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michaelsbigreddick · 2 years

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red lights pt. 6

this a ridiculous excuse for a post but here yall go

previous parts can be found here

pretty much just fluff and some mention of sexual advances

MDNI 18+ pls and thx :)

You were sitting on your couch, finishing a paper for school. Matt was there too. He was freshly showered, back from patrol, massaging your feet listening to your hums and random mumbles about how brilliant you were. You would have been done by this time of night but the thought of what you were going to do for his birthday kept veering you off track.

You had come up with the idea of a weekend getaway. There had been times when you would describe places you’d visited thanks to your history and Matt always said he’d wish he could see them. Of Course after saying how sorry he was and you had to remind him not to coddle you. You knew there was a very large chance of him turning the idea down because of his devotion to keeping the city safe. But had been thinking about it for a while, and like someone at sometime said in the past, when is better than the present?

“You know I was thinking,” his eyebrows furrowed, a grim smile followed. He wasn't usually a fan of what followed those words.

“Would you want to go on a weekend trip to Malibu with me?...for your birthday..” you knew he wasn't a big fan of extravagant gestures.

“You hate it.”

“No,” he smiles, laughing. “I don't think foggy would be a fan of me spending a weekend in malibu by myself. Especially since I've never been out of manhattan.”

“Then we’ll go after.” you closed your laptop and set it down onto the table. He grinned sheepishly accepting your present. You pull your legs off his lap and take his head into your hands. “Have I ever told you how beautiful you are?” he giggled, a slight flush brushing against his cheeks. “Yes you have actually.”

“Oh.” you kiss across the pink off his cheeks.. “Doesn't mean I can't tell you again.”

In consideration to his senses you put your money to use and rented out a private jet.

“You really didn't have to do this.” he said sitting down on the hallway seat.

“I've told you this before and I will say it again Matt, only the best for you.” he smiled shaking his head at the memory.

After take off when you were allowed to move around he started getting ideas.

“When's the next time I'm going to be on a plane y/n?”

“So much for being sensitive to your senses.” he chuckled and leaned into your ear.

“Dear you are taking over all of them…. I can practically taste your lips.”

“You are in my personal space Mr. Murdock.” you reminded him.

“Those aren't the ones i'm talking about angel.” he kissed you below your ear, trailing his kisses down your neck. When he reached the fabric covering your shoulder he slipped the strap off exposing more of your chest. The shadow of his breath followed his nose as he breathed you in.

“Oh fuck okay.”

When you landed you couldn't help but feel shy around the pilot. You couldn't help the noises and screams Matt barely helped you muffle. You felt sorry that he had to hear it all. Matt on the other hand couldn't have been more cocky.

You were now on the cab to the car rental place.

“You know you could have at least pretended to be sorry.”

“Darling I am never going to apologize for making you feel good.” he kissed you on your warm cheek.

“ And you didn't hear what they were saying up there to each other.” He took your hand into his, holding it with a slight firmness. You rub his palm with the bed of your thumb.

“I’d fuck you again right here if you hadn’t made me cum so much back there.” you whisper so only he could hear you. He smiles cheekily, facing you towards him.

“No worries angel. We’ve got all weekend.” he says before kissing you on your forehead this time. When you got there the car was ready for you. You had called them a week prior and had everything planned out for the weekend.

The first spot you wanted to show him was the fair. You felt bad that he couldn't take part of what you enjoyed most about it. Sure you had fun on the rides, and the food was amazing but he didn't get to see the shining lights that truly gave the place life.

“I'm enjoying myself so much already. If I had eyesight I think I’d die from it.”

You laugh softly, pushing him to the side. “You're the worst.”

You’re now walking past a tent with a pellet gun game. There was a boy there trying to win himself a goldfish.

Matt turned his head to the man laughing at the kid. “It's rigged.” he frowned.

“Matt,” he started leading you in that direction, with your arms interlocked you had to follow him.

“I won’t do anything Daredevil wouldn't do.”

“That's what I'm afraid of.” He pronounced his blindness by unfolding his cane and exaggerated movements. If you didn't know him you'd think he was pulling an act.

“Mind if I give it a try, little man?” Matt asked the boy. He was holding what looked to be his last ticket.

“Can’t be worse than me. Go ahead mr.”

“This is gonna be good,” said the jackass with a manbun behind the counter.

“Would you like to bet on that?” Matt asked him.

“I'm game.” He had a loud mocking grin that exposed his missing molars.

“The goldfish. And your biggest bear.” he nodded.

“Along with all the tickets he spent here.” Manbun placed the last goldfish he had and the tickets on the counter.

Matt picked up the pellet gun and pretended not to know where to aim. He missed shot two times into the prizes to really sell the blind guy act. The boy began retreating slowly.

“It was worth the try.” As he turned around Matt shot all of the bottles down. When the boy came up to collect his prizes you couldn't help but enjoy matt and his cocky grin.

Manbun handed Matt the largest bear, and he happily handed it to you. You were thankful that it wasn't that big. As much as you appreciated the gesture, you weren't sure what you'd do with a bear any bigger than the three foot one he had just won you.

Just about to leave the closing fair you see an empty caristle. It had the most beautiful artistry you had ever laid your eyes on. Even from far away you could see how detailed they were with the texture and vibrant paints.

“You feel like doing something a little crazy?”

“I'm not usually fond of what comes after those words..” he smiles wide. “But when have I ever been able to say no to you?”

“You to ride the caristle?” you say, already leading him in the direction of the beautifully polished figures.

“Aren't we a little old to ride it?” He furrowed his eyebrows, laughing.

“Oh come on, it won't hurt to ask.”

“You've got me there.”

“Hi, we were wondering if it was too late to get a ride on the carousel.

“I'm sorry ma'am, we closed around thirty minutes ago.”said the teen who had just finished polishing.

“So there's no chance you'd let us on there?”

She was shy to tell you no.

“Okay so what do you say I give you whatever you earned this week and a little more if you let us have one little ride?”she looked around to make sure no one was watching .

“Sounds good.” she opened the gate for you both to pass through.

You take your checkbook out of your purse. You had crammed it in their last minute specifically for if an opportunity like this came up. You sign two different slips for her to put the quantity on.

“Go crazy.”

You grab Matt's hand ‘guiding’ him up the stairs.” he sits down your bag on a caristle bench.

You choose a seahorse, he goes for the dragon with gold accents, that's slightly beside yours.

