on Bucky’s door. The moment it opens, he shoves his tattered leather portfolio in Bucky’s hands.

“So, I guess, uh - here.”

Steve crosses his arms, his toe tapping nervously, and Bucky chokes down a laugh. Some things about Steve Rogers remain comfortingly unchanged. No matter how incredible his work, all confidence seems to evaporate the moment Bucky lays eyes on anything.

—

“Give it back asshole!”

“God dammit Steve, YOU’RE the one who asked me to look!”

“Yeah well, I changed my mind, now give it back!”

—

Bucky remembers laughing while Steve chased him around their apartment. He remembers the neighbors banging on the wall, shouting at them to shut up, and he remembers the smell of their forgotten scrambled eggs burning. But most of all, he remembers that drawing - he tucked that portrait of his mother in his rucksack the day he shipped out and it stayed there, a good luck charm all through the war.

Steve had cried when Bucky told him.

Because Bucky’s opinion was always the one that mattered. Seventy years changes nothing.

Tonight, he opens the leather case, revealing three separate drawings. Outlines of black ink and a rainbow of colors paint over the curves and breaks of a human form and he pores over each page. Each drawing is utterly unique, telling the story of Bucky Barnes in metaphors and moments.

There are no words.

His throat feels suddenly thick, cotton lodged in his windpipe.

“I can redo them,” Steve blurts out. He snatches at the paper, but Bucky spins sideways, blocking the reach.

“The fuck you will. You ain’t touching these,” his voice cracks. Blinking back the flood of emotion, he looks up. “This is - they’re perfect, Steve. Thank you.”

Steve blushes petal pink and coughs to hide his delight. He fails miserably, of course, but that’s one more reason Bucky loves the little punk.

*****

One week later, Bucky stands before a demure brick storefront on a slow Brooklyn side street, the portfolio housing Steve’s three precious drawings clutched tight in a sweaty hand. Glancing at the address in his hand, he looks up to find stenciled letters curving across a glass window.

BROOKLYN INK ESTABLISHED 1973

“Here we go,” he mutters. Before he can lose his nerve, he shoves forward.

Three steps inside the tattoo parlor, he pulls up short.

Wow.

Black iron chandeliers hang from the ceiling, splashing sparkles across plush velvet chairs, rich violet and bright turquoise. The floor is an eclectic mix of reclaimed barn board, full of knots and whorls in every shade of brown. Artwork in black and white frames line the brick wall, tattoo designs, letters and fonts, photos of finished work. The entire space overflows with warmth, and Bucky feels instantly at ease.

The front desk is empty, but he hears someone rattling around back, so he takes a seat. Piled high on an end table are bundles of photo albums, full of work; he sinks into the cushions and starts flipping through.

Immersed in the images, he misses the sound of quiet footsteps.

“Are you James?”

The voice startles him and in one swift move, he manages to throw the album on the floor and tumble from the chair. Pages of photographs spill everywhere and he crawls over, hastily scooping them up and babbling one inappropriate apology after another.

“Shit! Sorry, I’m sorry! Shit, I mean I’m sorry for saying shit. Fuck, I didn’t - oh my god, I’m sorry, I’m not usually so - ”

Soft laughter greets him and he looks up in panic, a more refined apology on his lips, but the words evaporate.

Crouching beside him, graceful hands gather up the mess of photos, slipping them back into the album. Dropping it carelessly on the end table, she bounces back to her feet and offers him a hand.

“No worries,” she says with a breathtaking smile. “I shouldn’t have startled you.”

Although he has no need for the support, Bucky reaches mutely for her outstretched fingers because he can’t help but take them. When she tugs, he allows her to pull him up.

“I’m, um - Bucky. Please, call me Bucky.”

“Hello Bucky,” she says. She shares her name and he repeats it slowly. Clearing his throat, he takes a deep breath.

“Thanks for meeting me so late, I know it’s after hours.”

“Sure,” she says lightly. “So, what can I do for you?”

This is the tricky part.

“On the website, it mentioned you had experience with - with tattooing around scars,” he begins carefully. “Scar tissue I mean. Is that right?”

With his question, her expressions turns serious. She observes him for a long moment.

“Yes, I do. Can I ask how long you served?” she asks delicately and Bucky acknowledges her perception with a short nod. He toys with the zipper on Steve’s portfolio, debating his response.

“Seemed like forever,” he finally says, and it’s the most honest answer he has.

Nodding silently, she motions him behind the counter.

“Come on back, let’s see what you had in mind.”

Hugging the pictures to his chest, Bucky follows, eyes saucer wide as they weave through the work area to her space. The shop smells like the woodsy smoke from the candles sitting along her table, mixed with ink and latex and an odd sterile tang. He inhales and discovers he likes it, the strange scent lighting him up.

Dropping to her stool, she gestures for him to have a seat. Bucky sits gingerly, wide eyes still staring. When she catches his eye, he flushes.

“Sorry. First time I’ve been in a shop.”

“That’s okay, there’s lots to see,” she says easily. Looking at the portfolio still clutched against his chest, she grins. “Did you have some ideas already?”

He thrusts the portfolio at her. Propping it on her knees, she flips it open and he beams when he hears her astonished gasp.

“I like the colors there, if you think they’re possible?”

“Sure, might take some extra time, but I can do it,” she murmurs, pinching her lip. Turning the page sideways, she examines every minute detail, shaking her head in disbelief. “This is exquisite.”

“I’ll tell my artist. He’s a real diva sometimes.”

“I’d say he’s earned that right,” she laughs, tracing the paper with a light finger. She flips to the second picture and tilts her head. “The grays and silvers might look nice with midnight blue for contrast?”

Bucky nods eagerly. “Yeah, I love that idea.”

She looks again, examining the intricate design.

“Can you tell me about your pain tolerance? The designs are beautiful, but they’re complex. Each will take multiple sessions to finish.”

Bucky drops his eyes. He heaves a sigh at the obligatory question.

“It’s high,” he mutters. “Very - high.”

Silence follows his admission. When he dares to look up again, he feels a twinge in his chest at the compassion he finds. He offers a rueful smile and she slowly returns it.

“Would you like to come after hours? It can get noisy during the day, if you prefer things quieter. Most soldiers like that better.”

There is a sweep of relief at her casual acknowledgement. He huffs out a shaky breath.

“That would be great. If you don’t mind, I mean.”

“Not at all. I’m a night owl anyway.”

“Yeah,” Bucky says quietly. “Me too.”

She looks back to the portfolio, carefully shuffling the pages.

The third picture appears.

And Bucky sees it, that precise moment when realization sinks in. When she realizes exactly who is sitting in her chair tonight. There is no doubt the drawing gives that fact away. Heart pounding, he flinches, steeling himself for the inevitable.

But nothing happens.

She meets his nervous gaze head on and yet - that gentle smile remains.

“Bucky,” she repeats and this time she understands. “Oh. It’s nice to meet you, Bucky Barnes. Come back tomorrow night, 9pm. Don’t be late.”

He leaves the tattoo shop feeling lighter than he has in years.

*****

TATTOO 1: FOREARM

“Show me a man with a tattoo and I’ll show you a man with an interesting past.” - Jack London

*****

Perpetually early for everything, Bucky arrives at 8:45pm the next night.

The bell over the door tinkles when he enters, and she looks up from the front desk and waves. His stomach unexpectedly leaps and he thinks it must be nerves.

“Hey, Bucky,” her voice is soft.

“Evening,” he says shyly.

“You ready to do this?”

“Could hardly sleep last night,” he confesses with a grin.

Sliding timidly into her black leather chair, he watches her arrange tools on a shiny silver tray. An arm rest is attached to his right side, and he dries his sweaty palm on his jeans before easing his arm onto the cushion, palm up. When she drops onto her stool at his side, he offers a weak smile.

“You got the email I sent with all the information, right? Did you have any questions?”

He scrunches his nose, recalling the long, detailed summary she shared. For each of the three tattoos he requested, she gave him a detailed analysis of the process for creating each design; broke down how long each session would take; gave explicit instructions on the healing and care process; confirmed each individual color and how it would be applied; clarified the tools that would be used, including their brand names and how each one worked; she even provided floor plans of her shop - outlining entries and exits and bathrooms and locations of fire extinguishers.

It was a novel of information that must’ve taken her hours, and he was inexplicably grateful for the time she spent just to make him comfortable.

“No questions, I just, uh - thanks. For putting all that together. It was helpful to have all the information. Helps me keep my head on straight.”

“Of course,” she says. “So this first design should take probably 5-6 hours. Since you’re new, we’ll start with short blocks and see how it goes.”

Bucky gives a jerky nod and she pauses, pressing her fingertips against the smooth skin of his forearm.

“Here are the rules. You’re in charge, okay? We can go as fast or as slow as you need. This is not a race, and I have nowhere to be but here. Any time you want to stop, you say the word and I stop. We can take a breather, grab a cup of coffee and start again - or we can call it a night. This is your experience, Bucky. You’re in control. Understand?”

There is a fierce surge of gratitude at her words. Gratitude for her kindness, for her acceptance. Gratitude for her.

“Got it,” he whispers.

And with that, they begin.

Bucky follows each step, while she measures his arm, while she considers the contours and angles of his muscle, while she cleans and preps his skin. When she finally applies a stencil, his heart is hammering so hard his teeth are chattering.

The low buzz of the tattoo machine fills his ears with a click.

When the needles touch his skin, sweat instantly beads his neck. Adrenaline drenches his tongue and for one wild moment, Bucky panics. Wonders if this was a terrible idea, because what idiot asks for pain, seriously Barnes, what the hell is wrong with you, why’re you so stupid all the -

And then - oh.

Huh.

Interesting.

Wide-eyed, Bucky follows her careful strokes, black lines appearing on his skin.

It does hurt - sort of. Obviously nothing he can’t handle; in the grand scheme of his life, this would register as a minor inconvenience, but there is a pinch.

But that spark of pain vanishes, when the raw symbolism behind Steve’s design hits him full force.

Holy shit.

How many times through the decades did Bucky Barnes die? And how many times did he rise, born again from the frozen ash of oblivion? It was simply what the Soldier did. But it was a shadow-life, nothing more. Bucky never knew how close he was to giving up, until that day above the Potomac, Steve’s bloody face beneath his furious fists. He was so far gone, so lost and forgotten, until those memories cracked the Soldier’s fierce veneer.

And suddenly he was Bucky again. Awake and alive. For the first time in 70 years he felt fire in his soul. For the first time in 70 years he could breathe.

Tears inexplicably fill his eyes.

“All okay?”

Through a tunnel, Bucky hears her voice. Hypnotized by the metaphor inking itself into his skin, his head feels waterlogged when blinks up at her.

“Sorry?”

She scans his face, her thumb rubbing the pulse thrumming at his wrist.

“Everything okay?” She asks again and Bucky feels a potent rush of euphoria.

“Yes,” he says slowly. The excitement bubbles over and he lets out an ecstatic laugh. “Yes! This is incredible. This is - fucking hell, this is amazing.”

Chuckling to herself, she bends back to her task.

“So I guess we’ll keep going?”

“Yeah,” he laughs. “Yeah, let’s keep going.”

Two hours later, the outline of the Phoenix is inked into his skin, crisp black lines like fresh paint. Long tail feathers are curled around his wrist, the lush feathered body splashed over his forearm, her wings spread open and curving around his arm, her head reaching toward the sky.

Born from ash. Alive again.

Bucky hates to cover it up, but she insists.

“Follow the cleaning instructions and it should be fine. We need to wait between the sessions, give you time to heal.”

At that comment, he fidgets.

“Actually, I heal pretty - fast.”

“I assumed you might. Usually I say 2-3 weeks between sessions, so how about you come back in 1 week and we can see. Let’s just make sure. Does that work?”

Bucky glances at the crisp white bandage on his arm.

“Okay, that works,” he says.

She squeezes his hand and he meets her eyes.

“You did great,” she tells him.

Bucky smiles in return. And he doesn’t stop for the next six days.

*****

When he walks into the shop for his next session, he carries a large coffee for himself and an extra large iced peach green tea for her. When he gets to the front desk, he thrusts the cup at her.

“Evening. Um, here. Saw you had one last time, so - anyway.”

“Bucky, thank you. I’ve been craving one all day.” She gives the straw an experimental bite, before taking a long drink and for some reason, the silly quirk makes his heart bounce.

After a quick check on how he’s healed, she declares him perfect and they get started, settling into a comfortable silence. After an hour of buzzing, Bucky clears his throat.

“Is it okay to talk while you work?”

“It is,” she affirms, dabbing at the ink. Glancing up, she sees hesitant blue eyes. “I’m good at listening too. Sometimes it’s nice just to listen.”

Bucky figures that’s a fair statement. He fiddles with a stray thread on his shirt.

“Do you read much?” He asks hopefully, picturing the teetering stack of books beside his bed. She perks at the question.

“I love to read. Have a pile of books on my nightstand waiting for me to find time. What about you? Are you reading anything good now? Any favorites I should know?”

Bucky swallows the happy surprise. If he could, he’d be content to spend the rest of his years with a comfortable chair, a cup of coffee, and an unending supply of stories. He could talk about books for days, he just normally keeps quiet, because most people aren’t interested in that facet of Bucky Barnes.

So he begins to talk.

He tells her how Natasha lent him all her Russian copies of Pushkin and Tolstoy and Dostoevsky, insisting that reading in the original language was infinitely better. He describes how he found a copy of Rumi’s poetry at a yard sale, and what an incredible treasure it was. He flusters recounting how much he cried reading ‘A Fault in our Stars’ and says he was scared shitless to even see a clown for a full year after reading Stephen King.

He talks and talks and talks, and when he finally stops to breathe, she glances up.

“It’s nice to hear a man who’s so well read,” she says and Bucky preens at the compliment. “Do you have an all time favorite? Something you never get tired of?”

A favorite? No question.

“Yeah, I do. Something I read during the war and kinda fell in love. It’s about here, I guess. About Brooklyn.”

At the description, her mouth quirks, but she keeps working.

“Did you ever think about a book quote for a tattoo?”

Now there’s an idea. He makes a mental note to think of a quote he could add as another tattoo. Or maybe another couple tattoos. Hell, one session in and he’s already addicted.

The comment tumbles free before he realizes he’s spoken out loud. He blushes at her laughter.

“It can be addicting,” she agrees. Bucky understands completely, seeing the vibrant crimson ink soak into his skin, painting the bird’s feathers. And then she pauses, meeting his eyes with a peculiar expression. “The right words can make you feel invincible.”

Setting the tattoo machine down, she rolls her chair back a bit and sits up straight. Lifting the hem of her shirt, Bucky sees a line of gold text inked below her ribs, his eyes following the flowing cursive.

“She was all of these things and of something more,” he reads aloud.

“‘A Tree Grows in Brooklyn’ is my favorite book too,” she says quietly. There is a long, unbroken moment where they stare into each others eyes. He should say something, he thinks. Something intelligent or witty or anything, but instead he just thinks about the fact that he found a woman in Brooklyn to permanently carve pictures into his skin and she has the same favorite book as him.

Bucky always was a sucker for fate.

“That’s - that’s really - I love that,” he finally says instead.

*****

A week later, Bucky arrives with a bundle of folders and an exasperated expression.

“This is really annoying, but do you mind if I finish some reports while you work? Got behind, someone’s gonna have my ass.” Bucky raises the papers apologetically.

“No problem,” she says easily. “Let’s keep your ass safe.”

Bending back to her task, Bucky snorts a laugh. They’re just a handful of mission reports, normally he types them soon as he returns, but lately he’s been slacking, because lately he has other things he finds more interesting.

Like the scene in front of him.

Together they work, each with their own pen. Bucky writes, she colors, and the clock on the wall ticks along. After awhile, she takes a break to stretch. Rolling her shoulders, she observes him.

“Are you left-handed?” she asks curiously and it takes Bucky a moment to think.

“Oh. Uh, not really,” he says. “But I can switch. Never been a problem.”

At the confession, she raises her eyebrows.

“That’s impressive. I wish I had a talent like that.”

He ducks his head at the praise. And he keeps writing, of course. Maybe adds a bit more flair. After all, the old Bucky Barnes did like to swagger.

*****

“Well, I think that’s it.”

It takes a beat before Bucky understands what she means. Confused, he peers up at her with a dopey expression and she gestures at his arm.

He feels his heart lurch.

It flames to life along his arm, painted in vibrant ruby red and rich crimson and deep plum, highlights edged in shining gold. Mesmerized, Bucky stares down at the lines of ink and he flexes, the tendons of his arm shifting, and the bird moves. For one wild moment, he believes if he stays still, it could leap from his skin and take flight.

It leaves him breathless.

“God, this is better - fuck, it’s so much better - than I ever imagined. How did you - wow. I don’t know how you did it, but - thank you. Thank you so much.”