“Are you sure about this?” he laughs.

“Too late to be unsure now.” the girl started the wheel.

You giggled looking back at him. He was giggling too.

You felt silly happy seeing him on the figure half his size. “You having fun?”

He grinned, nodding his head. He leaned forward towards you. You grabbed onto the pole with a firm grip to keep yourself balanced and leaned back to him. You cupped his face with your free hand,

“Can you make it go faster?!” you asked the girl. She gave you a swift thumbs up. She turned up the lever. You could feel a bit of breese running around you, but the warmth between the two of you stayed the same. You kissed him. That's what it always felt like when you were with him. The disfigured busy world moved around you, but time with him stood still, and for the first time in forever, you were okay with that. You were simply there. You thought it then for the first time

This must be what flying feels like

_._._._._._._._._._._._._._._._._._._._._._._._._._._._._._

The rest of the weekend you spent around town trying different food spots, seeing different malls and parks. Sunday evening you spent back on Malibu beach.

You were walking down the shore hand in hand. He stopped and hugged you from behind, facing the ocean. The red and orange hue spreading through the sky like water pastels.

“I have to thank you again. I, I knew this was going to be fun. But this has been..heaven.”he kissed you under your ear and placed his head on your shoulder. You grab a hold of his arms and wrap them around you tighter.

“If you would have told me I'd be standing here with the most amazing man to have ever walked earth three years ago, I don't think I would have believed anyone. I didn't ever think I'd be this happy.”

He hummed. Agreeing with you.

“I hope this lasts forever.” you knew he meant the peace and happiness that he felt at the moment. You wondered if he had ever felt this much peace in Hell's Kitchen, in his life really. You knew that you'd never felt happier, he was the one who brought you peace.m

“Whatever forever means anyway…I don’t care what forever is as long as I spend it with you.

‘Forever with you sounds perfect.”

He pulled a small red velvet pouch out of his front pocket. He took your hand and placed it in your palm.

“It's not much but I couldn't help but,”

“Matt, whatever it is, I know i'm going to love it.” he smiled shyly looking at the sand.

Pulling at the drawstrings to open it. Reaching in you pull out a necklace. A necklace fell into your hand. The pendant had love spelled across it in braille. Interestingly enough the word also looked like two Ds.

“I love it. Thank you.” you gave him a kiss on the cheek.

“Here let me.” you handed him the chain. He moved your hair from your neck and placed kisses along it, his lips followed to your bare shoulders.

“Don't get lost back there murdock. We still have the sunset to watch.”he smiled into your skin.

“I'm not necessarily worried about missing the sunset.” he put the necklace on you and it fit moseley on your chest.

“Do you ever wonder if this is right?”

“I don't really think about it.” he paused, taking a moment to read you.

“I think it's just something I feel inside of me. Something i feel. I, I can't prove to you that it's right. Not physically at least, its just something I know. Which doesn't make it fact. But its not fiction, because i'm living it right now. Everything about me and you, us here in this moment, and every millisecond we spend together. This is right.”

When you were back in New York you didn't take it off ever. It was a way you could keep him with you at all times. Which was something you wanted since your love was confined to the walls of your apartment and occasionally his. He was very serious about not involving you in anything that had to do with daredevil. With time you became less and less satisfied with that confinement. You wanted the world to know about your love for him, you didn't care if it caused you any danger, you knew how to handle yourself and you needed him to believe that too.

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markpine · 4 months

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bruhnhalberg · 2 years

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markwilsonblog · 4 years

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avnyc · 4 years

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Audiovisual events services and AV equipment rentals in New York We offer cutting-edge technology and the finest in audio-visual production support. Our service line includes consulting and pre-production design, specialized staging design with stage lighting, computer data projection with full HD projection systems, multiple displays presentation, full range conference sound systems, broadcasting and videoconferencing, HD video mapping services, video, and audio recording. #Audio #visual #avcompanies #videorent #avequipment #tv #laptop #rentals #audiovisual #hireequipment #lcd #newyork #sound #lighting #eventplanning #Manhattan #nyc (at United Nations Development Programme - UNDP) https://www.instagram.com/p/CCCtdPqhwE2/?igshid=npe96d3f0pto

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moonbeambucky · 5 years

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Safe

Pairing: Bucky Barnes x Reader Word Count: 4878 Warnings: fluff, angst, attempted sexual assault

Summary: The ride home turns dangerous until you find safety with an unlikely stranger.

A/N: This is my submission for @beckzorz Becca’s 1k Writing Challenge. My prompt was Public Transportation. Thank you as always to my Sam 💕 @buckyofthemyscira for beta reading! gif not mine

Routines have become a healthy part of Bucky Barnes’ life. Not to say his routines are really healthy but he tries. When Bucky’s not on a mission his day is executed the same way; get up, hit the gym, ignore Sam’s bullshit, hit the kitchen, hit the showers, ignore more of Sam’s bullshit, train a bit, hit the kitchen again, clean his guns, threaten Sam with his newly cleaned guns, attempt to learn about modern day media (What’s a mee-mee?), give up and read a book because thankfully those haven’t changed, hit the kitchen again because truthfully he loves eating and finally after getting into his final squabble with Sam he gets in bed.

Bucky doesn’t sleep though, he wants to but he can’t. He doesn’t understand how people can just lay their head on their pillow, shut their eyes and fall asleep. It seems simple and he used to be able to do it but now it would be like asking him to magically transform his metal arm back to flesh. He just can’t.

It’s frustrating. The bags under his eyes have happily settled in, Sam has reminded him over and over again that he looks like shit and even Steve has started to worry. All of these thoughts swirl in Bucky’s head, getting louder by the minute as he stares at the ceiling with eyes wide open.

Has that crack gotten bigger? Why is there a crack in the ceiling anyway? Does Stark know? Is Banner above me? Did Hulk make the crack? Will I wake up to Hulk falling through the ceiling?

Wake up. If only he could fall asleep.

After too many restless nights Bucky decided he’s heading out. He needs to get rid of this anxious energy and walking around the city seems like a good idea. He hadn’t seen much of it since, well since he’s been himself again after everything. There have been times he’s wanted to go out but the Avengers generate a lot of attention and Bucky hates the spotlight.

A dark shirt stretches across his frame and he slides his legs through the pair of jeans that were crumpled on his floor. His feet slide into well worn boots as he shrugs a leather jacket over himself. It’s warm on the streets of Manhattan, even in the middle of the night but he doesn’t mind. The leather is cool and comforting against his skin which always seems to run hot.

On Bucky’s first night out he walked a dozen miles and along the way he found a bar. It was full of people that didn’t know who he was nor did they want to know him. Bodies hunched over, deep set wrinkled mouths sag even further pulling their lips down to a tired frown. They wanted to be left alone and relatably Bucky obliges.

He ordered a drink, savoring the taste as he sat for a bit, listening to music he’s pretty familiar with thanks to Tony. Bucky had heard enough disco courtesy of Steve’s “must do” list, seeking out the sounds of heavy drums and electric guitars coming from Tony’s lab instead. Music brought them closer and although there is a long way to go before they can call each other friends at least their journey will be filled with a great soundtrack.

He walks a bit more until he reaches Lower Manhattan, looking off at the blur that was the Statue of Liberty in the far distance, barely visible through the fog. It’s late and Bucky should be getting back. He feels a bit lazy and doesn’t want to walk all the way back to the Tower.

Descending the damp stairs, Bucky heads into the subway. The turnstiles block his entry to the platform. No one is around and he could easily jump over them but he knows there are cameras and the last thing he wants is to add another charge to the list of crimes he’s committed, especially one as silly as fare evasion.

His finger presses at the screen to purchase a MetroCard that allows him to legally pass through the turnstiles. A few people are spread out across the platform, a young couple smiling at each other as the taller man wraps his arms around the shorter one.

A flash of bright blue catches his eyes from the nurse who shifts the weight of her aching feet back and forth. Despite her earbuds she glances over when the couple burst out laughing. The shorter man shushes his boyfriend playfully, and when they catch Bucky’s eye he gives a friendly smile.

Wind from the arriving train whips Bucky’s hair around which he tries to comb back into place with his fingers. There is a downside to being enhanced as Bucky gets an intense whiff of the foul smelling man passed out on the opposite end of the train.

He passes through to the next train, sniffing a few times to ensure the air quality before sitting in the corner. The ride is pleasant and somehow comforting. By the time Bucky gets back to the Tower he barely takes his clothes off before plopping face first into his bed and sleeping for a few good hours.

This routine continues each night, with Bucky riding the subway for a few hours at a time, back and forth all over Manhattan until the point where he’s lulled just enough to get some rest. Sure sleeping until noon might be a problem, especially if there’s a mission on the horizon but on the bright side he’s seeing less of Sam so this may not be a problem at all.

Moving to New York was Y/N’s dream. While submitting applications for law school she imagined herself sitting in a cafe in the heart of the city, laptop and books sprawled out on the table with a delicious cup of coffee warming her hands as she studied. When she got accepted she eagerly packed her things and couldn’t wait for her dreams to come true.

There were struggles along the way. A glitch in the system caused her to miss out on the already limited student housing and the list of affordable student rentals off campus had no availability. The small amount of money she had in savings served as a cushion for her to get a room rental.

During the day she went to school, at night she worked at a bar and every moment in between she studied until she could barely see, all while pushing the boundaries on caffeine consumption and sleep deprivation. It was worth it though she reminded herself.

She was in her last year of school and soon she’d be living in a real apartment and sleep normal hours in a bed; not facedown drooling on the desk of the library, not on the subway with her head rolling forward and jolting her awake and certainly not standing up behind the bar during work while patrons called for her attention. (She was nearly fired over that!)

Y/N no longer falls asleep on the subway, especially not when she’s headed home in the middle of the night. Sure it would be easier to take an Uber but she can’t afford the cost. Instead she sits in the corner at the end, right across from the conductor booth. Occasionally an MTA worker will pop out and either give a nod her way or ignore her completely as they go to the booth on the opposite end of the train to prepare themselves for the next stop.

Her seat is usually available at this hour which is comforting. Y/N feels safer with her back against the metal wall, with the exits right beside her as she overlooks the rest of the train. She’s on alert at all times, armed with her keys in between her knuckles, just in case.

Riding the subway during the day is a lot better. Sure it’s very crowded and sometimes she struggles to find a seat, occasionally squeezing to a spot in between manspreaders who touch her thigh, by accident. Other times she’s stuck in between a huge group of people, holding on to the pole for balance as someone else gropes her ass, not by accident.

It’s much easier to call out these perverts when the train is crowded; she feels safe. Other people have her back, just as she has theirs in similar situations; everyone working together to scream and sometimes push the pervert off the train at the next stop. Occurrences like these were definitely not part of Y/N’s dreams when she pictured living in New York, but she can’t blame her dreams for the faults of others.

Y/N walked to her preferred spot, the bright orange seat welcoming her under the yellow tinged lighting. At the opposite end of the train is someone else in the same spot. Arms crossed over a broad frame, the hood of a sweatshirt pulled down covering almost their entire face with just a peek of stubble sticking out. She places her keys between her knuckles, keeping her hand in the front pocket of her hoodie and waits for the long journey home to begin.

A few stops later two men get on the train, one is tall and slim with a shaved head and the other a bit shorter with a stocky build and a mess of dark hair. She stiffens in her seat watching as they sit diagonally to her, skipping a seat in between each other and spreading their legs out wide. The bald one leans his head back as he rubs his eyes, listening as the other one turned his head to speak.

The jagged end of the keys scratch in between her fingers as she grips them tighter, watching carefully as the one with dark hair gets up and crosses towards her, eyeing the subway map to her right. Y/N doesn’t make any eye contact with him but she still sees his frame standing there from the corner of her eye. She flinches as he shouts unexpectedly at the rough and shaky ride, swallowing a nervous lump she holds her breath until he sits back down next to his friend, except he doesn’t.

He walks to the door at the end of the train right in front of her and stares through to the next train. Is he looking for someone? Will he pass through? No. He leans against the conductor booth standing two feet away from Y/N, jutting his hips out a bit that are unfortunately at her eye level.

She ignores him, looking towards the rest of the train seeing his friend, now wide-eyed and smirking. Whatever game they’re playing Y/N wants no part of, she just wants to go home.

From the corner of Y/N’s eyes she sees the man in front of her moving his arm. Cautiously she looks, regretting what she sees. He’s rubbing himself through his jeans, eyeing her like she’s a piece of meat.

Y/N looks back to the bald man, his legs are spread even wider, with his hands down his pants. He blows a sickening kiss her way as he twists his wrist up showing the very tip of his erection at the top of his pants.