Unanticipated emotion makes his voice tremble. Because this is the first time Bucky Barnes chose something permanent for himself. Serums and metal arms and bullets and blades, those were always forced upon him, his pleading refusals met with violence and sneering indifference.

But this?

This.

This is all his.

*****

TATTOO 2: BACK

“Wear your heart on your sleeve in this life.” - Sylvia Plath

*****

“So, uh, how exactly does this work?”

Standing beside the leather chair while she organizes her inks, Bucky wrinkles his nose. She looks up and motions for him to turn, straddling the chair with his chest pressed against the back.

“Are you comfortable completely removing your shirt? Or would you prefer to leave it part way on? I’ll just need it out of the way for the right side of your back.”

Bucky grimaces. Eventually she’s going to see his shoulder - he knows that - but he’s not in the mood to rip that band-aid off yet.

“Uh - let’s do part of the way if that’s okay?”

“That’s okay,” she confirms and he awkwardly tugs his right arm free, baring the broad expanse of his back. Tucking his arms in front of him, he slings a leg over the chair and rests his chin carefully on the headrest.

He says nothing, simply stays still while she absorbs the sight. Littered up and down his back are a litany of scars, puckers from the occasional bullet, thin lines from errant blades, and a few other marks he prefers not to define. His voice is muffled when he warily asks.

“Are you able to - work with it?“

“Absolutely,” she answers firmly and Bucky warms at the decisiveness in her tone. Her confidence makes him feel infinitely more positive.

This is the largest of his three tattoos, stretching from the tip of his shoulder blade and flowing down to his waist. It will also take the longest, but Bucky assures her he has no issue sitting perfectly still for hours.

It’ll be worth it. He can’t wait to show Sam - he’ll get a kick out of this one.

Once she applies the stencil over his skin, she goes to work, dropping into that headspace of deep focus. She works so quietly for so long, he falls into a trance, lulled by the melodic buzz.

When she speaks, it startles him.

“What made you decide you wanted a tattoo?”

He lays his cheek along the edge of the chair so he can see her from the corner of his eye when he answers.

“S’random, but back in ’37, me and Steve were out and I remember walking by this old tattoo shop over in Midtown. They had one of those big glass windows with the chair in front, so people could stand and watch. Anyway, we walk by and there was this kid sitting in the chair, and no fuckin’ joke, he was getting a big heart on his arm with ‘MOM’ written in the middle.”

“Ah yes, the ever popular ‘mom’ tribute. I’ve done a few of those,” she says and Bucky grins.

“Well anyway, I always kinda wanted something, you know? Thought about getting one before I shipped out, but I didn’t, and then it was - “ he pauses for a moment, but she encourages him with a questioning hmmm? and Bucky bravely pushes forward. “I had lots of years where I didn’t get to make my own decisions. And there was so much - bad shit that happened to me. Anyway, I guess I thought if someone’s gonna do something to me, I wanted it to be on my own terms. You know?”

“Yeah,” she murmurs. “I think that makes perfect sense.”

Bucky sits quietly, contemplating. The question has been rattling around his brain for awhile and it spills free before he can stop himself.

“The whole process, it feels sort of - intimate, doesn’t it?”

He flushes at the insinuation, but intimate is the best way to describe it, he thinks, this practice of someone permanently carving their art into your skin.

“It is intimate,” she says softly, leaning closer. “It’s almost like you’re - leaving a piece of your soul under someone’s skin? I don’t know if that makes sense, but that’s what it’s always felt like.”

Bucky nods, watching her capable, artistic, beautiful hands as they move, slowly transferring bits and pieces of herself to him.

What a gift. He holds on tight.

*****

It was bound to happen at one of the sessions.

It’s been dark and rainy for days, buckets dumped from the heavens, the perpetual grumble of thunder always near. When Bucky comes through the front door, he feels like a wet dog. He shakes out his jacket, stomps his boots. He feels off base tonight, the result of bad sleep, bad dreams, and one particularly bad mission. He’s frustrated with himself for bringing it with him, thinks maybe he should’ve cancelled, but the thought of skipping his session - both the ink and her - was too depressing.

So instead of holing up in his room and moping under the covers, he braved the storm.

The one inside and out.

Searching for calm, he licks chapped lips.

“Hey,” he says, cringing when his voice cracks.

“Hey, Buck,” she turns cheerfully, but when she sees him squinting at her through the droplets cascading down his face, his shoulders hunched and tense, she stops. Looks him up and down and her expression softens. Beckoning him back, she digs up a towel and a dry t-shirt with ‘BROOKLYN INK’ stamped across the front, ushering him to the bathroom.

“Take all the time you need. No rush.”

Bucky mumbles his thanks and shuts the door. Gripping the sink, he glares at the mirror, at the smudge of dark beneath his eyes, at the clench of his jaw. Closing his eyes, he breathes slow and deep.

“You’re okay. You’re okay.”

He repeats the mantra, determined to settle. He’s been eager for this session all week, he’s sure as hell not ruining it because he can’t get his idiot brain to stop spinning.

When he finally emerges, he finds her arranging her work space. Halting in front of her, he keeps trembling hands stuffed in his pockets, eyes downcast.

“I’m afraid I’m poor company tonight,” he admits quietly.

“That’s okay. We can reschedule, Bucky,” she says softly and Bucky feels the disconcerting sting of tears. He rubs the heel of his hand against watery eyes.

“If it’s okay, I’d - I’d rather go ahead. Been looking forward to seeing you - uh, seeing you work, all week. It was just - “ he pauses and fights the temptation to spill his guts. No, he snarls internally, she doesn’t need to hear all your shit.

He clamps his mouth shut and shrugs instead.

She says nothing, but when she gives his hand a comforting squeeze, Bucky feels that familiar surge of gratitude. She guides him carefully toward the chair and he slumps into the seat, automatically tugging up his new shirt.

“Just close your eyes and breath. You’re okay.”

Bucky rests his chin on the edge of the chair. Troubled eyes flutter shut, and the comforting buzz of the tattoo machine fills his ears, muting the sound of the storm raging outside. When he feels the prick of the needles, he lets out a weary breath. And when he feels the easy pressure of her fingers, he begins to relax.

For hours, she works. Firm strokes, painting the story across his skin.

The dark night begins to fade before she finally sets her tools aside. When he climbs to his feet, she pulls him into a gentle hug.

Bucky sinks into her arms.

That morning, the sun begins to shine.

*****

Bucky’s been sitting for a couple hours now, eyeing the brick wall behind the chair. A question pops into his head and he feels like a jerk for not asking sooner.

“Hey - all these hours together, and I never asked you - what made you want to draw on people for a living?”

She hums at the question, and he can hear the happiness in her reply.

“Well, I always wanted to be an artist. For my eleventh birthday, my best friend Mike gave me this set of gel pens, there were a million colors. When I told him I wanted to be a tattoo artist, he let me draw pictures all over him for practice. He insisted on being the first person I inked, once I got my license. Would always tell people he was the ‘original canvas’ for my brilliance.”

When she laughs, Bucky chuckles with her; it reminds him of Steve.

“Sounds like a good man,” he says.

“Yeah, he is - he was,” she quietly corrects herself. “He was an EOD specialist in Afghanistan. Right before he left for his last tour, I drew up plans for the arm sleeve he always wanted; he planned to get it when he finished. A month later, he was in a convoy that was moving through the Gereshk Valley in the Helmand Province, when an IED hit his vehicle. He didn’t make it home.”

The story hits home like a kick in the face.

Too many soldiers, too many lives. Bucky reaches back to still her hand. He slowly turns to face her, gently tugging the tattoo machine free and setting it aside. Wordlessly, he offers his hand and she accepts it gratefully, weaving her fingers through his. It takes a few attempts before she speaks again.

“It took me a long time to get through that. One day I met a friend working down at the VA, and I heard a vet talking about the scars on his legs. He sounded so - sad about them, you know? Kept saying he didn’t recognize himself anymore. And I just stood there thinking, maybe I couldn’t help Mike, but I could still do something.” Staring resolutely down, she considers her fingers still entangled with Bucky’s. “I did some research and took some classes and - learned how to tattoo on scar tissue.”

Bucky gazes at her. He feels a sweep of pride at the way she turned her tragedy into something beautiful.

“I’m so sorry that happened,” he says and she finally looks up, meeting blue eyes bright with compassion. “But you should know, what you’re doing for people, it’s incredible. And if you don’t mind me saying, I think he’d be real god damn proud of you.”

A tear slips down her cheek and she ducks her head, her whisper so low he nearly misses it.

“Thank you Bucky.”

*****

Hours later, Bucky hears a clatter of tools and her huff of relief.

“All done.”

Wiping her hands, she pops excitedly up from the stool and Bucky pushes back from the chair to follow. Without a thought, she grabs his metal hand, tugging him impatiently over to a set of floor length mirrors along the wall. Bucky grips tight and obediently follows, his pulse racing. When she positions him at the mirror, she adjusts the panels so he can see himself from all angles.

“There, have a look.”

Along his spine, the single metal wing bursts free, so intensely realistic, Bucky’s jaw drops. It arches gracefully up, curving over his shoulder blade and sweeping down his back, razor sharp feathers tickling his rib cage before billowing out above his waist. Made from silvers and grays and shaded hints of midnight blue, it glows in the light. When Bucky reaches toward the sky, the muscles shift beneath the ink and it creates the strangest sensation of feathers unfolding.

All the scars littering his back, a flesh and bone patchwork of memories left by vicious handlers and fights too close for comfort, have disappeared. Blending into the steel of his new wing, their only purpose is to strengthen the image.

After all this time, he’s come to terms with the metal arm so unwillingly gifted all those years ago. But it’s remained a relic of a past life, something heavy, to drag him down.

But now, he rolls his shoulder back and his new metal wing lifts him higher than he’s felt in a long, long time.

*****

TATTOO 3: SHOULDER

“I can bear any pain as long as it has meaning.” - Haruki Murakami

*****

“So our last session.”

“Our last session,” he murmurs.

Bucky thinks for a moment that she seems glum, but maybe that’s wishful thinking.

“This is a tough one,” she warns, “but I think we can do it in one session. I won’t try and cover them up, it won’t work. The best solution is to incorporate your scars into the design. Make sense?”

Bucky pictures the pattern Steve drew, bright green leaves and vines tracing the seam of his arm, melding with the thick ribbons of raised tissue. It doesn’t matter, but he timidly asks anyway.

“Will it hurt?”

“No,” she says gently. Pressing her hand to his galloping heart, she shakes her head. “It won’t hurt much there, but you need to tell me if it hurts here. You need to tell me if I should stop. Remember, you’re in charge, okay?”

“Okay,” he whispers.

Steeling himself, he whips off his shirt, balling it up in nervous hands. The cool air blowing through the shop is a relief for his overheated body.

“Do you mind if I feel the skin here? So I can make sure I approach it right?”

“Yeah, ‘course,” Bucky mumbles. Staring at his hands, he waits.

Leaning close, her fingers brush over him, feeling the lines and ridges, assessing the canvas. For ten minutes, she tests his skin, lightly pushing and pressing, observing the scars and bumps where metal meets man.

“Does it still hurt?”

She doesn’t want to ask, but needs to know what she’s working with. With a grim smile, he shrugs.

“Not really. Aches sometimes, but doesn’t hurt. Can’t feel much there besides some pressure.”

Nodding, she pinches her lip. “I was thinking last night, um - would you want to add anything else into the design? Nothing big, but a few flowers? Some daisies maybe?”

“Sure, I’d like that. Any reason for daisies?” Bucky asks curiously.

Pulling out a few additional bottles of ink, she absently touches the necklace at her throat, and Bucky sees a silver daisy spinning.

“Daisies represent new beginnings. Thought it might be a nice way to end, if you like?”

Does he like it? The idea of having this small thing in common?

Hell yes he likes it.

Maybe - maybe he even more than likes it?

“Yeah. That sounds perfect,” he says softly. He swallows hard and she nods encouragingly.

“Okay. Remember - stop me if you need a break.”

This one, Bucky knows will be hard. It was the reason he left it to the end - the mental fortitude required here is much different.

As she begins, he contemplates the pink furrows gouged into his skin. The memory of how they got there flashes before him, a sick image of shredded skin raked bloody beneath his blunt fingernails. Faint screams of a past life echo in his ears, the smokey cry of his own voice desperate for relief from the pain.

Cold sweat slides down his face and he slams his eyes shut, but that seems to make it worse. The images glow technicolor bright, and he grunts a frustrated breath.

And then, through the thin latex of her glove, he feels her cool hand press against his pounding heart. Cracking an eye open, he finds her calm face and he focuses on her, until his breathing begins to ease. Blinking rapidly, he drinks in the curve of her nose, the shape of her mouth, the beauty of her eyes.

His heart stutters, stunning him into a different kind of breathless.

“Okay?”

“Yeah,” he murmurs, wide eyes locked on hers. “Yeah, I’m okay. You can keep going.”

When she bends back to her task, Bucky melts. It occurs to him, that perhaps if she might let him, he could be content watching her forever.

But for tonight, this forever lasts only a few hours before she’s done.

And there it is.

Shades of green line his shoulder, the vines curling and winding around his scars, blending them seamlessly into the foliage covering his skin. Spidering vines trail across his chest, and it seems incompatible in a way, something alive bursting from the stark metal, but the leaves look so real, he swears they flutter with each breath he takes. Strewn throughout the greenery, small splotches of yellow and white reveal her daisies and he sucks in a breath.

For the first time in his life, Bucky stares at his scars and a foreign word comes to mind, one he never, ever thought to use.

“Beautiful,” he breathes. “They’re beautiful.”

*****

And so, after 3 months and 30 hours together, they were done.

Hands in his pockets, Bucky gazes at her. Ink on her hands, ink on his heart. It hits him then, this is it. They shuffle, making small talk, neither ready to say goodbye.

“Promise you’ll come back if you decide on anything else. Tattoos, piercings, anything,” she teases and Bucky laughs.

“Told you, I might be a little addicted,” he admits, knowing full well he means to tattoos and to her. “Soon as I can think of a reason, I’ll be back.”

“I hope so,” she says. There is a brief moment where she seems to gather her courage and then she leans in to press a soft kiss to his cheek. “You’re a work of art, Bucky, but - you were before any of this. Remember that.”

Dazed, Bucky touches his cheek.

Indelible and perfect, the tattoo of her lips inks itself straight onto his heart.

*****

When she arrives at the shop the next day, there is a new sight sitting on the front desk.

Daisies, their white petals and yellow faces as fresh as the afternoon sunshine filtering through the window. Bemused, she looks around the bustling shop and spies the card propped beside the overflowing vase, her name scrawled across the front.

“When I got home, I stood in front of the mirror for hours, staring at your artwork. Every time I told myself to go to sleep, I found something new I loved. The tail feathers on my Phoenix or the petals of your daisies. What you’ve given me is more than I ever hoped - I can never thank you enough.

But anyway, I remembered what you said - how this kind of art is like leaving a piece of your soul under someone’s skin.

Well, I won’t lie - you must have done, because I miss you already.

So at the risk of being forward (although I did break into your shop and leave this, so maybe this won’t seem that forward), would you have dinner with me?

I think there’s another new beginning waiting out there, if you’d like to find it with me.

Yours,

Bucky”

At the bottom of the note, a phone number is printed.

Brushing her fingers over the delicate white petals, she pictures him, that dark haired man with eyes like blue ink, so heartbreakingly beautiful inside and out. She feels the unconscious pull of her heart, telling her all she needs to know.

A new beginning.

She says yes.

*****

#bucky x reader #bucky barnes x reader #bucky barnes #SSB2020 #bucky fic #bitsmasterlist #tattoos #tattoo trope

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ladyfogg · 3 years

Note

Prompt for James Patrick March. We all know he loves to lavish the lady of his heart, but what if he were to get a present - something that's just so him and shows how well she knows him? (maybe cufflinks on the shape of an anatomical heart or bones?)

A/N: Hope you like it ;)

Pairing: James Patrick March/GN Reader

Rating: M

The Evans Masterpost.

If anyone wants to be added to my taglists, fill out this form. To learn more about what prompts I’m accepting, check here.

It was the anniversary of James’s death. Normally, he didn’t celebrate, but you had insisted on a special dinner that you’d prepare. Just the two of you, undisturbed. James could never deny you. It was enough that you chose to spend eternity with him in his hotel. Anytime you went out of your way to do something special, he couldn’t help but fall more in love with you.

James was first and foremost, a gentleman. And a gentleman always lavished his lady with gifts. Of course, you’re from several generations after he was born and have a slightly different worldview about gender norms and all that. But James found he quite liked your effort in being as doting on him as he was on you.

When he entered your room, the table was set for two, with beautiful candles lining almost every surface.

“My dear, you flatter me,” he says with you greet him with a smile and kiss on the cheek. “You did not need to go through all the trouble.”

“It’s never troubling if it’s for you, my love,” you tell him. “Now sit. I have a present for you.”

“A present? What is it?”

Laughing, you place a beautifully wrapped parcel in front of him. “Open it and see.”

Delighted, James tears off the wrapping paper as you stand by his side He finds himself looking at a square, glass case but it’s what’s inside that draws his attention.

“Is that…?”

“A mummified human heart? It is.”

James holds up the case, admiring it from all sides. “Exquisite! Truly! Where ever did you find it?”

“Don’t you recognize it? It’s the heart that belongs to the first man we killed together.”

“My dear, that was nearly forty years ago.”

“I know. I wanted to do something special with it. I thought of that story of Mary Shelley keeping her husband’s mummified heart on her desk. While I didn’t have access to yours, I thought this was the best alternative.”

James looks at you in awe. “I’ve never had a more thoughtful gift, my lovely. Thank you.”

You smile and gently take the case from his hands and place it on the table. “Now, onto to dinner.”

“What do you have planned?”

You throw your leg over his lap, straddling him and fixating him with a devilish smile. “Me, darling,” you say, leaning in for a kiss. “You get to eat me.”

James playfully bites at you. “Oh you are wicked.”

---

Taglist:

@lejardinfleur @kitwalker64 @tatestripedsweater @milly-louise @kitwalker02 @xmaximoffic @margaretboothsear @slightlyvicked @nia-s-not-so-secret-diary @liandav @billyhxrgrove @tatesimper @spider-starry @beautifuldelusion-writer @marie-catherine @fictional-men-that-i-stan @ryangoslingstanktop @katiekat4594 @undeadcortez @corn3liiia @TheOriginalDoll87 @a-mattz @sanni333 @godblessthegoths @raincoffeeandfandoms @quickiesgirl

#james patrick march x you #james patrick march #james patrick march x reader #evan peters #james march

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calpalirwin · 3 years

Text

All Too Well

Summary: Bucky can’t let Steve’s memory go.

Word Count: 3.6k

And away, and away we go!

The plain black ball cap was pulled low on his head as he trudged his way through the museum. He was stupid for being there. A whole ass museum literally dedicated to his ex. But it was somehow the only place he ever found peace. The memories couldn’t swallow him whole when they were plastered on the walls. It was the one place he could allow himself to be angry for how everything had played out.

His fingers fiddled with the cool metal hanging from his neck, feeling the rise and fall of the letters stamped in it. “Fuck you, Steve,” he muttered darkly. “Fuck. You.”

~~~

“Shouldn’t I be the nervous one?” Bucky asked with a laugh, as he watched Steve take three hurried steps for every single stride of his. “I’m the one meeting your mother.”

“Yeah, but… I’ve never brought anyone home before,” Steve mumbled, his face turning red. “Girls don’t exactly throw themselves at me the way they throw themselves at you.”

“Mmm, well, good thing I’m not a girl then.”

Steve choked, his face growing an even brighter shade of red.

“Oh…” Bucky said in realization. “You didn’t tell her, did you?”

Steve answered by picking up his speed, the leaves crunching under his rapid footsteps.

“Steve. Did you, or did you not tell your mother about me?” Bucky asked, easily lengthening his own stride to keep up with the smaller man. “Answer me.”

Steve snorted, shoving his hands in his pockets, his eyes glued to the pavement. “Of course I told her about you. She knows you’re coming.”

“Steve.”

His feet slowed to a stop, and his shoulders slumped as he spared a glance upwards at Bucky. “You’re not mad, are you?” he asked with concern.

Bucky smiled warmly, draping an arm across Steve’s shoulders. “No, I’m not mad. But you gotta be the one to tell her.”

“Buck, no,” Steve pleaded, his eyes wide. “I-I can’t.”

“I’m not gonna be your dirty secret, Steve.”

“I never said you were!”

“Then tell your mother.”

Steve’s footsteps were heavy with dread as he dragged himself up the porch of a house Bucky assumed was his mother’s. Steve’s breath was slow as he steadied himself, squaring his shoulders, his face getting a determined look to it, but his eyes still held traces of fear as he looked up at Bucky.

“I’m right here, sweetheart,” Bucky said in a low, reassuring voice, his hand giving Steve’s arm a small squeeze of encouragement.

Another slow breath and Steve pushed his way into the home with a call of “Mom! We’re here!”

A woman poked her head out of the kitchen, a big smile on her face. “Steve! And you must be James,” she said, her attention quickly shifting from her son to Bucky.

“Pleasure to meet you, ma’am,” Bucky greeted her politely.

“Please, have a seat,” she gestured at the couches. “Make yourselves at home. Can I get you boys anything to drink? Eat?”

“I got it, Mom,” Steve told her, joining her in the kitchen while Bucky perched himself on the edge of a couch cushion.

“Steve, you didn’t tell me your friend was so…” Mrs. Rogers cleared her throat before whispering, “handsome.”

Bucky felt his face heat up at the compliment, while his fingers curled into fists at the mention of ‘friends’.

“Erm,” Steve coughed. “Yeah, Mom, about that… Buck and I… Buck, he’s my… We’re…”

“Steve, Steve,” she interrupted her son’s fumbling, a hand resting gently on his shoulder. “He’s not your friend, is he?”

The blonde shook his head sheepishly. “No… He’s… So much more than that.”

“Hmm…” Mrs. Rogers pursed her lips together as her eyes swept over Bucky who offered up a shy smile. “James, would you like to see pictures of Steve from when he was little?”

Whatever sigh of relief Steve was about to let out quickly changed to a groan. “Mom…”

Bucky let out a laugh, “You mean more little than he is now? I'd love to.”

Hours later, Bucky was still awake on the couch when soft footsteps padded down the hallway. “What are you doing, sneaking about?” he asked in a whisper when the fridge door pulled open, illuminating Steve in a soft glow.

Steve jumped, hand flying to his chest. “Jesus, Buck! I thought you were asleep.”

“Well, see…” he said, as he got up. “I was about to. But now you’re here. What are you doing?” Each word he spoke brought him closer to Steve, pressing him against the kitchen counter.

“I was getting water,” Steve gulped out, holding up a glass as evidence.

“You sure that’s the only reason?” Bucky asked, his hands roaming Steve’s waist.

“Buck…” Steve’s voice was a low whine as he squirmed away. “C’mon, not here.”

“Fine, fine,” he said, pulling back, but keeping his hands on Steve. “Dance with me, then.”

“Dance with you? Here? Now? There’s no music.”

“I wasn’t asking you.”

“I take it that you got a kick out of my mom embarrassing me this afternoon?” Steve asked as he let Bucky dance him around the kitchen.

“You shouldn’t be embarrassed about your past, sweetheart. It all led to you being you.”

“I suppose. But it’s really not fair that I can’t meet your parents and spend an afternoon listening to them embarrass you.”

“Yeah. They would have loved you, too. But I’ll tell you anything you wanna know.”

“You will?”

“Mhm. How else can we build a future if we don’t know each other’s pasts?”

“You really want to be my future?”

“I really do. Do you wanna be mine?”

“More than anything,” Steve nodded, before resting his head against Bucky’s chest. “I love you, Buck.”

“I love you too, sweetheart.”

~~~

The bottle lay empty before him on the coffee table. His throat burned as he drained the last sip from his glass. He knew if he looked in a mirror his eyes would be rimmed red but it had nothing to do with the alcohol consumption. Not being able to get drunk enough to drown out Steve’s memory was easily the thing Bucky hated most about being a super soldier.

“Don’t do anything stupid,” he deadpanned before his face pinched and he hurled the glass as hard as he could across the room. “UNTIL THE END OF THE LINE!” he bellowed, swiping the bottle off the coffee table in an angry motion as tears poured down his face.

With a mangled cry of heartache and rage, Bucky shattered like the glass shards decorating the floor, breaking apart like Steve’s promises.

~~~

Bucky gripped the enlistment form angrily in his fist, crumpling it. “Again?” he demanded sharply. “How many times are you gonna do this, Steve?”

“As many as it takes,” Steve replied icily.

Bucky sighed, rubbing at his face in agitation. “No. You have to stop doing this.”

“Why?”

“It’s illegal for one thing!” Bucky snapped. “And for another, I’m telling you no! You’re not allowed to enlist, do you understand me?!”

“Not allowed?!” Steve hollered back, matching his boyfriend’s anger.

“Yes! I’m forbidding you from enlisting!”

“Do you realize how stupid you sound?! There’s a war going on, Bucky! They need men to fight!”

“How stupid I sound?! Steve, you’ve been rejected four times for a reason! No sane person is going to let you fight!”

“So I’m supposed to just let you go?!”

“You think I want to go?! I don’t have a choice here! Believe me, if I did, I wouldn’t be going! So why the hell are you so pressed to go yourself?! What are you trying to prove?!”

Steve glared up at Bucky in startling realization. “You don’t think I can do it… Nobody does… You all think I’d be a dead man walking…”

“Steve…”

“No! It’s the truth, isn’t it? Nobody believes that scrawny asthmatic Steve Rogers can be a bonafide American soldier… Well… I expected it from them, Buck. But from you? You can’t even believe in me?” He hung his head sadly. “Wow…”

“Steve…” Bucky repeated, hating the look of betrayal on his boyfriend’s face. “Sweetheart…”

Steve held up a hand. “Don’t. You can’t ‘sweetheart’ your way out of this.”

“I’m not trying t-” Bucky’s hands curled into fists at his sides. “God damn it, Steve, of course I believe in you. But can you also understand that the only reason I’m at peace going to war myself is because I know you’ll be safe here? God… if anything happened to you… I’d… I’d…”

“Can you understand that I don’t want to sit here and pray you’ll come back? That I don’t want to have to worry about your safety either?”

“Cuz joining the war’s gonna stop you from worrying? That’s a load of crap.”

“No, it wouldn’t stop me from worrying about you, but it��d be a hell of a lot better than sitting at home, twiddling my thumbs for God knows how long!”

“You know… I always knew you were stubborn. But I thought you’d draw the line at DYING!”

“WHO SAID I WAS GOING TO DIE?!”

“OH I DUNNO! MAYBE THE FUCKIN’ WAR THAT’S KILLING EVERYONE?!”

“AND HOW DO YOU THINK THAT MAKES ME FEEL KNOWING THAT YOU COULD BE ONE OF THEM, BUCK?! HUH?!”

“YOU JOINING THE WAR DOESN’T PROTECT ME! And if you can’t realize that… God damn it! One of us stands a really good chance of making it out of this hell alive, and you wanna give that up?”

“The future doesn’t mean shit to me if you’re not around for it, Bucky.”

“You can’t protect me from this, and I get how angry that makes you. But lying on enlistment forms isn’t the brave or noble thing. It’s just stupid. And I’m sorry if that hurts your feelings, or if you wanna take that as me not believing in you. But I need you to promise me that you’re gonna stop enlisting, or I swear I’ll report you myself.”

“Buck…” Steve cried in a broken whisper, a tear sliding down his face. “This isn’t fair…”

Bucky pulled Steve into his arms, resting his chin in the golden locks as Steve sobbed in his arms. “Promise me, sweetheart. Nothing stupid until I get back. And I will. I’ll come back.”

~~~

“This isn’t fair!” Bucky wailed into his hands, still curled up on the floor. The tight band around his chest made him fight for each sobbed breath that wracked through his body. “I kept my promises! Why couldn’t you keep yours?! What did I do wrong?! All I ever wanted was for you to love me back! Was that too much to ask of you?! For you to love me back?! THIS ISN’T FAIR!”

~~~

Bucky sat quietly while Steve cleaned up his face, his mind reeling. He hadn’t been able to trust his thoughts in so long, captivity under Hydra control making the line between reality and fantasy blurred. And even with Steve physically in front of him, he still wasn’t sure if he was real or not. After all, the Steve he’d left in New York had been so much different than the Steve standing before him now. How did a grown man have a growth spurt of this proportion in a handful of months?

He knew Steve was no doubt telling him the story of his magical growth spurt, as the blonde’s lips were moving rapidly. But Bucky couldn’t process much beyond “genetic testing” and “serum” as his mind slowly went from acceptance to heartache. If Steve was real, it meant all his memories of him were too. And if that was the case, why did Steve keep making eyes at the woman in the room with them? Was the love part not real? Had that been some sick coping mechanism to keep him from going insane? The thought that someone out there loved him being enough to keep him from becoming the homicidal maniac Hydra wanted?

“I’m sorry,” Bucky interrupted, a different word catching his attention. “Grenade?”

Steve and the woman shared a sheepish smile. “Yes,” she nodded. “In training, Captain Rogers here threw himself on top of a grenade.”

“Captain? Wow,” Bucky said, his tone both bitter and impressed. “Um… Peggy, was it? Could you excuse us for a moment?”

“Yes, of course. My apologies. And welcome back, Sergeant Barnes.”

Steve gulped as the tent flap closed behind Peggy, leaving him alone with Bucky. “Buck-” he started, scrambling to defuse the look of cold steel Bucky fixed him with.

“A grenade?” Bucky whispered terrifyingly low. “A grenade?!”

“It didn’t go off…”

Bucky jumped to his feet. “A GRENADE?! WHAT THE HELL WERE YOU THINKING?!”

“I WAS THINKING I WAS GIVEN A CHANCE AND I TOOK IT!”

“YOU WERE SUPPOSED TO STAY HOME!”

“AND LOOK WHAT COULD HAVE HAPPENED IF I DIDN’T! OR NEED I REMIND YOU THAT I JUST SAVED YOUR LIFE?!”

Bucky set his jaw stubbornly. “You think I got captured on purpose? It was an ambush, Steve.”

Steve sighed. “I didn’t say it was your fault.”

“You didn’t have to… I promised you I’d come back, and I didn’t hold up my end of the bargain. But you… you little…”

“I’m not little anymore…”

“Shut up before I get more mad at you.”

Steve’s face crumpled. “You’re mad at me?”

“Of course I’m mad at you! I specifically told you not to do anything stupid! And what do you do? You went and did something stupid! Genetic testing?! Jumping on a grenade?!”

“Again… the grenade didn’t go off. And I wouldn’t say I ‘jumped’ on it exactly. ‘Curled my body around it’ is far more accurate.”

“Shut up!” Bucky thundered. “I don’t know whether I should kiss you in relief, or kick your ass for being so stupid.”

Steve offered up a shy smirk. “I mean… you could try to kick my ass. But I don’t think it would work out very well.”

With a growl, Bucky stalked over to Steve, hand gripping the younger man’s throat as he easily threw Steve against the wall, Steve’s boots hovering above ground. “Wanna retract your statement, Captain?”

Steve grinned. “I’ve missed you too, Buck,” he croaked.

In a flash Bucky dropped Steve before enveloping him in a rib crushing hug. “Don’t you ever scare me like this again, you understand me?” His voice was a cracked whisper as he savored the feeling of Steve in his arms again.

Steve held Bucky back, the new strength strange but comforting to Bucky. “I know you want me to be sorry, but I can’t. I can’t apologize for getting you back.”

“But everything before that?”

“It won’t happen again?” Steve offered.

“It won’t-” Bucky started to repeat in bafflement before he let out a loud laugh. “You’re a little shit, Rogers.”

Steve nuzzled his face into Bucky’s neck. “But you still love me, right?”

Bucky continued to chuckle, combing his fingers through Steve’s hair. “Yes, I still love you. More than you’ll ever know.”

“And you’re not mad at me anymore?” The blue eyes were wide and sad as they peered up at him. “Please don’t be mad at me anymore.”

“I’m getting there,” Bucky answered truthfully, his fingers reaching out to grip Steve’s chin when Steve tried to hide his face in shame. “There’s a lot to get used to.”

“I’m still me, Buck. I just look different.”

“Different looks good on you,” Bucky stated, letting his eyes roam Steve’s new body hungrily. “Really good.” His fingers moved to ghost along the muscles in Steve’s arms, his tongue wetting his lips. And he took great satisfaction in the way Steve’s face flushed and the moan that ripped out of his throat when Bucky’s lips connected with the Captain’s.

~~~

Bucky grasped at the dog tags around his neck like a lifeline. Each run of his fingers across the letters loosening the tightness in his chest. Each breath a little easier to gasp out.