The man in front of her moans as his own hands travel inside his pants as he starts to rub himself harder.

Panic floods Y/N’s veins, rushing through like a coursing river, drowning her in fear. She’s alone. She’s alone with two men, no– two monsters, who could easily overpower her. She’s alone on this train. The conductor booths are empty, the sleeping man is still asleep and even if she called out to him would he care? Would he help or would he join this group of demons and think with his primitive, carnal brain?

It was humiliating to sit there, knowing what they were doing as she did nothing. The keys between her fingers turned to jelly. She couldn’t fight them, she couldn’t stand up for herself and she hates it. Y/N hates every minute she sits there in silence, wishing she had the help of strangers crowding around her to support the verbal lashing she would give them. Y/N hates that she has to rely on safety in numbers, that she can’t even speak up to stop this.

The train slows down as it approaches the next stop and Y/N decides she’s getting off before they do. She calms her nerves, shifting slightly in the seat so she can briskly leave the train, hoping above all that there are other people on the platform.

An automated voice informs arrival at the station and as soon as the doors open Y/N gets up without looking back.

The platform is empty, not that she expected a crowd but even one person would make her feel more at ease. She heads towards the nearest set of stairs, walking faster as she now hears voices behind her.

Y/N knows it’s them. She feels it in her gut, the sickening feeling, her stomach twisting into uneasy knots at the threat behind her. She doesn’t dare look, she can’t slow herself down in any way.

“Where’re ya going sweetheart? We just wanna talk.”

Y/N moves faster up the second set of stairs. She’ll be safe as long as she stays ahead of them. If she gets to the street she can pop into a deli or a bar, anywhere where there are people, where she’ll be safe.

“Get back here bitch!”

They stampede behind her like wild animals, chasing after their prey. Y/N’s panting, rushing up the remainder of steps, her eyes filling with hope as she sees the metal turnstiles to exit. She’s nearly there but hope is pulled away. They’ve caught up to her, one of them grabbing her leg.

Y/N collapses against the stairs, her arm stinging at the pain of how she landed but she doesn't care. Her keys clang as they drop from her hands.

They’ve got her, pulling her up by the loops of her jeans and back towards them, arms wrapping tightly around her waist. Her skin crawls as she feels the press of his hardness against her but she doesn’t stop fighting.

Her arms try to break the hold, her legs kick wildly as she’s dragged back towards the landing trying to break free. Her cheek collides with the cold tile as they slam her against the wall, holding her arms back so she couldn’t move.

They’re laughing. Y/N doesn’t need to see them to know there’s a smile spread across their faces. They’re enjoying this, enjoying her pain as she bites back a sob.

Tears burn their way to her eyes as she hears a zipper being pulled down, buzzing like a bee in her ear. She braces herself for the sting.

A cry of agony echoes in the stairwell but it’s not hers. The bald man was charged at; a stranger came towards him like a bull, fierce and focused as he speared him down. The other man behind Y/N let go of her arms, quickly pulling his pants up so he could fight.

She moves away with her back pressed against the wall watching the scene unfold like an action movie come to life.

Long, dark hair blankets the face of the man who came to her rescue, who shoves her assailant face first into the wall. Tiles shatter as he crumples to the ground unconscious.

The bald man groaned as he got up, pulling a small knife from his pants but the stranger dodges the poor attempt at an attack. Quickly he disarms the man, retrieves the knife for himself with an expert flick of his wrist, flipping the blade midair to catch it again by the hilt.

He forces the man to the wall with his left forearm, cutting off oxygen as he leans in with extra pressure.

“Think you're so tough, huh? You don't look so tough now," the long haired man snarled, threatening the man’s eye with the blade.

He gasps for breath, begging for his life through fear laden eyes that reveal a deeper truth, he’s a coward. The long haired man knocks him out with a nose shattering punch.

The stranger takes a breath, calming his nerves that were electrified the moment he realized the girl was in trouble. She’s still behind him, he can hear the fast rhythm of her heart, the shakiness of her breathing.

He turns slowly to face her, his heart breaking at the small abrasion on her cheek. He saved her but he wasn’t fast enough, they had still hurt her.

“Are you alright?” he asked softly, keeping his distance because there was no way he was going to force himself into her personal space after what happened.

Y/N was frozen against the wall, wary of the man in front of her. She should be thankful he stopped her attackers but the way he did it… he was dangerous and she’s not sure if she should trust a dangerous man.

She stares him down, her eyes following the curve of obvious muscle even through the thick sweatshirt down to his hands, one tainted red, dripping blood that is not his own, the other a dark metal.

Her brows furrow as her eyes travel upwards to his face confirming his identity. Ocean blue eyes that hold more than a lifetime of memories, good and bad, a soft smile, just a hint pulling at his bright pink lips that stand out against dark stubble.

Y/N’s eyes widen in further recognition. The man who saved her, Bucky Barnes, an actual Avenger was the sleeping man from the train.

“You…” she said, unable to articulate herself further, not when she thought about everything; what almost happened, what did happen. “You were on the train.”

Y/N glances at her superhero savior. She had seen firsthand a small glimpse of his strength and yet he stands before her looking anything but. His shoulders are slumped down, his head hangs low as sadness swims around the deep blue pools of his eyes.

Bucky was her hero but he definitely didn’t feel super.

He was on the train and he could have stopped this sooner if he hadn’t fallen asleep. Bucky’s train rides gave him enough comfort to rest when he was home but never before has he let his guard down like this and fallen asleep in a public place.

The guilt eats away at him and he lets it, offering every part of his aching soul willingly. If he was awake this wouldn’t have happened. He would have tackled these guys to the ground a lot sooner. She would have been safe.

“I’m sorry,” he apologized, staring at her shamefully. “It shouldn’t have come to this.”

“Don’t.” Y/N takes a step closer to him, “You’re not responsible for what they did.” She glances briefly behind him, checking that the men were still knocked out. “Thank you Mr. Barnes.”

Bucky smiled softly, “It’s Bucky, and you’re welcome...” he quirked his head, wordlessly asking for her name. “You’re safe now Y/N,” he promised.

Pulling his phone out Bucky places a call, following protocol in the event an Avenger was involved in a civilian altercation. He panics when he turns around not seeing Y/N anywhere until she reappears, taking slow, measured steps down the stairs, still wary of the men on the ground.