Slowly he pushed himself to his feet, chuckling darkly at the irony of it all. For years he had been afraid to trust his thoughts, never sure of what was real and what wasn’t. But when it came to Steve? He remembered everything. And he could recall it all in shocking clarity and detail. Every laugh, every kiss, every tear. He could picture it all like it was still happening, even though it all was long gone now. Memories that could never fade.

~~~

Bucky listened to the soft rain falling outside his window as he stared up at the ceiling in the dark. He wasn’t a stranger to nightmares waking him up, but this one was new. No fighting, or violence. Just a watery pair of blue eyes and a quivering lip.

All Bucky had to do was turn his head to find Steve sleeping peacefully beside him, lips parting slightly with each slow breath. But this was a nightmare Bucky couldn’t shake. One he couldn’t predict the ending to. He just knew it was coming. And he kept trying in vain to stop it, or at the very least prolong it.

Steve let out a small whimper as he shifted in his sleep, searching for Bucky, and sighing in content when he found him. Even with his super soldier body, he still sought out the comfort that was Bucky. And somehow that hurt Bucky all the more as he twisted ever so slightly to stamp a kiss against Steve’s forehead. “Shh,” he soothed quietly. “I’m right here.”

Steve stirred more in his sleep, eyes fluttering open slowly. “Hey,” he rasped slowly. “You didn’t have another nightmare, did you?”

Bucky shook his head. “No,” he lied. “Just can’t fall asleep. Soft bed… you know…”

Even in the dark, Bucky could see Steve frown. “What’s on your mind, Buck?”

“It’s nothing.” Another lie.

“Buck.” Even with an edge of sleep, Steve’s voice was stern.

“It’s nothing I want to talk about now,” Bucky amended. “Just let me have these last moments with you, okay? Can you give me that?”

The bed creaked as Steve sat up. “Bucky… What are you talking about? What’s going on?”

“You’re leaving me for her, aren’t you?”

“I- What?”

“Don’t lie to me. Don’t spare my feelings. I see the way you look at her. Know the way you look at her. Because it’s how I look at you. It’s how you used to look at me, too.”

“Bucky…”

“When, Steve? How much longer do I have with you?”

“I don’t know what you’re talking about…”

“DON’T LIE TO ME!” Bucky’s voice yelled out like thunder. “God damn it… Don’t lie to me… You love her…”

“I love you, Bucky.”

“But you love her, too. You love what she’s able to give you. And I’m just the reminder of everything you used to be…”

“Bucky…” Steve’s voice started to break.

“Tell me I’m wrong,” Bucky pleaded, his cheeks damp with the tears that rolled down his face. “Tell me I’m wrong.”

“Bucky, please…”

“Tell me I’m wrong, Steve. Tell me you don’t love her. Tell me you’re not leaving me for her. You can’t, can you?”

“You told me not to lie to you… I love you Bucky. I really do.”

“Then don’t do this to me… Please… Don’t leave me for her…”

“I don’t know how to love you both…”

“Then stop loving her!”

“I can’t! I’ve been trying! That’s why I’m still with you! But I can’t. And I can’t stop loving you either.”

“Fuck you, Rogers,” Bucky let out a scoff of disgust, but it didn’t have the effect he wanted considering it was also half of a choked sob. “You stopped loving me the second you started loving her.”

“Buck-”

“Get out.”

“Buck!”

“I said get out, Captain.”

~~~

Bucky shoved his hands deep in his pockets, lengthening his strides as the rain started to fall. Lightning flashed and thunder boomed, and he would have broken out in a slow jog to avoid getting soaked, but his apartment was coming into sight. He’d make it. Barely. But he’d make it.

He would have walked straight past the man sitting on the steps outside, if the man’s words of “Huh. So those are where my dog tags went. Been looking for those,” didn’t freeze him in his tracks.

Bucky didn’t say anything as Steve rose to his feet, his blonde hair and the shoulders of his jacket drenched darkly with the rain.

“Wow… Sam was right… You do have a staring problem,” Steve tried to joke with a smile.

“Can I help you, Captain?” Bucky asked, not bothering to soften the bite of his tone.

Steve let out a long sigh. “Can we not do this? The attitude?”

Bucky looked skyward, the rain falling faster and heavier. He may not be able to get drunk, but he could still catch a wicked cold if he stayed out here much longer. And as much as he hated it, he still knew Steve well enough to know that the man was shivering based on the slight tremor in his jaw as he tried to stop his teeth from clacking together. “I suppose you want to come inside, then?”

“Sure beats the alternative of freezing to death. Wasn’t really a fan of that.”

Another bad attempt at a joke that Bucky didn’t take the bait for. Instead, he titled his head towards the building. “C’mon, then.”

Steve smiled, following after Bucky into the building and then Bucky’s apartment. “Thanks, Buck.”

“I wouldn’t thank me yet, Rogers. Don’t mistake my not wanting to get sick as any sort of warm welcome upon seeing you. So I’ll only ask you this once. What do you want?”

Tag List

@cxddlyash @stanofalotofthings @philthepegacorn @youngblood199456 @binxiboo @creator-appreciator @felixtok @iknowyouthinkimbulletproof @jessalyn-jpeg @lilyoflower @mychemicalimagines @rougese7en @milea @partiesandblurrypolaroids @summerdaughter

#all too well #bucky barnes #bucky barnes fic #steve rogers #steve rogers fic #bucky barnes x steve rogers #stucky #marvel #calpal irwin

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rockinggirl06 · 3 years

Text

TRULY MADLY DEEPLY 💕

✨A Jily Songfic Oneshot✨

Wattpad + Tumblr Masterlist

Likes liked ! Reblogs adored ! Comments LOVED ! + Stealing is a crime !

Warnings: none ! Pure beautiful fluff !

Note: I highly recommend keeping the song on repeat on Spotify while reading the oneshot =)

- -

A one-shot inspired by and about Jily's wedding night and after. A James POV in verse. A Lily POV in chorus.

- -

Am I asleep, am I awake, or somewhere in between?

The boy woke up from his slumber. Shaking his head, he tried to recollect the memories of the night before. A cheeky grin enveloped his features as the thoughts of the day before flooded his mind.

I can't believe that you are here and lying next to me

His eyes fell upon the redheaded angel-like face, her chest heaving slightly up and down with every breath. He ran his fingers through his jet-black hair which seemed more untidy than ever due to last night's.. *ahem* activities.

Or did I dream that we were perfectly entwined?

Was this it? Was his mind playing tricks on him? Had it all been a dream? He already found it hard to believe that the girl had actually agreed to go out with him in seventh year..

Like branches on a tree, or twigs caught on a vine?

And now she was under his sheets. His sheets.

Like all those days and weeks and months I tried to steal a kiss

The uncountable times James Fleamont Potter had confessed his undying love for her to which she would just roll her eyes at the boy's childishness. All those times he tried to steal a kiss during their little studying sessions and how she simply would playfully stick out her tongue at him.

And all those sleepless nights and daydreams where I pictured this,

His three mates had grown tired of hearing the lovesick boy's mutterings about how he'd one day marry her. And his parchment and quills were also very aware of the boy's hopelessness as random doodles with her name entwined always found their way on the corners of essays.

I'm just the underdog who finally got the girl

And there she was. The girl he had chased for as long as he can remember. Bright fiery red hair with a fiery personality to match: Lily Evans.

Potter now, actually.

And I am not ashamed to tell it to the world

The way he spinned her around wih glee when she nodded a tearful yes, the way a certain professor had gotten a wedding invitation with a "PS. I told you she loved me, Minnie." And the way he had sang louder than anyone else in the shower that day possibly making the entire Gryffindor house aware of his joy. The boy was head over heels in love, and well, she was falling too.

---

Truly, madly, deeply, I am

And he was on his knee. A gasp escaped from her mouth. This was the moment. Their moment. All her subtle stolen glances at him and the way he made her heart flutter everytime a teasing 'Evans' drawed from his lips.. all of that had lead to this. Tears lined her eyes as she nodded a yes.

Foolishly, completely falling

As a friendship blossomed between the destined pair, they took on their head boy and head girl duties. Potter had stopped with his continual display of affections to the girl and yet now the girl had started falling. Hard. Maybe she always liked him along the way. And it definitely didn't help how much taller and handsome he had grown over the summer.

And somehow you kicked all my walls in

And one day she couldn't help herself. On a patrol as usual as ever, she pinned the boy against the wall and kissed him. All those walls set up came crashing down as their lips crashed.

So baby, say you'll always keep me

After breaking apart, a red hue similar to her hair took over her corsage as the boy simply grinned in amusement and euphoria, and teased, "Alright there, Evans?"

Did she really hate the messy haired boy with the glasses? Nah she didn't.

Truly, madly, crazy, deeply in love with you

With all the roses and candles the boy had set up at their first night together as husband and wife, she couldn't have asked for anything else. And here she was remembering the events of last night where she had pulled his body into hers and made love as he kissed each and every one of her freckles softly.

In love with you

She was truly in love. In crazy, stupid, cliché, cheesy but beautiful love.

---

Should I put coffee and granola on a tray in bed?

She lay beside him and for the first time, he was confused. What was he supposed to do?? Prepare her breakfast? That would please her, right? His father always cooked for his mother. And he definitely could make a mean omelette.

And wake you up with all the words that I still haven't said?

But would that be the newly wed "husband" thing to do? Maybe he should wake her up murmuring sweet things in her ear? But on the other hand, the last time he woke her up, he'd gotten himself punched square in the jaw. And Evans —Potter! He kept forgetting yet always corrected himself with a shy smile— was rather strong.

And tender touches, just to show you how I feel

His tense shoulders relaxed as he simply admired the sight before him. Caressing her face, he tucked some of her red locks behind her ear as he placed a soft kiss upon her cheek. He could simply count all the freckles on her face over and over again. He'd never get tired of looking at her.

Or should I act so cool like it was no big deal?

Maybe he should just get up and shower. Did girls like it when boys made fuss about this or not? Well, then again, it was their wedding night. All doubts from his head were washed away as she gave a small smile and leaned into the touch of his hand which lay caressing her cheek. Maybe he'd just stay here for a few more moments, he decided.

Wish I could freeze this moment in a frame and stay like this

And to think everyone in the wizarding work knew we were on the brink of war. No! He refused to think of that right now. 'Live in the moment,' his best friend had always told him. And that's what he did. He snuggled closer towards the girl, putting an arm over her gently, and pulled her flush against his bare chest.

I'll put this day back on replay and keep reliving it

He buried his face in the crook of her neck and her sweet flowery scent consumed his senses. Their bodies entangled together beautifully and he couldn't think of a better day to start a day. He could now. He would now wake up every day to the love of his life. Maybe until when they were 100. Yeah, yeah he definitely would, the boy declared in his thoughts.

'Cause here's the tragic truth if you don't feel the same

People might consider it rather childish: the way he would confess his love for her ever since their third year. But he truly meant every love confession to her growing up. Maybe it was the sweet tinkling sound of her laughter, or her adorable pout whenever Flitwick assigned extra homework or Merlin, it was probably that one time she flirted with him after a Quidditch Match which caused him to become infatuated with her forever.

My heart would fall apart if someone said your name

And he truly loved her so much, words were never enough to describe it. He really hoped she felt the same.

---

And truly, madly, deeply, I am

"I wouldn't go out with you if it was a choice between you and the giant squid." She meant that actually. James Potter was definitely an arrogant toerag. But that's the thing. He was.

Somewhere along the way, the prideful egotistic boy had become a caring and proper man. Her green eyes couldn't help but linger on him more as his usual bullying time was replaced by maturity. That time turned into taking care of his werewolf friend, or even time for comforting his best friend who cried into his arms in the corner of the common room some nights.

And soon enough, a friendship blossomed between the unlikely pair of the redhead and the brunet.

Foolishly, completely falling

And sooner it turned into more..

"Ariel, Ariel uh- let down your window?" One night, a rather confused whisper came from Lily's bedroom window. With a startle the girl rushed to slide up the windowpane and was met with the lopsided grin and the familiar hazel eyes with a playful twinkle looking back at her. "Potter!" She shook her head with a chuckle as she allowed him in. "Evans.. I missed you, okay?" he drawed out sheepishly as he gently pulled her closer by her waist. Heat rose to her cheeks as she looked up at him.

And somehow you kicked all my walls in

The boy leaned down towards her lips unable to resist the girl any longer but Lily turned away at the last moment (resulting a rather sad pout on the boy's lips) as she heard her name being called downstairs. "Lily! Next time your boyfriend wants to visit at 12 am, tell him to use the door, okay? My rose bushes are ruined!!"

So baby, say you'll always keep me

And now she was waking up beside him.

She meekly opened her right eye to see if her husband —yes, husband she reminded herself proudly—was still asleep. A lazy smile on his lips, she was greeted with a drawl in his low morning voice, "Good morning, Evans."

Truly, madly, crazy, deeply in love with you

His infuriating smirks had now grown into breathtaking smiles. And he gave her one right now earning a blush upon the girl's cheeks. In his arms and close was exactly where Lily wanted to be. She smiled back endearing and simply looked at him with awe, treasuring the moment, before closing the distance between them. As she pecked his soft lips, she murmured into them, 'Potter, actually."

She was his and him, hers.

All was well.

Anyone catch the ending words reference? The first time I heard this song some months ago (maybe even a year oop—) , I just knew it SCREAMED #Jily. And so here I am finally writing and publishing this !

Thanks for reading and love you all you beautiful people !

Riri <3

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lillywillow · 3 years

Text

From Russia With Love

Summary: When Steve and Bucky investigate an old HYDRA base left over from World War II, they find something nobody could have ever predicted... A pilot from the legendary 588th night bomber regiment frozen in time.

Word Count: 2117

Square Filled: Military Base

Pairings: Bucky x Female Reader

Warnings: WWII warfare, slight angst

Written for @star-spangled-bingo

Author’s Note: Although I will be using real historical people and events, some of the names and actions I will be using are fictional. The 588th night bomber regiment were an all female squadron from Russia in World War II. They were given hand-me-down men’s uniforms and poor, outdated equipment. Their planes were not designed for combat. The planes let out a whistle as it idled through the sky which the German’s thought sounded like a broomstick, giving them the nickname ‘Die Nachthexen’ or Night Witches.

Germany, 1944. Three Polikarpov U-2 biplanes move silently through the night sky, their engines cut at the behest of the navigators. A soldier was making his rounds about the perimeter of the base when an unearthly scream pierced the air. A chill ran down his spine as he looked around. Suddenly, a shadow of a plane darkens the ground. The soldier abruptly realised what was happening.

“Die Nachthexen!” he screamed. The base was rapidly brought to life with activity when the air raid siren wailed. Soldiers rushed to man the anti-aircraft guns as the Night Witches dropped the first bomb. Two of the planes broke formation to draw away the ground fire as the third dropped the next bomb. The last plane made a sharp turn and was able to drop the last bomb on the base. With their mission complete, the engines went back on and the planes headed home to Russia.

Out of nowhere, a German fighter plane appeared. The biplanes were slower but their much smaller size gave them an advantage in the fact they had a tight turning ratio but for one plane, it wasn’t enough. One of the pilots cried out in pain as a bullet grazed her arm. The canvas wings of the plane were ablaze, there was no other option but to bring the plane down. The navigator held the pilot’s shoulders to steady her as they crashed into the ground.

Dazed by the impact, the pilot held her head, feeling something wet and warm drip down her face. She turned behind her to check on her navigator whose head was slumped to her chest. She reached for her hand.

“Yelena... I’m sorry...” Black spots swam in her vision before the darkness took over.

...

Germany, present day. Steve and Bucky were called on a mission to investigate what was possibly a HYDRA base left over from WWII. On their way in, they noticed the remains of a downed plane a few miles out from the base that nature had taken over in the course of sixty years give or take. On the surface, it had the hell bombed out of it. Steve managed to find a charred door in amongst the wreckage and went in, Bucky following behind. Underground was a rabbit warren of rooms and passageways, their secrets lost to time, waiting to be uncovered.

“We should split up,” Steve said, getting out his flashlight. Bucky nodded and got out his own. The duo headed in, checking each and every room for anything that might be of HYDRA origin.

This place gave Bucky the creeps and bad memories began to invade his mind; memories of when he lost his identity of Sergeant James Buchannan Barnes and given the new one of The Winter Soldier. Room after room they looked in until Steve found something.

“Buck, you gotta see this...” Bucky made his way to where Steve called him to and whatever he was expecting, this was not it. The room was still lit with sickening fluorescent lights. In the back corner, there were two pods. One was empty, whatever test subject it held was long gone. The other had a woman still cryogenically frozen inside. Bucky placed his right hand on the glass.

“She’s just like me...”

“Think you can make sense of these?” Steve asked, holding up a dusty file written in German. Bucky picked them up and read through the notes. It stated the woman’s name and why she was there. There was also information on a second woman, presumably whoever was in the second pod. Apparently, they were going to be used for a programme akin to the Winter Soldiers or the Red Room but the project had been scrapped and only one of the subjects was moved.

“I’m going to let Fury know what we’ve found.” Steve headed out to make the call but Bucky stayed behind. He couldn’t leave this woman all alone now that he knew she was there.

...

Feeling a pounding in your head, you opened your eyes. Slowly, you sat up, looking around. You appeared to be back in your base. Funny... you didn’t remember making it back. The last thing you remembered was crashing after completing a mission. Was a rescue sent out and that’s how you got here? You spotted another woman in one of the other beds. Steadily, you got up and went over to her.

“Come on, Yelena. We’ve got another mission,” you said, shaking her shoulder. As she sat up, you immediately noticed that this was not your navigator.

“You’re not Yelena...”

“No, I’m a new recruit. My name is Natalia Romanova,” she replied in Russian.

“Well I hope you’re a quick study, Natalia. Major Bershanskaya will not make things easy for you. Now get ready. Training for you starts now.”

As you got dressed, something struck you as very odd. Your uniform fitted perfectly like it was tailored for you and your boots weren’t oversized. It set off alarm bells in your head but you didn’t want to frighten the new girl. As you headed out, you saw an officer standing and waiting for you.

“Who are you?” you asked, confused as to why this man would be here, especially one who looked so high up in command. Something else that you noticed was that there were planes around the base.

“I’m your new commanding officer...” That did it. There was no way your commander would leave her girls. You managed to snatch his sidearm but even faster, Natalia had you in a headlock, one hand holding the wrist you held the gun.

“Who are you?! Where am I?! What have you done with Yelena?! Where is my navigator?!” The pair exchanged a look and conversed in English, something you didn’t understand.

“I can explain everything... just give me the gun,” the man prompted. Slowly, you handed him the sidearm which he put away and Natalia let go of you.

“You have been asleep for over sixty years...”

“What?! How?! We... we were just there... and... Yelena! Where is she? Is she okay? Is she safe?” The pair exchanged another look.

“You were the only one we found in the base...” You broke down sobbing and straight away the man held you up as you trembled. He rubbed your back and stroked your hair which you found strangely comforting. How could you have been asleep for sixty years? It was only hours ago you were flying to drop bombs on German bases.

...

A few hours later, you were sitting by the window of the room which had been set up for you thinking over all the new information which had been given to you. They had given you new clothes but the only ones who spoke your language were the ones you met at the fake base camp. Your thoughts were interrupted by a knock on the door.

“May I come in?” A male’s voice asked.

“Yes...” The man who you came to learn was named Bucky walked in with a plate of food.

“I thought you might like something to eat...”

“I’m not hungry...”

“I know what you’re going through but you still need to eat...”

“How could you possibly know what I’m going through?! Do you know what it’s like to be with friends one minute and find out they’re all gone?! To wake up in a strange place with strange people?! To have no idea what the hell is going on?!” He was quiet for a few moments.

“Actually... I do.” You were taken aback from his response. Bucky sat down on your bed and began telling you his life’s story.

He told you about his best friend Steve who always used to getting in trouble. He enlisted in the American army the moment he could. His time in the Howling Commandos. About how he fell off the train and became a weapon for HYDRA for decades. As he spoke, his eyes began to ghost over, reliving the old memories that you could see were haunting him. You sat next to him and held his hand. Bucky hastily wiped his eyes.

“What about you? Tell me your story...”

You smiled softly. You told him about your father who died defending Osowiec Fortress and how it inspired you to fight for your country. When the call went out for women to fly bomber planes, you and your best friend Yelena Belsky both applied and got in, you as a pilot and she as a navigator. You flew many sorties together. Your commander Major Yevdokiya Bershanskaya was stern but fair with you girls but taught you everything you knew. You spoke about your last mission, the one you were on when your plane was shot down.

Bucky listened to your every word, looking at you with total admiration. Most of the men looked at you with pity or distain. You couldn’t help but blush a little under his intense gaze.

“I, um... I think I’ll have something to eat now,” you mumbled, taking the plate he brought with him. “Thank you...”

“Anytime... if you ever want to talk, you can always come to me. Nat should be available too...”

“I appreciate that.”

To Bucky, those memories were a lifetime ago but to you, they were only like yesterday. It somehow felt good to share those stories with someone who understood what it was like to go through the same thing you were.

...

The months flew by and before you knew it, a year had passed. Between Natasha and Bucky you were now fluent in English. They taught you hand to hand combat and other things you would need to join The Avengers, although, you were pretty much an ace pilot when it came to the jets. Natasha became your best friend and you frequently spoke in Russian with her. You formed a bond with Steve too once the language barrier came down, sharing war stories with each other but the person on the team you were closest to was Bucky. He taught you a lot over the months and it wasn’t long before you started dating. It was inevitable.

...

One night, you were standing on the balcony, looking at the moon and thinking about that fateful night you were assigned to bomb that base all those years ago. You wondered if your friend was dead or alive. The team had told you they would help you find her, searching all HYDRA archives they came across and Bucky helped you to follow every lead. Your heart hoped for the best but you knew to expect the worst.

“Hey, Doll.” You turned to see Bucky standing in the doorway. He walked over to you and put his arm around you, kissing your head. “What’s on your mind?”

“Yelena... I can’t help but hope that I’ll find her one day. She was like my sister. Natasha has been wonderful, you all have but it’s hard being stuck in the past...”

“Tell me about it,” Bucky muttered softly. “You know... it’s been just over a year now since we met...”

“So it has,” you wistfully replied. “Time sure flies...”

“It sure does... and I don’t want to waste any more of it.” You looked confused as Bucky pulled away from you.

“When I was called on that mission to uncover an old HYDRA base, I never thought I would meet the love of my life. You’re one of the bravest, strongest, most incredibly women I know. Will you marry me?” Bucky got down on one knee and presented you with a beautiful ring. You couldn’t help but tear up.

“Yes, Bucky, I will!” Bucky smiled and stood up, sliding the ring on your finger and kissing you.

Who knew that a German base lost to time would connect two military personals so perfectly together?

#ssb2021 #military base #bucky barnes x reader #Bucky Barnes #natasha romanoff #Proposal #WWII #Night Witches #588 #HYDRA #Marvel #marvelfanfiction #Night Bomber #Fighter planes #biplanes #all female strike force #history #from russia with love #Sabaton

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the-dream-team · 3 years

Note

From National Treasure: ʺ In another life… I arranged a number of operations of… questionable legality. ʺ

Thank you for this incredible prompt!! This is the silliest thing I’ve ever written, so I hope you enjoy :)

Read on Ao3

In another life… I arranged a number of operations of… questionable legality

James Potter had always been a menace.

The vendors who set up their stands in Godric Hollow’s town square knew to be wary of the young boy, whose messy black mop of hair was just visible over their countertops as he skipped from booth to booth. No one was certain where he came from or where his parents might be (though Marcus, the apple harvester, swore he once saw the kid just over the hill with an unexpectedly kind older couple), but everyone knew trouble followed the boy like an obedient puppy.

It started with the usual childhood mischief. He would show up at the farmer’s market, seemingly out of nowhere, wielding twigs from a nearby tree or sometimes a cardboard sword. Always battling an imaginary enemy. Large bursts of energy mixed with childish incoordination would result in smashed crates of potatoes or torn awnings. Farmers turned red with frustration, but their wives brushed them off, absolutely charmed by those big hazel eyes behind even bigger wire-rimmed glasses. The boy would wreak havoc and get off without so much as a loving pinch on the cheek.

But then one summer, once his glasses started fitting his face and those wide eyes became more calculating, the real hijinks began. Peculiar things seemed to happen whenever the young boy made his way to the square. Marty’s carrots would suddenly appear on Andrew’s cabbage display, as if out of thin air. Abigail's piglet disappeared, then reappeared again, squealing up a storm, in Michael’s barrel of beans. Oddities popped up left and right around the child, still too small to reach the booth’s counters without having to balance on his tiptoes. The vendors groveled and knit their brows into headaches, but the boy would flash his little grin and the wives would fawn, offering up samples of their best honey or slices of freshly baked bread.

Eventually, the farmers settled into their new routine of expecting the unexpected. Until one day, when the unexpected turned into the unbelievable.

The boy was making his rounds one sunny morning, peering over the fruits and vegetables, when Helga offered him a strawberry. He beamed, reached out for the piece of fruit, and then yelped when the berry burst from his hand, transforming into a flittering hummingbird.

Those wide eyes turned to saucers as he watched the bird fly off, leaving its strawberry brothers behind in their basket. The look he flashed at the berry farmer was one of deep disturbance and the boy disappeared on the spot, leaving the rest of the vendors to grapple with what should have been impossible.

They didn’t see the boy for days, and the farmers would have reveled in the much-desired calm, but the mystery behind the hummingbird still sat fresh in their memories. But then one morning, the vendors all held a collective breath as the little boy marched down the street, directly to the town square, with a little jingling satchel in hand.

He went straight to the strawberry stand, meeting Helga with a determined stare and a gold coin in his outstretched hand. She tentatively accepted the strange looking currency and nervously handed over a basket of berries, flinching as he reached out to collect his purchase.

The boy looked at his basket, then back to Helga, and grabbed a handful of strawberries. Just like before, the berries erupted into delicate little hummingbirds and flew off through the village. The boy puffed his chest out at his accomplishment and his eyes surveyed the other booths, looking for his next victim.

The farmers were in a state of shock. Possibly a shared psychosis that could only be explained by spending a little too much time under the summer sun. They waited patiently as the boy decided who would receive his next gold coin.

It ended up being Daniel, the cabbage farmer, who watched in awe as his heads of lettuce transformed into a swarm of skittish squirrels with just a light touch of the young boy’s hand.

One by one, the strange little boy purchased, transformed, and set free an entire zoo’s worth of animals. More than one weary eye drifted to the town’s church lingering above them, wondering what kind of miracle or devil’s work they might be witnessing.

And then, he left, a litter of kittens and rabbits following in his wake.

Four years later, the boy with messy hair and glasses (that definitely now fit his face) sat in the Hogwarts dungeons with three other boys, cleaning out cauldrons.

“Bloody infuriating that they took our wands, don’t you think, James?” said the boy with longer hair and sharp features. He lazily scrubbed the same spot on his cauldron over and over, even though it had become clean ages ago.

“Don’t be daft, Sirius,” said James, pushing his glasses up his nose with the back of his hand. “We aren’t allowed our wands in detention, otherwise we’d have this washing done in a minute.”

“My mum says doing things the Muggle way builds character,” added the third boy, tucking his sandy bangs behind his ears.

“Well Remus,” responded the fourth boy with watery eyes, “the rest of us grew up not ever having to do it the Muggle way. Maybe since you’re most used to it, you can take care of the rest of these cauldrons for us.”

“Bugger off, Peter,” said Remus, throwing a very dirty washcloth and hitting Peter square in the face.

The four boys laughed together before getting back to their scrubbing.

“Oh, look who it is,” came a sneering voice from the doorway of the Potions classroom. “Potter and his gang of cowardly lions. What is this, the third detention you lot have had this week?”

“Shove off, Snivellus,” spat Sirius, throwing up a few choice fingers at the greasy-haired boy.

“Come on, Sev, don’t bother with them,” came a softer voice from behind the boy.

“Is that Evans?” called James, his interest piquing. He ran his hand through his hair, forgetting how much grime had coated his fingers during the course of the detention. When the red head girl peaked out behind her friend to see James picking out dirt from his fringe, she giggled.

“Potter, it looks like you’ve been rolling around in the mud with Hagrid’s pigs,” she said with a teasing grin. Severus shifted next to her, his eyes flashing at her playful tone.

“That might be so,” laughed James with his signature lopsided smile, “but at least I’m still not half as greasy as Snivellus, here.”

Severus turned bright red and reached into his robe pocket to draw his wand. “Lutum!” he shouted, and a thick layer of dirt coated the piles of freshly cleaned cauldrons.

The boys jumped up in outrage, but Severus had a wand and they were defenseless.

“This is bollocks!” barked Sirius, a dangerous shadow crossing his face.

“Tough luck,” smirked Severus, turning back to Evans with a smug look across his face. “Come on, Lily, let’s go practice our Pepper Up potions.” And with one last smarmy look, he led her into another classroom across the hallway.

“That’s not fair,” whined Peter, looking at his now-dirty cauldron.

James still stared at the doorway where Severus and Evans stood just a moment before. “Well, we’re not going to let him get away with that.”

“But we don’t have our wands,” pointed out Remus, who had gone back to patiently scrubbing his own cauldron.

“I have a plan,” said James simply.

“Mate, I think Remus has a point,” Sirius said with a huff. “What could you possibly do to Snape? We’re just a bunch of wandless first years.”

“Look boys,” said James confidently, “In another life… I arranged a number of operations of… questionable legality. I learned some skills back then that may prove useful in our current hour of need.”

Sirius, Remus, and Peter stared at him, matching dumbfounded expressions on their faces.

James stood and surveyed the dirty cauldrons around him and looked at his hands. He took a deep breath.

In theory, he knew what he had to do. It was just a matter of concentrating. Focusing on a goal and letting the magic burst through his fingers. There weren’t any fruits or vegetables in the dungeons, but that shouldn’t matter. Maybe when James was younger, when his imagination ran a little wilder and his grasp on transfiguration wasn’t quite as strong, he believed that animals were stuck inside strawberries and ears of corn. But James was a wizard in training now. With a few months of transfiguration under his belt, he knew that any object could become anything new.

So he paced back and forth, letting himself fall back into the mindset of being a little boy sneaking out of his family’s cottage while his parents were busy reading that morning’s copy of the Daily Prophet. He remembered the thrill of running off to the village, just as independent as any other adult visiting the market, and marching up to the stalls of fruits and vegetables and honey. He could almost smell the freshly baked bread, see the kind smiles of the farmers’ wives as they ruffled his hair and sent him off with fresh apples and oatmeal cookies.

He let himself live in those not-so-distant memories and channeled all their warmth to his fingertips as he reached out and touched the nearest cauldron.

With a flash, it became a potbelly pig.

“Bloody hell!” shouted Peter.

“Merlin’s beard!” laughed Sirius.

“Holy shit,” gasped Remus.

James sent them a crooked smile, cracked his knuckles, and swiftly got to work touching every dirty cauldron in the dungeon.

The piglets squeaked with wild energy, dripping in mud and looking for somewhere to run. And James had just the place.

He led his parade of piglets through the classroom, out the hallway, and opened up the door across the way where Severus and Evans had gone to practice their potion-making. The pigs stormed into the room with excited squeals which only intensified by Lily’s and Severus’ screaming as the pigs swarmed them.

“Sorry Evans,” shouted James over the sea of oinking, “you’re collateral damage here! My apologies for the smell, but I assume you’re used to a bit of stench hanging out with Snivellus all day!”

Once all the pigs had crammed into the classroom, trapping Lily and Severus in the far corner surrounded by muddy hogs, James quickly closed the door and the rest of the boys helped drag over a heavy bookshelf to barricade the entryway.

They grinned at each other, quite pleased by their success, and made their way back to the scrubbing brushes and washcloths.

“Well boys,” said James, his hand finding his way back to his hair, “I don’t see any more dirty cauldrons, do you?”

The others shook their heads in glee.

“Then I guess it’s back to Gryffindor Tower for us!”

And with that, they raced out of the dungeons, snickering at the shouts of their classmates, overpowered by the squealing of dozens of potbelly pigs.

#ask #national treasure prompt #this is insane #the marauders #pranks #james potter #godrics hollow #this is the goofiest thing i've ever written #it was fun #i have so many more prompts i promise i will get to them all!!

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jovialyouthmusic · 3 years

Text

Who Wants to Rule the World?

A Lovelink fanfic

Okay, so you never choose who makes your heart beat faster or your knees go weak, and very unexpectedly, yet another fictional character has given me the wobbles. Dr Vile from Ludia’s Lovelink App is the virtual man in question, and I had had a TON of fun writing this. As always, this is an adult blog, so it will get hot and steamy and it is NOT SUITABLE FOR UNDER 18s

Word Count 2350

A/N Please note that Dr Vile, whom I have given the first name James, has no henchmen. Instead he has an army of drones to do his every bidding. Dr Vile is not my creation, he belongs to Ludia.

I have an almost non existent tag list here, so if you like, reblog or comment I will add you.

1 Secret Base

Dr Vile’s face drifts into view, blurred and wavering but most definitely there as he stands over you. You blink in an attempt to clear your eyes. You’re lying on a firm surface, and the room is dimly lit. You hear the hum of a drone.

‘Hello Lucy’ You know his voice – he tries to sound intimidating but you detect a hint of warmth – a little doubt perhaps, as if he’s unsure of himself. Impossible. Unless – does he really have feelings for you?

‘How – how did I get here?’ your voice is weak. You try to sit up, but your head hurts and something stops you. Your wrists are secured by your sides, your ankles also immovable.