“My keys,” she said, holding them up to him; a simple explanation as she had gone to retrieve them but the thought of her disappearing still worried him. Sure there were statements to give but Bucky cared more about her state of mind, knowing this type of situation can have a long lasting impact.

Bucky explained SHIELD would be coming to process the scene, assuring her things would be handled more efficiently than the NYPD.

“You’ll just need to give your statement once and everything will be handled. Pressing charges and all of that… it’s a lot easier ‘cause I got involved.”

The words leave a bitter taste on Bucky’s tongue; the fact that Y/N would get justice easily only because of his involvement. She won’t have to worry about being questioned as to why this happened, as if anything she did or the clothes she wore would ever be justification for this to happen. It’s not, not to her or anyone.

SHIELD arrives quickly after, beginning to take photographs before they handcuff the men. Bucky doesn’t leave Y/N’s side as she details the full encounter, his stomach twisting at what those sick fucks did all while he was asleep. He bites his tongue, swallowing his anger. This isn’t about him.

Incredibly things have cleaned up quickly, the only evidence of anything happening was the cracked subway tile. An agent approaches Y/N asking if she would like a ride home. She wants to trust them but she can’t bring herself to.

Bucky sees the apprehension in her eyes. “If it’s alright with Y/N,” he began, looking at her so she understood he knew what she was thinking, “I’d like to personally make sure that she gets home safely.”

Y/N nodded as she looked between the Agent and Bucky, her lips pulling in the faintest smile as she stared at the man she felt safest with.

They were alone again, standing in the silence of the stairwell. Y/N doesn’t know what to say. Bucky’s supposed to be taking her home but the thought of being alone terrifies her. Sure she has roommates and everyone is friendly with each other but they aren’t really friends. They’re not the type you wake up in the middle of the night to tell about your assault on the train and rescue by an Avenger.

Actually they might think the last part is pretty cool but Y/N would much rather be saved by an Avenger for something mundane. The Falcon could save her from a wild cyclist or maybe Iron Man could scan her yogurt and prevent her from eating it past the expiration date, or Bucky… Well, she can’t lie to herself, it’s definitely nice being around him, even if the circumstances were awful.

“I don’t want to go home,” she finally blurted out, her words echoing throughout the empty stairwell.

Bucky understands. He’s had seventy years of suffering he’s still dealing with, the reason for even being out in the middle of the night. He hates knowing sleep will escape her too, that she will beg her brain to turn off but instead it will force her to relieve the trauma.

“Do you trust me?” he asked, happy to see her nodding without hesitation.

They ascend to the street, feeling the cool wind refreshing their skin. The sky is just beginning to lighten, with the darkest, deepest blues retreating, breaking away to give the smallest hint of an orange glow in the distance.

Together they walk silently, with Y/N leaning close to Bucky, bumping into him every now and then but he doesn’t mind; she needs to feel him beside her and he kind of likes it.

“Where were you coming from?” he asked, breaking the silence.

She explained her schedule of school and work, and Bucky wonders if he’s ever been in her bar during one of his midnight strolls. He doubts it, he would have remembered her. He thinks to himself that taking the trains in the middle of the night isn’t safe. No shit Barnes, look at what happened. Instead he asks if she considered taking a taxi home.

“I wish!” she laughed. “They’re too expensive, even Uber. I’m struggling enough as it is.”

Money is a luxury Bucky hasn’t had to think about. Sure when he was younger he started working to help his folks, taking a newspaper route with Steve, working twice as hard that winter when his friend was stuck in the house with pneumonia. Now he doesn’t worry about anything. He has a home, two homes technically, not that he’s been to the compound in a while. Food is always stocked in the fridge and he’s never worried about it running out. Money is just available to him if he needs to buy clothes or the childhood candies he likes to occasionally treat himself to.

Bucky apologizes but Y/N ensures him there’s nothing to apologize for. He may live a luxurious life now but she would not trade her path for his.

A small bodega is the only store open for blocks so they stop in, greeted by a grey and white cat sleeping across the newspaper rack. Colorful packages of candy and chips surround the register, the junk food seems very tempting but before she can pick something out Bucky confirms if it’s alright to place an order for coffee and sandwiches. He pays but can’t leave until the man behind the counter takes a picture with him, excited to have a real “Vengador” visit his store.

They walk two more quick blocks until they reach Battery Park, strolling through the paths until they find the perfect bench to sit on. The coffee is still nice and hot, and the bacon, egg and cheese sandwiches are possibly the greatest thing they’ve ever eaten. A much better choice than the junk she would have chosen.

Napkins sop up the gooey cheesy from the corner of her mouth as Y/N makes conversation. “What were you doing on the train anyway?”

Bucky swallows a mouthful. “Helps me sleep,” he answered, looking at her with big, innocent eyes.

“Like a baby? In a car?”

Bucky nods, “Yeah, somethin’ like that.” He felt embarrassed until he saw a genuine smile pulling at Y/N’s lips as she brought the coffee to her lips.

“When do you finish school?” he asked, wanting to know more about her.

“I’m in my last year, then it’s study for the Bar, hope I pass and then I won’t need to risk my life every night on the subway. I’ll just go back to the daytime groping.”

Bucky stops himself from taking a bite, putting his sandwich back down on the paper in his lap. He shifts himself to turn towards Y/N, “You shouldn’t have to deal with that. I’m sorry.”

“Thanks. Not everyone is as kind as you, then again you’re from a different time.”

Bucky shakes his head. “The time has nothing to do with it, pigs will be pigs. During the war my sister Rebecca went to work. She wrote to me saying how she had to quit because her boss was putting his hands on her. That’s what they taught her back then. Well I’ll tell you, Becca didn’t quit without sockin’ him right in the eye!”

Y/N likes the way Bucky’s face lights up like the sun while reminiscing about his sister. Bucky likes the way she laughs at his story, how a smile suits her face so much more than the anguish he first saw on her.

“It’ll be okay. You’ll be okay after this.” His eyes are determined in that truth and Y/N smiles, wanting to believe him.

They finish their food and sip coffee as people pass them by to jog along the water. Despite the caffeine Y/N covers her mouth as she yawns but Bucky is wide awake, thanks to the coffee and the early morning ass kicking. He supposes she’ll need to go home soon but the thought that she’ll have to repeat this subway routine again tonight makes him uneasy.

“I wouldn’t mind making sure you get home safe every night,” he said, breaking the soft silence between them. “Since I’m up anyway.”