‘I rescued you’ You look around, and recognise your surroundings. His base – the one he brought you to only a week ago.

‘Rescued? From what?’

‘From whom…’

‘Oh’ a memory tickles the back of your mind. ‘It was F’

‘It was. They were questioning you, trying to get information on my base’ He chuckles ‘They walked right into my trap’

‘Your trap?’

‘I planted a device on you when we last met. You led me right to their den’ You try to move again.

‘This is your interrogation table’ As always, his face is half in shadow.

‘It is, Lucy. I have to be sure.’

‘Sure of what? That I’m loyal to you? How could you doubt me?’ He draws a deep breath and squares his jaw.

‘Tell me what you remember, Lucy’

‘Do you have to do it like this – on the table? My head hurts’ He looks away.

‘If you answer my questions correctly I’ll let you go. It’s base protocol. The drones demand it.’

‘And if I don’t?’

‘The drones will take care of you. They’re programmed to neutralise threats. I have to protect my interests.’

‘I’m not a threat – James, please’ you struggle against your bonds, then gasp. ‘They – you’ve lined the restraints in silk, haven’t you? Stainless steel lined with silk’ He squares his jaw.

‘It’s the least I can do’ You relax against the cuffs and close your eyes, trying to remember. He cares. Just a little, but he cares about your comfort. Even if his drones will most probably dispose of you if you don’t tell him what he - or they – need to hear. You take a deep breath past the pain in your head and gather your thoughts.

‘It’s all fuzzy. They – I wanted to tell them I wouldn’t betray you. We met at a bar. We had a drink, they said they quite understood and that there were no hard feelings. Then I felt dizzy. I passed out’

‘They drugged you.’ Vile says. ‘My drones found traces in your blood. They drugged you and took you to their den, and interrogated you. Or they tried to. Tell me more’

‘I don’t know. Was it a dream? I can’t remember’ He leans over you as a drone hums just out of sight, keeping watch. You know those drones are efficient and ruthless, no matter what Dr Vile may feel.

‘I need more details, Lucy, or the drones will take action’ Tears spring to your eyes as you struggle to recall what happened.

‘I – I think I woke up. I couldn’t move, and they asked me – they asked me where your base was. I don’t know exactly where it is, of course, you saw to that, so I couldn’t tell them, even if I wanted. But I didn’t’

‘Did you give them any clues?’

‘No’ you screw up your eyes ‘I told them – I told them…’ it comes to you at last ‘I told them I would never betray you, because I love you’ He leans on the table, his head dropping. The drone next to him whisks away and the cuffs snap open, freeing you at last. You struggle to get up, but Vile scoops you into his arms and lifts you bodily off the table as if you were light as a feather. You steady yourself by grasping his arm as he puts you on your feet beside the table.

‘That was the right answer’ he says softly. You test the strength of your legs, which just support you, but you lean back on the table. You cross your arms and wait for him to speak, holding your breath in anticipation.

‘I’m not sure I know what love is’ he says ‘But I think – I love you too, Lucy’ You step toward him, encircle his waist with your arms and turn your cheek to his shoulder against his armour. His body is solid against you, his arms warm and reassuring as he returns the embrace, hesitantly and softly as if you might break. You feel so safe. How could you not? He’s so powerful, so self assured and confident. It’s like an aphrodisiac.

‘What happened to F?’ you ask. He laughs, and you feel it in his broad chest.

‘They won’t be troubling us again’ You gasp as you pull away from him.

‘Are they – dead?’ After all, he is a super villain and wouldn’t scruple to kill, surely.

‘No, but they have a terminal case of amnesia, they’ve forgotten all about me – and you’

‘How..?’

‘I have a very nifty little device that wipes memory like wiping a hard drive. The drones would have applied it to you if you’d failed my interrogation.’

‘Oh – I thought you might have..’

‘Killed you?’ he laughs sardonically ‘That would have been a waste. I may want to rule the world, but I’m not totally evil. The safety protocols on the drones are very strict.’ You realise you still feel groggy, presumably from the drugs and most probably from dehydration. You slump in his arms and he supports you without hesitation.

‘I’m sorry, you’ve been through a taxing ordeal.’ You nod weakly, and he leads you to a padded recliner. Unfortunately its obvious purpose is torture, not comfort, and your eyes widen in alarm. He tuts in irritation. ‘How stupid of me.’ he berates himself, and scoops you up in his arms again. Once more you feel safe. You fight a wave of dizziness and close your eyes, aware that he’s taking you somewhere else but too sick to register your route. After a while you feel him lower you down, and you open your eyes.

You recline in a full length padded leather seat, the décor around you strongly masculine but designed for comfort rather than torture or world domination. It rather resembles the lounge of a gentleman’s club, panelled wood and brass and leather everywhere. He snaps an instruction.

‘Base, change command protocols. Upgrade Lucy to level two. Confirm’

‘Confirmed. Lucy Valois upgraded to level two.’ the calm dispassionate voice chimes. ‘Base and drone records amended’ He turns to you, eyes glittering in the half shadow of his handsome features.

‘Choose a gesture that the drones will recognise’ he says ‘Some movement you wouldn’t normally make.’ You grope through the fog in your brain, and raise your hand, bending your wrist and pressing your thumb to your fingers like a glove puppet, opening and closing them three times. He grins ‘Excellent. Again, to my prompt’ He straightens and addresses the computer again.

‘Computer, record Lucy’s command prompt’ he nods to you, and you make the gesture.

‘Prompt recorded’ He pulls up a stool and sits close to you.

‘Try it out. Ask for something’ Once again I make the gesture, and a drone that had been waiting discretely in the corner of the room scoots over and hovers in front of me, red light blinking under the rotors.

‘Water’ The red light blinks.

‘You need to be more specific’

‘Bring me a glass of water. Cold mineral water, still’ The light blinks green then steadies and the drone whisks off. Within seconds it comes back with three other drones carrying a tray with a glass and a sealed bottle. Dr Vile gestures to the table next to me and they put it down.

‘Allow me’ He picks up the bottle, opens and pours, handing it over to me. I take it, but he puts his hand to mine as I raise it to my lips ‘Just sip. Slowly’ he advises ‘I’d have put you on a drip, but I thought you would find these surroundings more comfortable.’ I sip and sigh with satisfaction, my dry throat soothed.

‘I thought you didn’t do down time. Too busy with your projects’ I continue to take small mouthfuls, feeling it soaking into my parched mouth and tongue, lubricating my throat.

‘I had this made when you so rightly pointed out that I’m a workaholic. I sometimes sit in here and contemplate my plans.’

‘I’m impressed’ A faint smile plays across his lips.

‘So, what would you like to do now? Are you hungry?’

‘A little, but I’m more tired than anything else – but can I ask you something?’

‘Of course, Lucy. You should know by now that your happiness is important to me’

‘Can I stay with you? Just for a little while. I feel a bit shaken up after all that. What if the Organization comes after me?’ He reaches across and runs his gloved fingertip along your jaw. A delicious shiver runs down your spine.

‘You’re safe here, Lucy. You can stay for as long as you want, my dear.’

‘Really?’

‘You can rule the world by my side’ His smile is triumphant.

‘Figuratively speaking’ He nods and inclines his head

‘You’ll have to wait and see. You know I have objectives.’ You smile back at him.

‘I believe in you, James’ you feel a wave of weariness sweep through you, and you lie back, closing your eyes. ‘I just need to rest’ are the last words that leave your lips before you drift off into an exhausted sleep.

You wake with a start. Your surroundings are different. The light is dim, the room about you in shadow. You feel cool cotton sheets draping your body, a firm mattress beneath you. You hear the whirr of a drone whisking away, the swish of a door straight from a science fiction film opening and closing. You struggle to sit up, your belly rumbling and your mouth dry again. You look to the bedside table, where a glass of water sits waiting for you, so you take it and sip. You remember what happened to you the day before and gasp as you realise you are naked beneath the sheets. The door swishes open again and the light levels slowly increase as Dr Vile enters.

The room is dominated by the huge bed you lie on. The décor is monochrome with red accents and chrome or steel fittings. The bed linen is a crisp white and the coverlet a pale grey, the carpet a darker shade. You look up to see a mirror mounted above the bed, a bar at the opposite side of the room. Somehow you had expected a picture window, but there is none, the lighting soft but artificial. As Dr Vile approaches you clutch the sheets to you, your face flushing.

‘Don’t be afraid my dear, nothing improper happened’ he assures you, standing by the bedside. He no longer wears body armour, but the soft fabrics he wears resemble his usual garb, minus the cloak. You get the impression of cashmere and silk, expensive and well fitted to flatter his figure. ‘You were very tired and I brought you where you’d be more comfortable’ He gestures around the room ‘Do you like it?’

‘It’s – very masculine’ you remark, and he sits beside you on the bed.

‘It is my usual night refuge. You may choose another if you wish, or have one designed to your own specification’ You stomach rumbles, and he smiles ‘Breakfast in bed?’ he offers. You hold the sheet to you.

‘I – did you undress me?’

‘I would not pass such a delicate task onto my drones, so yes.’ His eyes glitter ‘It was done with the utmost respect, I promise you’ He gets up and disappears behind a sliding door for a moment, returning with a dressing gown. He hands it to you - it is soft and silky to the touch, and you shrug your way into it, instantly feeling more modest and comfortable. You turn to readjust the pillows.

‘Allow me, Lucy’ with a few gestures the pillows are perfect to lean up against. ‘What would you like to eat? He asks ‘Name it. Unless it’s very exotic I most likely have it although as you know I have only myself to please.’ You think for a moment, and remembering, you make the command gesture and wait for a drone to whip to your side, waiting.

‘Eggs benedict on a wholemeal roll and black coffee’ The lights blink green and it leaves the room. Dr Vile smiles and nods.

‘Well remembered, Lucy. Making commands suits you. And a good choice, it won’t take long.’ There is silence, but he breaks it before it becomes awkward. ‘I believe you had a fantasy about the interrogation table. I hope I didn’t spoil it by using it as it was intended’ He cocks an eyebrow at you. You sigh.

‘I’ve been drugged, kidnapped, rescued and interrogated twice - all in one day. I think need to gather my strength before I try anything like that’ You look up at his rugged half shaded profile; if you weren’t hungry and dying for a shower and a bath you’d drag him into bed with you right now.

‘Whatever you wish, Lucy. The drones will serve you too now, though I am still their master’ You shiver again.

‘Are you my master?’

��If you want me to be, my dear’ He puts his hand on your thigh, which sends shocks of electricity to your core. ‘But I may consider other roleplays, as you suggested’

‘You’re seriously testing my resolve’ you murmur.

‘I have an excellent walk in shower with power jets’

‘Is it big enough for two?’

‘After you’ve eaten, I’ll show you’

@zodiacsign1

#dr vile #dr vile lovelink #lovelink #mock dating app

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thekillingjoke-haha · 4 years

Text

What You Want

Marvel & Supernatral Bing, Spnquotebingo

Squares: Love Triangle and quote

Stucky(established)x reader

Warnings?: Slight reckless endangerment,poly hate(fuck you Karen),mutual love,ect.

Note: f/d=Favorite drink

Steve and Bucky have been a item since kindergarten and nothing has changed. Sure their older and they no longer needed yo hide it,but the love hasn’t faded a bit. The only time they questioned their relationship was when a shield against walked into the base and saved them all on her own. Y/n is a last call agent and that means when shit really hits the fan and not even the best can handle it she swoops in to finish the job. Seeing agent L/n is a rarity and they’ll never admit it,but they’ve been taking riskier missions to see her. “Mr.Rogers and Mr. Barnes you’re needed in the meeting room. Immediately.” The Irish voice brought them out of their slumber. Steve was the first to get dressed and in the briefing room and froze up getting pushed forward by Bucky.

There she stood next to Fury in all of her glory. The blonde’s throat went dry as she made eye contact with him as he looked down at her lips and saw they were moving,but the captain’s mind was to preoccupied with how her uniform was instead replaced with causal clothes that fit oh so well. It was Nick’s voice that snapped him out of it. “Roger…Barnes take a seat.” He said nodding towards the table. Both of them sat next to each other in the closest chairs.

“We need to speak to you about resent missions. It’s clear to me that not only has success levels dropped,but that your team is unable to work flawlessly.” The dark skinned man said. Steve was about to defend himself and the others,but was cut of by Y/n as she stepped forward to speak. “That’s why I Captain Roger’s is joining the team as your superior. ” Her voice caused the duo to freeze. Bucky was the first to get up. “Welcome to the team,doll.” He said kissing her hand with a smirk. This was the start of something great.

TWO Months later~

It’s been two months since Y/n joined the team and to say it was crazy was a understatement on its own. Her mind was often clouded by thoughts of the two super soldiers,but doubt and denial soon chase them off. The 40’s men are together and are open about their relationship she didn’t stand a chance. Y/n was so confused with her friendship with them both. Bucky was a flirt and always would throw a pickup line followed by a sweet pet name. Steve was the complete opposite he was shy blushing whenever they were in a room together,but he showed that school boy crush vibe by the drawing her and rambling when he’s caught.

Y/n couldn’t be falling for both of them she’s work so hard to get where she was today and that alone got her more hate then love. So admitting her love to them was definitely not an option. What if they regretted her? Their work and personal relationships will be destroyed. What if the media found out? Reporters almost disbanded the Avengers on multiple occasions and almost had the two soldiers benched with the anti-lgbtq+ community which was a hefty amount.

She hated to do it,but she tapped into her training and shut of her emotions and boy did they notice that. Bucky walked up to her as she was hitting the punching bag. “Woah,doll. Punch that bag any harder I would think you’re trying to hit on me.” He said with a smirk within seconds it went away when he didn’t hear a snarky come back or even a giggle. The brunette looked closer and saw she wasn’t wearing ear buds of any kind. ‘Is she just ignoring me?’ He thought to himself. It stared that way for a week before he went to talk to Steve.

Steve wasn’t having much luck either. Whenever he tried to talk her he was shot down and every picture her drew for Y/n ended up back in his room within hours of dropping it off. She was cutting them out of her life faster then they could react. Now they only saw her in mission briefing not even the missions themselves anymore. The other members didn’t notice a change in her behavior towards them,but they did see the emotional shut down towards the 40’s men. “What did you two do?” The flaming redhead asked them alone.

“We didn’t do anything! She just started to ignore us and acts as if she doesn’t even know us.” Bucky defended himself and his husband just as lost as everyone else. “Can you talk to her Nat? You guys are best friends she’ll open up to you.” Steve suggested causing the women to sigh and nod. “Whatever we talk about it will stay between us. She’ll tell you when she feels like it.” She stated and held up her hand when they tried to deny. Natasha turned around and walked off to the agents floor to talk.

The ex assassin knocked on the door not even waiting for a response before going in. There sat Y/n drying off her hair with a towel. “Oh hey,Nat. Did you need something?” She asked the women looking at her through the mirror. “Just some questions.” She said with a serious undertone causing the h/c women to turn around. “About?” L/n was no dummy she knew a interrogation when she saw one. “Buck and Steve.” Y/n tried her best not to sigh as she nodded. “What about them?” She played dumb avoiding the question as much as possible. “About how one minute your all heart eyes for them then it like you don’t know them!” Natasha snapped causing her friend to run her face. Her feels for them were so obvious Nat saw it a mile away.

“That’s the problem Nat. I shouldn’t be giving both parties of the happily married couple heart eyes! It’s not right their my best friends I shouldn’t feel this way.” Her throat felt dry with her confession. “And who told you that load of crap?” The Russian rolled off her tongue with a venomous hissed. “At the party two weeks ago. This group of women I guess saw the way Bucky flirted with me and how Steve blushed when I complained him. When I went to the bar they came up to me asking all these questions and saying all these horrible things about them…”

This party started of not so crazy,but leave it to Tony Stark to get the music bumping to max level and people to get drunk of their asses to match that energy. I was wearing a dress,but I wasn’t in just casual clothes either. Bucky stood to my left his voice was coming out clear enough for me to hear. “If the music didn’t beat me to it I would have knocked you off your feet!” He flirted causing me to covet my mouth so I didn’t spit the [f/d] on the floor. “Buck stop your gonna make me choke.” I coughed a bit heat immediately rushed to my cheeks at the wiggle of his eyebrows. “Get you mind out of the gutter,James!” I said as I smoked his shacking shoulders.

Steve bushed up against my side as he slid back into his place to my right. “Sorry n/n that I had to leave you to soon. Sam wanted a rematch at pool.” He said with a sheepish smile. “Did you beat his ass again?” I asked with a grin. He rubbed the back of his neck looking down. “Well…he’s not the one fifty dollars richer.” This caused me to laugh and give him a peck on the cheek a light lipstick mark left in its place followed by red blush. “I’ll never doubt you again Mr.America.” The smile on my face not faltering as a tap on on my shoulder made me turn around. “Wheres my cheek kiss,doll?” Bucky faked a pout. “None for you,hun, just for Stevie.” With that the pout intensified with a small giggle I bring my drink to my lips only to be met by nothing. “I’m out you boy’s want anything?” They both shook their heads their glasses still decently filled with asgardian ale.