Her lips pull to a short lived smile. “I can’t ask you to do that.”

“You’re not asking, I’m offering. As long as I’m here, not on a mission or something, I really don’t mind.” Bucky smiled sincerely, and Y/N saw nothing but truth in his sweet blue eyes. “We could take the train… together?” he suggested, “or I could drive you home.”

Y/N chewed on her lip as she examined the hopeful look on Bucky’s face, patiently waiting for an answer.

“I don’t know… Should I really trust a sleep deprived old man?”

Bucky’s mouth dropped open at her words as she graced his ears with the sweet sound of her laughter. Still, he shook his head in disbelief.

“That’s… that was cold. You been talking to Falcon behind my back or something?” he joked.

“Fine, I will accept your offer of driving.” Y/N yawns again, leaning her head against Bucky’s shoulder. “I don’t think I’ll be taking public transportation at night for a while.”

He’s happy, not that she is avoiding the subway because it shouldn’t have to come to that but because he knows she’ll be getting home safe each night with him.

“Where do you live anyway?” Bucky questioned. “I should have asked this before offering. Hope I haven’t committed myself to driving to Jersey or something,” he scoffed jokingly.

“Brooklyn.”

Bucky smiles, his heart swells like a balloon and he feels like he needs to grip the bench so he doesn’t float away.

“Brooklyn it is.”

They sit for a while longer, putting the long night behind them as the sun rises on a new day.

A/N: Thank you for reading! Reblogs, comments and likes are always appreciated :)

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#beccas1kwritingchallenge #bucky x reader #bucky barnes x reader #bucky barnes fanfiction #bucky barnes one shot

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mhalachai · 4 years

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Hands of Clay outtake: The one where Steve tells Sharon he’s moving in with Bucky

Ever need to do something fluffy when the world is on fire?

So in the upcoming chapter of Hands of Clay (which i am working on), Bucky asks Steve if he and Clint want to move in with Bucky and Natasha. Steve will say yes (that’s not a spoiler) but I needed to write this scene that Bucky won’t be privy to as point-of-view character…

~~~

Steve stared down at his phone. Of all the phone calls he’d had to make as part of the process of moving in with Bucky, for some reason, he was worried about this one the most.

And it wasn’t even based on any real concern, just…

Steve didn’t know how he was going to tell Sharon that he and Clint were moving into Bucky’s house.

It wasn’t like Sharon would be able to object. Steve had full custody of Clint, and was legally responsible for making all the decisions on behalf of their son. Bucky and Sharon seemed to get along.

And Clint was so happy, at the idea of going to live with his best friend. How could Sharon object to anything that made Clint happy?

And at the end of the day, Steve and Sharon had never really been in love with each other. They’d had a kid and lived together, had been friends, with certain benefits that had continued until Sharon left the city for work, but they’d never been a real couple.

So why was Steve so nervous?

“Boss.” Steve looked up to find Billy poking his head through the door. “Meeting’s been pushed back ten minutes, Noh-Varr’s dealing with the printer.”

“Okay.” Steve waited until Billy withdrew, before tapping on his phone screen. He had committed to the call with Sharon, now. No backing out.

She answered on the fourth ring. “Steve?” she said in greeting, her voice a bit sharp. “Is Clint okay?”

“Of course!” Steve exclaimed, wanting to kick himself. He should have texted Sharon first, to ask if she could talk. That had always been one of her things, that she might be busy with a real estate client and might not be able to talk whenever Steve called her. “Clint’s fine. He’s at school.”

“Okay.” The tension slid out of Sharon’s voice. “Sorry. Just… you never call me.”

“I know.” Steve took a deep breath, and plunged ahead. “You remember Bucky.”

A moment of dead silence. Then, “Yes, Steve. I remember James Barnes, your boyfriend.”

That was one of the other things Steve remembered about Sharon. They had such different communications styles, sometimes he wasn’t sure if she was mad or just amused. He decided to stop trying to figure her out. He was probably six years too late, anyway. “You know his daughter was sick—”

“Is she okay?” Sharon jumped in. “Clint said on the weekend that she was all better.”

“She’s on the mend,” Steve said, hedging a bit. Natasha was a ways away from a full recovery, but every day was a better day. “But you know, sometimes something happens and you have a chance to take stock of your life, and the people you love, and what you want out of life.”

Another moment of silence, then Sharon breathed, “Oh my god, did you two elope?

“What?” Steve squeaked. “No!”

“Oh,” Sharon said in what sounded like disappointment. Steve did not understand that woman. “Okay, then what?”

“Bucky asked me to move in with him, and I said yes.” Steve’s heart was pounding. He wanted Sharon to be okay with this. He needed Sharon to be okay with this. “We’re not going to wait too long, his place is closer to Clint’s school and we’re over there half nights anyway—”

“Hang on,” Sharon interrupted with urgency. Steve’s heart sank. She sounded mad again. “Steve Grant Rogers, have you gone and given notice on the apartment?”

Steve was getting whiplash from this conversation. “What?”

“Have you given notice on the apartment yet?” Sharon repeated. “Please tell me you didn’t do that.”

“Why not?”

“Because my name is on that agreement!” Sharon exclaimed. “Do you know how much money I’m paying for a studio in Manhattan?”

“Uh?”

“Three times what you’re paying for that one-bedroom!”

“So you don’t care that I’m moving in with Bucky?” Steve asked before his brain engaged.

“You’re already practically living with Bucky,” Sharon said. “Him and Natasha, that’s all Clint ever talks about when he’s over. If you’re happy, and Clint’s happy, then I’m happy. As long as you haven’t given notice on the apartment.” This last was said with ice in her voice.

“I haven’t given notice, Sharon, geeze.”

“Thank fucking god.”

“But you work in Manhattan, why would you want to spend that long on the train?”

“Three times the rent!” Sharon said again. “Okay. I’ll take over the apartment on the day you move out. When is that?”

“I was thinking the first of November.”

“That’s over a month away.”

“Yeah, well, I thought I was going to have to give a month’s notice.”

“You can leave some of the furniture if you want,” Sharon mused. “We’ll figure out how much of Clint’s stuff stays and how much goes over to the new place so he’s comfortable. Oh, and I can finally get rid of that horrible sofa.”

“What about the mattress?” Steve said, a little sarcastically. Sharon was taking to this idea with more enthusiasm than he thought necessary.

“Ew, no, I’m not sleeping on my ex’s mattress.”

Steve buried his head in his hands. “Sharon.”

“You want to come over and sleep on my bed?” There was the sound of typing in the background. “I’m travelling in October, but I’ll send you an itinerary of when we can exchange keys and move your stuff out.”

“Technically it’s still my apartment,” Steve complained.

“Technically, it’s our apartment. We both signed the lease.” The typing stopped. “Does Clint know you’re moving?”

“We talked about it yesterday,” Steve said. “He’s happy but a little nervous.”

“Then it’s good for him that he can always come over to visit his mother and sleep in his old bedroom,” Sharon said. “This is fantastic.”

Steve was pretty sure her mind wasn’t primarily on her son’s well-being, but having also lived the ups and considerable downs of the New York rental market, he couldn’t really blame her. “Good, glad you’re okay with this.”

“Fantastic,” Sharon said again. “Okay, tell Clint that everything is all going to be okay. I have a meeting I have to get to.”

“Bye, Sharon,” Steve said with resignation, and sat back in his chair as his ex hung up on him.

Billy hovered in the doorway. “So, meeting? The printer’s fixed.”

“Right.” Steve stood up. “Billy, do you understand women?”

Steve’s junior event manager gave his boss a disappointed glare. “You mean the fully autonomous human beings that inhabit the world around us?”

“Fine.” Steve picked up his laptop. “Do you understand your exes?”

“Oh.” Billy’s face cleared. “Not really.”

“Same.” Steve opened his phone to his texts. “Go, I’ll be there in a minute.”

As Billy cleared off, Steve texted Bucky with, Sharon is over the moon about us moving in together.

The immediate response of ?????? was a balm to Steve’s ego.

She’s moving back into the apartment to pay a third the rent of her place in manhatten.

new yrk rents suck

I know but it’s weird

did u want her to be mad

No, of course not.

good bc your a better man than tht

shut up, jerk

punk

love you

[middle finger emoji] [heart emoji]

With a smile and a lightened heart, Steve went off to his meeting.

Everything was going to be okay.

#hands of clay #outtakes #when the world is horrible #i write fanfic about rental prices #my writing #i'll put this up on ao3 at some point

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limitdrake0 · 2 years

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degreeacademic · 4 years

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What’s So Trendy About Sarah Lawrence That Everyone Went Crazy Over It? | sarah lawrence

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avnyc · 4 years

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ursafilms · 5 years

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The Google Earth Murders - Chapters 2 & 3

One Week Earlier - Chapter 2 – The Divorce?

Patricia Davenport sobbed as she slammed the door shut and turned back to her two sons, Tyler and Max. Her husband Roger Davenport stood outside the now locked door of his condo at 131 Riverside Drive. He closed fingers around a key in his right hand, and held a large rolling suitcase in his left.

His jaw dropped from clenched teeth, and Roger raised the hand with the keys in it to knock, but he lost his nerve when he heard the voices of his sons, thick with crying, yelling something at their mother. He didn’t understand what they were saying, but it no longer mattered. He wheeled the suitcase down the hall, and pressed the button for the elevator.

On his way out of the building at 131 Riverside, his home for the past 12 years, he said goodbye to Albert, the gaunt and expressionless doorman.

“Good night, Mister Davenport,” said Alfred, not understanding the gesture of Roger’s ‘good-bye.’

“Good-bye, Albert,” said Roger again, accentuating the ‘good-bye.’ “Have a nice weekend.”

“It’s only Sunday night, Mister Davenport,” said Albert. “We’ll be seeing each other during the week . . . before Friday.”

“Doubtful,” said Roger.

Roger walked to the corner of 86thand Broadway; took the 1 Train downtown to Pennsylvania Station; waited for the stationmaster’s call of the NJ Transit line for Roselle Park; and boarded for the 30-minute ride to the suburb of Newark.

On the train, Roger called his longtime friend, and boss at the advertising agency, The Tip of the Spear, Gary Kaplan. He told Gary the day that mightarrive had indeed arrived. Roger would need the apartment in Colfax Manor, one of the company’s corporate housing properties, in North Jersey in the likely event that Patricia asked him to leave, which she had.

“Do you want me to pick you up at the station?” Asked Gary.

“No thanks. I remember the way to the apartment,” replied Roger.

“Okay, call me back if you have any issues getting inside,” continued Gary. “And you can use either bedroom.”