The bar was open not many people their since most of them were trying to get in Tony’s good graces or his pants one of the two. Leaning on the bar next to a small group of middle aged women no older then forty conversed loudly next to me. “God did you see the arms on Thor?! If I wasn’t a married woman.” The youngest in the little click said in a lustful daze. “Those super soldiers though are something else.” I wasn’t able to tell who said that,but all of their eyes turned to the duo. “You know their married to each other right?” I’m not a nosy person,but dammit I had listen in. “I think it’s just a front. Why would the symbol for America a fag?! Their just probably covering up the fake that their sharing that slut that’s been seen on the team. What was get name?” The clear leader said and it pissed me the fuck off.

Harshly tapping on her shoulder she turned around and her eyes widened to match the size of dinner plates. “Hi,the names Y/n L/n or as you said ‘slut’ also known as…” I said with a smile that made the women shiver,but she cut me off. “T-that’s not w–what I meant!!!” She shuddered,but I held up my hand. “I wasn’t finished introducing myself. As I was say known as the most deadly assassin with the largest kill count in the world. So unless you want to live your pathetic life to it’s natural end I suggest you and your posy take a hike.” With a slight lift of my blouse I reveal a handgun along with so knifes. “Off you go.”

Without hesitation they all ran of not even caring that some of them were tripping up on their cheap heels. “What was that about?” Looking at the redhead behind the bar I give a convincing smile. “They had to leave. Lives they wanted to live.” With that I left without a drink and to my floor. It didn’t bother me in the moment,but her words sunk in. Did the public really see me like that? It was already hard when the great Captain America came out as bisexual to the world that had a closed mind. The thoughts made me think if I remove myself the picture all together and slow I did. First we didn’t hang out as much,then I started making myself more busy with solo missions, then last week it was just getting to hard so I tapped into emotional disconnection training.

“And it was working I think it’s best they’re a item and I’m that third wheel. It’s just better for me to leave them be.” Y/n finished speaking with her hands rubbing the tears that ran down her cheek. Somehow they were on the bed now and Nat was rubbing her back in soft circles. “Oh, n/n. Don’t let anyone ever make you feel like you don’t deserve what you want.” She said in all honesty. Natasha saw the way the boys were acting the first time they say her best friend after they were striped of their weapons and restrained in a hydra base they say her in a different light then she saw herself.

The redhead assassin stood up and kneeled in front of her. “Talk to them. The three of you are adults sure their a little stuck in the 40’s,but their moving along with the times. You think Steve knew what bisexuality was he was conflicted so just explain to them about how you feel.” Nat said holding her friends face in her hands rubbing her cheeks with her thumbs. “You got this. Don’t let those judgmental assholes,but you down.” With that she stood up and left. It was time for action and possible rejection…how fun!

The super soldiers stayed on their shared floor for hours stressed. What the hell did they do to drive her away?! Were they coming on to strong?Not strong enough and their stuck in the friend zone. Oh God. Steve sat on the couch while Bucky paced in front of him they were about to break the silence that fell before them,but was immediately cut off by the ding of the elevator. Y/n walked out once the metal doors opened and was greeted by the sight of them before her. She cleaned herself up after her talk with Nat not wanting her appearance to give away anything was wrong. “Hello,boys. I normally would want to be woken up from a nightmare,but it seems I walked in on a daydream.” She said with a smile as she sauntered over trying to seem more confident then she felt.

Y/n didn’t even get a response as she was pulled into a giant hug from them. “Doll we’ve missed you so much!” Buck was the first to pull away. “Hey!!! Cheesy pickup lines are my thing.” He said with a smirk. “I couldn’t let you have all the fun,handsome.” Everything felt so much better talking to them the mindless flirting it was just so right. “W-what happened?” Steve was the one to ask the question I was honestly dreading. “That party just someone said something that got me thinking. How can a girl like me ever get not one,but two guys like you to love me?” Y/n looked down at the floor. “I mean…first I appear out of nowhere, take Steve’s role as captain,and get cozy with two super soldiers the married couple. No wander the public seems me in such a light.” A hand gasped her cheek lifting her face up to look into beautiful blue eyes.

Steve looked into her gorgeous e/c eyes with hope. “You love us, n/n?” He asked wanting to make sure he heard right. She gave a wet chuckling as rears slipped past her eyes. “I just gave you reasons to hate me and that’s all you get out of it?!” Y/n sniffles as she brings hers to wipe her eyes. “Cause that’s all that mattered. Why should you give a shit what they think when we can tell you now that we both feel the same way about you.?” This caused the agent to freeze up. “Y-you both l-love me?!?” She didn’t know if it was a question to them or herself. “Of course we do,doll. You’re strong enough to give us a run for our money,more intelligent then the two brainiacs in the lab,so much sass it renders Stark speechless, everything about you is perfect to us. You are literally everything we ever wanted since we were kids.”

Y/n was now chocked up by happy tears as she looked into the two sets of blue eyes that held nothing,but love. “What do you want?” A smile graced her lips as she brought both of them into a kiss each equal as passion. “All I want is to be yours. Both of yours is what I want.”

===============================

Another in the bag lets go!!! 2 more coming out this month hopefully.

Tagged : @thisismysecrethappyplace and @spnquotebingo

Quote: “Don’t let anyone ever make you feel like you don’t deserve what you want.”

-10 Things I Hate about You

#Steve Rogers #bucky barnes #Marvel & Supernatural Bingo #spnquotebingo #marvel #stucky x reader #steve rogers x reader #bucky barns x reader #steve x bucky #steve rogers x y/n x bucky barnes #polymorous #love triangle #avengers #natasha romanoff #agent!reader #assassin!reader

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cali-holland · 4 years

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Golden Hearts, Prologue

Harrison Osterfield X Reader, James Bond AU ~ Sequel to Golden Bullets

Following a messy split, Harrison, Agent 007, resumes his role as an elite womanizer, after his recovery from his previous mission; meanwhile, you’ve stepped back from your 00 status, taking on cases as MI6’s assistant director from your office. When a new threat emerges to MI6 and a dear friend gets kidnapped, can you and Harrison set aside your differences to save special agent Q, better known as Tom? Or will the stakes- and your love, push you two further apart?

Word Count: 2700

Gif is not mine

Golden Hearts Masterlist

Masterlist Harrison Osterfield Masterlist

Let me know if you want to be added to the series tag list

Warnings: violence (unnamed character death, guns, someone gets stabbed, kidnapping, tranq dart, punching/kicking), swearing, sexual themes (my attempt at a heavy make out sesh), mentions of drugs & sex trafficking & sexual abuse

~~~

Tom hated field work, he really did. He could handle himself fine with a gun, but he still hated it nonetheless. Maybe it was because he hated the feeling of having no control. Behind a computer, he was the one in complete control. He could hack, invent, and upgrade things as he pleased, as if it was simple; there were no unknown variables, not truly.

Maybe another reason he hated field work was his current state— yet again, who would enjoy running away from the bullets of angry Spanish men, who were also possibly cyberterrorists.

Technically though, this wasn’t even field work. This was Tom having a good time with his family in Spain when he discovered a meeting of said suspected cyberterrorists. He didn’t mean to stumble across the secret meeting, but when he did, he did his best to acquire surveillance of the scene with his camera, taking a few photographs of the men, clear enough for facial recognition to be successful later. Thankfully, the men hadn’t linked him back to his family, leaving him to flee- or well, attempt to because he knew this information needed to be sent to MI6.

“Shit, shit, shit.” Tom cursed, ducking down an alleyway before kicking in the nearby door. He raced up the stairs and checked behind him quickly. The men were far enough behind him that he was fine- he had time to finish this small mission. He ran into the small, worn down, windowless apartment M had supplied him in case of an emergency, which he definitely felt like this counted as one. Grabbing the laptop from the desk, he slid his camera’s memory drive into it.

“Come on, come on.” He mumbled as he waited for the laptop to load the images. With the file upload complete, he drafted a quick email, fingers flying across the keyboard.

‘Find L’Americain.’ Tom wrote out in the message space before adding in the two recipients, the two people he could trust most with this critical information. Just before he could press the little arrow to send the message, the door got kicked down by the opposing men. Instantly, Tom put his hands up in surrender, knowing with his lack of weapons that taking them on wasn’t his best option- or maybe it was.

One of the men shouted out orders, and Tom eyed the open email in front of him. He couldn’t let this just go to waste; no, he was sacrificing his life for this, it had to go to someone at least. Taking a deep breath, he quickly hit the send button. In one fast motion, he removed the memory drive and threw it on the ground, crushing it and all of its data. He shut the laptop and put his hands up again, feeling one of the men step forward and point his gun against Tom’s head.

“Alright, I’m done.” Tom said with a sigh. He watched as a second man opened the laptop, only to find the computer frozen without Tom’s unhackable code to unlock it. The leader spoke again, and this time, the man behind Tom shoved him to turn him around.

“Who did you send the message to?” The leader questioned in a thick Spanish accent.

“Doesn’t matter.” He paused, a cocky smirk playing on his lips, “All you need to know is— you don’t need to find them, they’ll find you.”

“Are you sure about that?” The other man asked, cocking his gun.

With a wave of confidence, Tom grabbed the man’s wrist in front of him, twisting it up and grabbing the gun from his hands. He fired twice, one hit the man in the chest and the second at the laptop, blowing a bullet straight through the device. He then shot the only light in the room, sending the space into darkness. Tom ducked as the other two fired blindly, and he swept his leg down to knock one over. Tom clutched onto his gun before running in the direction of the exit.

The moment he got back onto the streets of Spain, he ran as fast as his feet could carry him, booking it down the busy roads towards the proper MI6 safehouse, where, hopefully, a better and actually trained field agent would be. He could see the familiar, yellow safe house in the distance, just a block away, and he began to run even harder, feeling a surge of hopefulness overcome him. He might actually make it through this.

That hope was quickly lost as two black motorcycles came from the side streets, stopping with their guns raised, effectively halting him in his tracks. Tom raised his own gun, ready to fire at them. While he was distracted by these two, he didn’t catch the third motorcyclist behind him. He felt a prick to his neck before a sudden wave of drowsiness washed through his system. Dropping the gun, he fell limp to his knees.

“The hell—?” He mumbled, his fingers tracing over the tranq dart in the back of his neck.

That was the last thing he remembered before he slipped into a deep state of unconsciousness.

~~~

The moment he stepped into the club, he was blinded by the pink and gold neon lights, his ears flooding with the blaring sound of some atrocious techno music that had no business being played in such a setting. He followed the waitress dressed in the club’s signature colors to a vip room. When she opened the door for him, he slid past her while brushing his fingers against her waist, a smirk playing on his lips as he did so. In the room sat six men around a deep brown circular table, all dressed in their finest suits; the smoke from their cigars hanging in the air and onto their crisp glasses of whiskey.

The one at the head of the table spoke first, his hand outstretching towards the only open chair at the table, “How nice of you to join us, Mr.—?”

“Osterfield. Harrison Osterfield.” He answered, smoothing out his suit as he took a seat in the chair.

“Can I get you anything to drink?” The waitress asked from his side.

“Martini. Thank you, love.” Harrison replied, his lips in his signature smirk. The woman left the room quickly, leaving him to discuss business with the other men.

“So, Mr. Osterfield,” The leader didn’t get to finish his thought as Harrison held up a finger, silently telling him to wait a moment. The waitress returned to the room, handing him the shaken martini.

“I never discuss business without a drink first.” He stated, before drinking the beverage down in one quick motion. His fingers traced the small, sharp metal rod, complete with a green olive still on the end of it. The men watched as he picked the olive off, abandoning it in the glass.

“You know, I thought a bunch of drug dealing, sex trafficking assholes would check their new guests for guns first.” Harrison said. The men went to draw their weapons, but he was faster, throwing the rod across the table and straight into the leader’s eye. He drew his compacted machine gun from his back holster, firing along the circular table until none of them so much as blinked. He tucked his gun back away under his suit and turned to see the same waitress from before. Her eyes were wide with fear, but he could see her shoulders relax as she realized he wasn’t going to harm her, an innocent employee. He watched as her eyes stayed on one man of the group in particular.

Slowly, Harrison stepped towards her, “Did he hurt you?” When she nodded, he went to comfort her, but she shook her head the moment his hands touched hers.

“Thank you. They were the worst.” She stated, and Harrison couldn’t sense any fear in her voice as she spoke; no, she sounded perfectly fine- happy, even.

“It’s no problem, love.” He smiled at her, blue eyes lighting up as her eyes met his.

“There must be some way for me to,” She paused, “repay you.”

“Well,” Harrison’s lips curved into a smirk, eyeing the waitress up and down, “What time do you get off, sweetheart?”

~~~

“Harder, Harry!”

“I don’t want to hurt you- oh god.” Harry landed on the ground with a loud thud. He let out a groan, rubbing his abdomen where your punch had landed. You playfully rolled your eyes at him as you held out a hand for him to stand up again. He took your hand and nearly fell over again, still surprised by how forceful your grip was.

“Told you I could handle myself.” You teased, making him laugh.

“Are we done yet?” He asked, but still got in position across from you in the ring.

“You can’t be tired already?” You joked, and he raised his eyebrows at you. You sighed, before raising your fists. “Fine. Last one.”

“Loser buys drinks on Friday?” Harry offered, a cheeky smile on his face.

“Agents aren’t my type. Besides, you already know I’m going to win.” You smirked.

“I’m not an agent yet, remember?” He reminded you with a wink.

“Your status changes at midnight, Agent 003.”

“Better get busy on those drinks then.”

As you started to throw punches at him again, he blocked them the best he could, his arms and torso still getting clipped by your knuckles. You started to pull your punches, letting him feel like he had the upper hand. Just as Harry was about to make a comment about finally beating you, you jumped up and kicked him square in the chest, sending him backwards and onto the decently solid ground of the sparring mat. You smirked down at him.

“Finished, Holland?” You asked, and he let out a sigh and nodded- rather, nodded as best he could. You held your hand out to him again, and he took it just like every other time you knocked him over in training. “Good session today. I say you’re 00 ready.”

“I still can’t believe it. Me? A 00 agent.” Harry chuckled while the two of you walked outside of the sparring ring to get your water bottles. “I can’t wait to tell Tom.”

“When does he get back from Spain? He’s there with your family, right?” You inquired before taking a long drink of the refreshing ice cold water.

“Yeah, he should be back in a few days. I’m still kinda bummed my training process kept me from going, but I guess you kinda sign away family vacation as a 00.” He laughed.

“Oh, definitely.” The training room fell silent as you quickly gathered your bag. The moment you were ready to leave, you made a beeline for the door, and Harry jogged to catch up to you.

“About those drinks-“ He started.

“I’ve already told you. It’s not happening, Harry.” You replied, continuing your path to your car.

“Just one date?” He asked. When you didn’t respond, he reached a hand out for yours. The second his finger brushed against your skin, you instinctively grabbed his wrist and twisted it. “Ow, fuck. I’ll drop it.”

You let go of his hand with a small laugh, “I’ll see you tomorrow, Harry.” And with that, you got into your BMW and sent him a quick wave.

When you got back to your apartment, you let out a deep sigh, tossing your bag down next to your couch. It was silent, just like it always was now. Sticky with sweat from your post-work training, you headed straight for the shower. Once you were out of the warm water’s embrace, you changed into your red satin robe, draping it over your shoulders and tying it around your waist. You turned on the TV for background noise as you cooked yourself a quick meal for dinner. It wasn’t until you were sitting down and eating that you realized your TV was playing a “Mission Impossible” movie, right in the middle of an action-packed Tom Cruise scene.

You watched as the actor scaled the Burj Khalifa in Mumbai. With a sigh, you set your empty plate and fork aside, twirling the steak knife in your hand. You didn’t take your eyes off the movie as you threw the knife to your right, sending it straight into the bullseye of your dartboard. You huffed; a steak knife and a dartboard, you really were bored.

You’d be lying if you said you didn’t miss field work. There was a reason why you personally trained Harry to become a 00 agent instead of having another, lesser agent take it on. After all, though, Tom wanted his younger brother to be trained by the best, which was you, even after three months behind a desk. You missed the suspense of keeping undercover, the sweet taste of action, all of it.

But MI6 was changing, and that meant you had to change too. As M retired and was replaced by the new M, Gareth Mallory, you turned in your 00 status to stay in the office. And, with Nine Eyes, a new global security company, seeking to merge with MI6, the 00 program was at stake now as it is, yet all of that was information left to remain between you, Q, and M. Global security sounded like a dream, but it would mean a lot more changes to the organization.

Just as you were about to turn off your TV and turn in for yet another lonely night, a notification came through your computer across the room. Curious, you stood up and walked over to your desk, taking a seat in the office chair to examine the new notification.

“New encrypted message from Q,” the screen read. You clicked on the message to open it, your eyes going wide at the contents.

“Oh god,” You breathed out.

Meanwhile, across London, Harrison was having a different night than you.

“This is me.” The waitress’s lips barely separated from Harrison’s as she spoke. With his hands around her waist, fisting at the loose fabric of her work dress, he walked them backwards out of the elevator. He dipped his head down to hungrily nip at her neck while she led them to her apartment. She fumbled with the keys as Harrison found the sweet spot on her neck, already marking a hickey there. The moment she got the door open, his hands slid down the back of her thighs and she jumped into his embrace, chests pressed against each other.

“Bedroom?” Harrison panted out, his blue eyes full of lust.

“First door on the left.” She barely got the words out before his lips were desperately back on hers.

He stumbled his way through the dark apartment to her bedroom before laying her down on the bed. Her hands worked on unbuttoning his shirt as he discarded his jacket somewhere behind him. She pushed her lips back onto his, sloppily kissing him while he shrugged off his shirt. Harrison wasted no time in finding the zipper on her dress, tugging it down. The moment the dress slipped from around her, she pulled Harrison back with her on the bed, and his lips hungrily followed hers, moans slipping from both of their throats as their tongues and teeth clashed.

Hearing his smartwatch alert him of a new message, Harrison broke the kiss, leaning on one arm to look at his wrist. The waitress’s lips dipped down his neck, biting and sucking on his skin as her hands scratched over his abs, a detour on the way to his belt.

“New encrypted message from Q.” Harrison read the alert, and his eyebrows furrowed in confusion and worry.

“Stop, stop.” Harrison said, pulling the waitress off his body as he got off the bed.

“Where are you going?” She asked, hurt by the sudden change.

“I have to go. Sorry, love.” He answered, but he really wasn’t that apologetic as he slipped his clothes back on. She huffed and made some angry comment about him mistreating women, but the words flew over his head. He rushed out of the apartment and made his way to the elevator. Once he was within the comfort of the four metal walls with no one around, he opened up the new email on his phone. He let out a shaky sigh, peering down at the message’s contents.

“Shit.”