“Thanks, Gary. I’ll see you in the office tomorrow.”

The conversation paused. Gary cleared his throat.

“You don’t have to come in to work, you know,” said Gary. “I think we can handle the subjective demands of our clients for a day without you. And it’s the week before the Memorial Day Holiday. Won’t be that busy anyhow.”

“Hang on, Gary.”

Roger reached into the side pocket of the rolling suitcase, and pulled out a small bottle of eye-drops. He placed a drop in each eye, both of which were red. He noticed a little girl in the seat across from him. She was staring at Roger, and tugging at her amber curls.

“Allergies,” he explained to her. It satisfied her curiosity, and she returned to staring at her mother, another redhead, her gaze transfixed on the Review section of the Wall Street Journal.

“What allergies?” Said Gary.

“Sorry,” said Roger. “But that comment wasn’t meant for you, and if I don’t come into work tomorrow, I’ll spend the day staring out the window of the apartment and looking at that empty ballfield across the way, and you wouldn’t want that on your mind, would you?”

“Not a chance.” Gary replied. “Come on in, but do NOT mope around the office all day, or I will send you back to New Jersey. Deal?”

“Deal. I’ll see you in the morning.”

Roger hung up his cell phone, and closed his eyes for a moment. He jerked awake when the train hit a rough patch of track. He looked out the window and saw the sign for Westfield. He had fallen asleep and the transit line had now passed four stops beyond Roselle Park.

Just one of those days.

Roger grabbed his suitcase and ran out of the train, just before it pulled out. He need not have rushed. The next northbound one would not arrive for at least an hour, if it arrived on time.

He pulled back his arm to hurl his suitcase across the platform floor, but stopped. He set the luggage down next to a bench in need of a facelift. He dropped onto its uncomfortable surface and waited.

And, of course, the train pulled in 35 minutes behind schedule.

By the time Roger got to the Roselle Park station, the digital clock on his cell phone said 12:03am. The apartment building, fortunately just a ten-minute walk from the train station and through a public baseball field and park, sat on a street named Colfax Manor.

“Manor? That’s rich. Actually, it’s not rich. It’s anything but,” he said as he walked through the park.

Roger, surprised to find the duplex-style apartments of the post-World War II era had been replaced by pine-colored stucco two-story buildings. Their facades greeted him after he breached the baseball field and crossed the street. There were even side alleys between all the units. No shared walls.

He rolled the suitcase up the walkway. Small patches of green were on either side of it, and a healthy looking oak tree grew in what passed for a front yard. He stopped at the front door and found the key to it on his key ring.

“Things could be worse . . . and they will be.”

As a reminder to just that, as he stuck the key in the lock, a fob that also remained on the key ring that read ‘131 Riverside’ flashed in front of his eyes.

He shoved open the door and walked up the steps to the second floor. Roger decided to take the bedroom upstairs. His New York City apartment laid out, as most did, on one single floor. If he had to climb steps upon his arrival at the end of the workday, that is all the better, so as to not remind him of what he had left behind.

He trudged up the steps; found the bedroom; and collapsed on top of the mattress. He fell asleep seconds later.

***

Roger did go into work the next day, Monday. He took the New Jersey Transit Line in and out of Manhattan, and then walked to and from Penn Station to his office and 16th

Street and 9thAvenue. Spring weather had become very pleasant, and the hot summer, while not far off, still remained almost a month away.

That Monday afternoon, just prior to the Memorial Day Holiday, he walked to Gary Kaplan’s office and observed the interior, his boss’ Spartan desk dominated. As per usual, only Gary, the world’s tiniest laptop, and a memo pad the side of a credit card in front of him occupied most of the surface’s workspace. Behind him sat a single bookshelf on a white credenza, which had no function other than to support the empty bookshelf.

Gary, his headset looped over one ear, conversed with someone in German. He noticed Roger leaning up against the doorjamb, which had no door. Gary motioned him in with a single crook of his finger.

Roger sat on the one three-legged stool that Gary would allow in his office. A way of keeping meetings and visits short.

Gary finished his call with a single, ‘Tschus.’

“How goes it, world’s greatest creative director?” Gary asked Roger.

Roger shifted his weight forward, though it had nothing to do with taking a more aggressive posture with his boss. He needed to make sure his legs didn’t fall asleep.

“I’m ready to move back to Manhattan,” he said.

Gary placed both index fingers next to each respective eyebrow.

“I didn’t think Patricia was ready to have you back after less than a few days?” He asked.

She isn’t. The only time I’ve spoken to her is when she needs something for Max and/or Tyler, and it usually involves me schlepping back into the city after I’ve already taken the train out to Roselle Park,” he Answered. “And I won’t keep doing that during the course of our separation, so I have to figure out some way to get an apartment in the city.”

“Alright,” said Gary. “How can I help? I don’t have any available corporate housing in the city right now. I will after the summer, but that’s not doing you any good.”

“But you do have a real estate agent you like?”

“I do. He’s mostly commercial and residential purchase, but I could put the arm on him for a rental. I’d have to call in a chit, but I’d do it for you, world’s greatest creative director.”

Gary reached inside his right pants’ pocket and pulled out his cell phone. He started looking through the contacts. Roger let it go for a moment, but couldn’t contain himself.

“For God’s sake, Gary,” he blurted out. “I’m sitting right across from you. How about you give me his phone number and I call the guy?”

“That’s what I’m doing. I’ll text it to you.”

Roger got off the stool and grabbed the Munchkin-sized memo pad; he took the four-inch pen that was magnetically attached to the pad and shoved it at Gary.

“Either write it down on one of these precious pieces of paper on this pad, or tell me what it is and I’ll write it down.” Laughed Roger. “Gary, you are something. Have you ever used this memo pad for an actual memo, or is it just a prop like everything else in this office?”

“Including me?” Asked Gary.

“Don’t give me a straight line, Kaplan. I haven’t had that many laughs in the past month and I would certainly take the opportunity if presented.”

“Okay. Okay. Here it is.”

Gary scratched out the number along with agent’s name and handed it back to Roger, who tucked it into his pants pocket. He left his boss’ office and walked back to his own.

Chapter 3 – Southern Manhattan

Roger procrastinated calling the real estate agent, but he relented when Patricia phoned him at 6pm that Monday night, just after he’d arrived back at the Roselle Park apartment. She insisted that he attend Tyler’s awards ceremony, this evening at 8pm, for the end of the sports year.

The ceremony, something Roger would have been thrilled to attend, happened to also be an event that Patricia could have let him know about prior to Roger commuting back to Roselle Park that evening. He exhaled after hanging up the phone, and headed out the door to catch one of the last trains to the city.

On the way into Manhattan, Roger pulled the note from his pocket and dialed the number.

An annoyed voice answered the phone. Professional, but annoyed.

“Rick Zeifman.”

“Rick? My name is Roger Davenport. I work for Gary Kaplan at Tip Of The Spear Advertising. He said you might be able to help me find a good temporary rental in Manhattan. At least for the summer.”

“Davenport? I-uh. Oh yes, Gary mentioned something about it to me. You’ve had a little trouble on the home front.”

Roger bit his lower lip and felt a headache coming on. His boss, lovely man, could not keep his mouth shut about anything, especially someone’s personal life. He gripped his cell phone tighter, and pressed it closer to his mouth and ear.

“Yes, leave it to Gary to divulge everything. People could save a lot on email and cell phone services, if they would just tell my boss not to say a word about something. It would immediately go out on the wire services, if there were still wire services.”

“Wire services?”

“How old are you, Mister Zeifman?” Asked Roger.

“Does it matter?” Came a swift reply.

“No, I guess not. Would you like to talk at a more business-like time?”

Silence from the other end of the line and Roger contemplated hanging up when the annoyed voice came back.

“I’ve just sent a few options to your email, which Gary gave to me. Take a look and let me know what you think.”

“Now?” Asked Roger.

Again, silence.

“No, of course not,” said Rick. “Take your time. You know how long decent properties at bargain prices stay on the Manhattan rental market. Oops. There they all go.”

A sharp laugh, like a Chihuahua bark shoved Roger’s ear away from the phone.

“Tomorrow morning at the latest, Roger,” said Rick. “I’m holding onto these as a favor to Gary, but I’m not the only agent with access to these and you are going to have to move fast. The larger of the two is at 90 John Street. If size is a factor, and you’ll have to move in this week.”

“John Street? Isn’t that – “

But Rick Zeifman hung up.

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