~~~

General Tag List: @viagracex @theamazingtomholland @Hellomoveonby @heyitsshrez @harrisonosterfieldhazmyheart @joyleenl @t-o-m-holland @lonikje @sleepybesson @sunkisseddreamer @hollandsamor @in-a-lot-of-fandoms-tbh @gorillaglue23

Harrison Tag List: @Calhtlland @tomkindholland @where-art-thau-romeo

Original Series Tag List: @quinjetboi @baby-haz @kickingn-ames @rougese7en @hollandsosterfield @nj01 @it-is-rebel-owl-ma-dudes @spencerreidxoxo @duskholland

#harrison osterfield #harrison osterfield x you #harrison osterfield imagine #harrison osterfield x reader #harrison osterfield series #harrison osterfield x y/n #harrison osterfield fic

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manawhaat · 4 years

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The Weight

Title: The Weight

Character: Bucky Barnes x Reader, mentions of Wanda, Bruce, Tony, and Helen Cho.

Summary: Bucky blames himself when Wanda is hurt on a failed mission. Seeing him in so much pain, you do what you can to help ease the weight of his guilt.

Prompt: “Some people move on, but not us.” for @star-spangled-bingo

Warnings: Angst, guilt, fluff.

Word Count: 1k

A/N: I wanted to write a little something for my love @sebbytrash for her birthday and this kinda just poured outta me from god-knows-where (jk I know what this is and it’s totally residual Through His Eyes feels lol). Thanks for the last minute beta by my other lady love, @samsexualdeancurious. And I also happened to work in a line to cover a bingo square fill. Thanks for reading and happy birthday, Kales, you bastard ass love of my life.

“I hurt her,” he says, the self-hate in his voice so harsh it carves a hole in your own chest. With all that guilt eating away at him, you wonder how there’s anything left after all these years. “Wanda’s in a fuckin’ cryo tank because of me.”

“Hey, she’s still alive. Bruce and Tony are looking after her and Helen’s already on a chopper. You didn’t do anything wrong, Bucky. You’ve gotta know that.” You try desperately to reassure him. To let him know he’s not at fault. “She’ll heal. She’ll be okay.”

His mouth draws into a thin line and his hands run roughly through his hair, pull it back too tight into a bun at the back of his head and it’s then that you see the blood still in his hairline. You aren’t sure if it’s his, Wanda’s, or someone else’s, but he tracks the way your eyes move over him and he huffs angrily. He’s angry at himself, at the accident, at everything in his life. That even now that he’s free of Hydra he still only causes pain.

“Some people move on, but not us, right?”

The words cut like a knife in the cold night and a dry, humorless laugh falls from his lips before he reaches for his back pocket and pulls out a pack of cigarettes. You didn’t know he smoked but somehow it doesn’t surprise you. Moving like it’s second nature, he lights one up and takes a drag. His face is shadowed by his dark past, by the fresh wounds Wanda wears on her delicate skin, and the cigarette cherry reflects in his stormy eyes. Smoke billows out of his mouth a moment later, swirls around him like he belongs to be wrapped up in it, then finally dissipates into the night sky above. He’s ten pounds of regret bursting the seams of a five pound bag.

“Bucky, you have to stop this,” you finally sigh, unable to let him continue to cause himself so much pain. Gravel crunches beneath your feet as you close the space between you, reach out and take his face in your hands. “Maybe we can move on, maybe we can’t, but it doesn’t matter. The only thing that matters is that we try and that you understand that you aren’t him anymore. You’re not the Winter Soldier. You’re just you. And you, James Barnes, are too good of a man to be this hard on yourself. You don’t deserve it, especially after all you’ve been through. Wanda will live, and so will you.”

Haunted eyes go wide and curious at your words, watch as you stand on your tip toes and flutter closed as the last second before your lips meet his. The kiss is short, no tongue or lust behind it, just a call for comfort. A way to let him know that he is seen and understood and accepted. That he isn’t the monster he thinks he is.

You don’t expect him to say anything, to chase after you when you turn to leave, to take your wrist in his warm hand and your jaw in his metal one, run a thumb over your lips and kiss you, but it’s exactly what he does. Bucky surprises you both and anchors himself to you, squeezes his eyes shut and kisses you in a way he hasn’t ever kissed anyone ever before. He means it; the unrealized strength of his affection and attraction, the depth of his gratitude and gentle hope.

There’s a heat in his eyes when he pulls away and takes a step back, and your heart tumbles helplessly, happily, off a cliff as you close the space again and kiss him with the same intensity and feeling.

Filled with scarred over sadness and a breath of fresh longing, Bucky holds you tight and doesn’t let go. The two of you stumble back into the compound and he has you keening and blissfully happy to fall into his bed. He lays you down armed with nothing but sweet kisses and soft, slow hands that speak volumes of the man he truly is behind those old scars.

In the break of day you wake alone in a tangle of sheets, pull yourself together and try to keep the smile off your face as you slip out of his room. The hall is empty and you wander until you see him, standing stock still, a firmness to those soft edges you were lost in under the moonlight. It’s no wonder he’s that stoic soldier again; he’s standing at the entrance to the med bay, a large glass wall giving him an unobstructed view to Helen and her team caring for Wanda.

He hears you approach but doesn’t flinch. It’s not in his nature to scare easily.

The set of his jaw and those focused eyes tell you one thing, but when you land at his side he reaches an arm out and collects you to his chest. Bucky offers you a tender, tentative kiss, unsure if you want anything to do with him past the one night. You smile up at him, warm and happy, and quell his uncertainty with a kiss of your own, sure and filled with promise. His body deflates and he practically melts into you, arms and chest swallowing you whole as he hides his face in your neck.

“Helen said she’d be awake in a couple of hours and I can come back to see her then.”

Relief washes over you and give his back a reassuring rub. “That’s good.”

“Will you stay?” he asks against your jaw, face shielded from everyone like he’s telling you some dark secret. There’s a slight quiver to the depth of his voice, a glimmer of hope that you can’t help but give in to, and you know he’s not just asking if you’ll stay with him to see Wanda.

Those sea glow eyes are a little lighter now that a new day has dawned. Less burdened now that he’s weathered the storm of his own heart and come out on the other end with you still by his side. You pull his face from hiding and press another deep kiss to his lips for good measure and for your own selfish desire.

“I’ll stay with you, Bucky,” you answer honestly, “as long as you want.”

Marvel tags:

@becs-bunker @curlyblondexoxo @ellen-reincarnated1967 @fvckingavengers @plaidstiel-wormstache @princessmisery666 @saxxxology @thing-you-do-with-that-thing @xxloki81xx

#bucky barnes x reader #bucky barnes #james barnes #the winter soldier #marvel fanfic #bucky x reader #bucky fic #kale is my soulmate and I love her #it's technically not your bday here bc it's 11 but it's your bday in scotland so I'm posting this bitch rn lol

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ivory-sunflower · 3 years

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Arty Art Things ✨

Hellooo!

I've decided to post some of the arty things I've done either recently or in the last few years, well the pieces I'm somewhat proud of at least. All my posts tend to be a lot more wordy than they need to be but hey it's what I do here!

Conchúr White

Anyone one who's been on this blog for a bit will have probably have seen me talk about this lovely Irish fella. The pencil drawing is actually a year old as of yesterday, I only know that because screenshots of me flipping out about Conchúr following me on twitter popped up in my memories yesterday. I think I'd sent it to him at about 3 in the morning (I was not in a good head space at that point in time), so probably not what he was expecting to see when he opened his phone in the morning aha

The biro version is much more recent: I got bored while sat at my desk and doing research about university courses, saw a biro, saw my old drawing of Conchúr, had an idea. I revisited my GCSE art techniques and here we are. Again, I put this up on Twitter and now (at the the time I'm writing this) when you google "Conchúr White" it's the third top image of him which is a bit mad really. I think I spent all of about 20 minutes on Conchúr but another 45 minutes on the words behind him. The words are the names of the songs on his EP 'Bikini Crops', he doesn't just really love the idea of Channing Tatum driving him around at night in a daisy print bikini... Well maybe he does but what he does in his spare time is none of my business...

TechDif

So I mentioned that the pencil drawing of Conchúr came from a rough patch in my mental health and this one is no different! In fact this one came from an even worse circumstance so we love to see it. I had a bad, bad time in July and this started as a way of distracting myself from what was going on in my head. Without it, I can't honestly say I'd still be here so even if the final product of this had been a terrible mess I would still love it for keeping me alive. However, it did not turn out to be a terrible mess!

Now that the origin of this is out the way, where do I start with TechDif? Unlike Conchúr, I haven't really talked about them on here (unless you count one brief post about Citation Needed) before so I guess I'll do it here. The Technical Difficulties are a wonderful group of 4 British fellas who have had their fair share of fun online and even before. They did a radio show at university together, which went on to become their Reverse Trivia Podcast, later moving on to a panel show called 'Citation Needed': and a game called 'Two of These People Are Lying'. All of which I would thoroughly reccomend, they're one of my go to things when I'm having a rough time. All 4 of them are excellent! Tom Scott (red top, blue jeans on the picture) has his own YouTube channel which does content aside from TechDif. If you're quite nerdy and like science, linguistics, computers, or any number of other things you may enjoy Tom's channel. He is probably best described as "The Moderator" of the group, much like a tired teacher he tries desperately to keep everyone on track with what they're meant to be doing, but usually it does not end well for him. Then we have Matt Gray (space top, holding an ice cream) who also has a channel away from TechDif stuff, he does techy electronic things and has a series called 'Will it Soft Serve?' where he puts all kinds of strange things through a soft serve machine. Matt brings a very specific energy to TechDif and I can't fully describe what that vibe is but I love it. Matt and Tom also share a YouTube channel where TOTPAL is posted and they had a series called 'The Park Bench'. Moving on to everybody's favourite Gary Brannan: Gary Brannan (SATIRE hoodie, glasses) and can I just say, what a fella he is! He's just excellent! He is the one that will argue and rip into Tom the most (not in a malicious way) and hilarity ensues. There are some episodes where he is absolutely on it, getting all the points and others where he very clearly has no idea and that's where some of his funniest quotes come from. Given how badly I was doing at the time I made this, his response to it on Twitter was so so lovely. I specifically remember one tweet where he said I'd made him happy and although it was probably a flippant comment, it just made feel alright for a bit. Yeah I might be feeling awful right now, but I've made someone else happy so that's a nice feeling. Then last but certainly not least, we have Chris Joel (buffalo check shirt, beard)! I would be lying if I said he isn’t my favourite... His sense of humor is the one I vibe with most, he can get rather dramatic in parts and can chat bollocks like a champion. He has absolutely no online presence away from TechDif and, like Rens from Temples, I fully believe he’s a cryptid and lives off in a tree somewhere.

The picture took me about 4 days to complete, well 4 nights because I did most of it between the hours of 12 a.m. and 7a.m. - I remember watching the sun come through my window each morning. It’s made up of lots of little pieces, all cut out and stuck on; even the sky and hills are made of separate pieces of paper. Nothing was actually drawn on the piece of paper it’s all stuck on, it’s not how I usually do things but if I messed up one little but I could just redraw it rather than ruining the whole thing. The most tedious parts to make were Chris’ shirt because I had to draw each square individually and then join the as well, and cutting out the ban-hammer in the bottom right was surprisingly hard. Every single detail of the picture is a reference to the podcast/shows, I still have the plan sketch and reference list knocking about somewhere. I listened to a lot of true crime videos while making it to the point that certain parts remind me of different cases: the brandy now reminds me of Peter Tobin, and the big spiral thing reminds me of Tim McLean (very harrowing case) - sorry that fact is a bit morbid but interesting nonetheless.

I did post this for a little bit back in July, but I received some rather awful messages so I took it down. Generally, Tom Scott/TechDif fans are lovely but there’s been a few that have taken a disliking to me for some reason so I’m hoping they don’t resurface again. I’m in a better head space now though, so even if they do I’m more equipped to deal with it this time.

Hozier

This was a quick sketch I did in April, I was getting bored with lockdown and decided to summon the bog man himself. There’s not really much more backstory than that, no poor mental health story, no fun twitter story - he’s just here. He’s vibing. I will say I’m particularly proud of his nose, I just think it’s one of the best noses I’ve ever drawn. His hand is okay, but I think that the hands on my Conchúr drawings are better. So there is the Hozi-Boi...

The Corpse Bry

I’ve talked about Bry on here before as well, I love him, he’s excellent, top lad. He is a living Tim Burton character, he’s 6′6, very skinny, and his legs are longer than my will to live. I was watching ‘The Corpse Bride’ a few weeks ago and suddenly had an idea and so ‘The Corpse Bry’ came to be. I gave him a little panda friend because the panda has always been his animal - he used to wear a panda beanie all the time and his album had a panda on the cover. Again, there’s not really a fun story behind this one, I guess it’s somewhat fun because it’s the first art I made after finishing my psychology exams in October so it was nice to actually have the time to draw.

James Bagshaw

Ginger talking about Temples for the third post in a row? it’s more likely than you think! I did this one last week, I’d had a bit of a wobbly day and had group therapy on Teams in the evening and I just couldn’t concentrate on what was going on and I ended up doodling Mr James E. Bagshaw, the glitter crying fraggle man himself. It’s a bare-bones drawing that I could definitely work into more but I’m happy with it as it is to be honest. I’ll be damned if I’m going to sit and add the individual bits of fringe to his jacket, just thinking about doing that makes me tired. Maybe I’ll get around to drawing the whole band at some point...

Alice in “Wonderland”

This one is from about 5(?) years ago, it’s not my typical style and was a “study” based on another artists work (basically i just had to copy this fellas work). I’ll be honest, this one has a sketchy backstory that I won’t go in to because it’s not exactly a nice one, and because of that I also won’t say who the artist is that it’s based on. Despite this, I’m still really proud of this one and I’m so sad that I never got this piece back after I got taken out the class. I’ve considered trying this style again, I’ve even joked about doing another Conchúr drawing in this style as a nod to my progression through GCSE art, eventually leading to Conchúr drawn in ink on music manuscript and stained with neon paint and dyes - it would be quite the project!

So this has been quite a lengthy post so apologies about that but life goes on. Similar to the vinyl post, I’ll probably add to this as and when I make more art. Even if no one is reading these posts, I’m enjoying making them so that’s the main thing. It’s just nice to document things and the feelings that go with them. 💕

~ Love Ginger xx

29/11/2020

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