She wouldn't put a name on it, and he wasn't asking her to, but a woman doesn't kiss a man like that unless there is something more than general curiosity going on.
Bucky accepted her silent declaration greedily.
She pulled back, admiring him like he was a gift, then pulled him back in.
This kiss held affection for sure, but it was overwhelmed quickly with mutual desire.
Fuck waiting, he thought.
READ CHAPTER TWENTY-THREE ON AO3 | CHAPTER SUMMARIES | AO3 CHAPTER INDEX
Pairings: Bucky Barnes x Original Female Character
Description:
Being part mermaid was complicated enough. But being part siren, the blood-drinking, full-moon, men-luring kind, was the sort of secret that got people running. Which was exactly why Bucky Barnes needed to stop asking questions. Unfortunately for Mara… Bucky Barnes had never been particularly good at minding his own business.
And even worse, he didn’t seem interested in running.
Rating: Explicit (In later chapters)
A few nights later, I was holed up at Emma’s house with the girls, every curtain pulled shut and every possible the way the moonlight could shine in blocked.
Tonight was a full moon.
For most people, that meant nothing more than a pretty sky and brighter tides.
For us… it meant staying hidden. Staying indoors. Staying in control.
Because if the moon got to us, especially me, things could get dangerous. Fast.
Rikki huffed as she planted herself on the couch. There were snacks and drinks on the table. None were alcoholic, much to my disappointment. Cleo was sitting on the armchair next to mine, whilst Emma paced.
"What's the point? We never actually manage to steer clear of the moon." Rikki mutters.
"We need to make sure we don't need it, you know why." Emma adds, her eyes flickering to me for a split second.
"Because of me." I finish for her. I was the most dangerous out of the four of us.
Emma stopped pacing, her blue eyes locking onto mine with a mix of sympathy and unease. "Mara... that's not your fault. None of us chose this."
Rikki scoffed, crossing her arms. "Yeah, well, her version of moon madness is a little more... permanent than ours." She shot me a look, not unkind, but blunt as always.
Cleo cut her off with a sharp elbow to the ribs. "Rikki."
"Ow! What?" Rikki hissed, rubbing her side. "I'm not wrong."
"That's the problem," I whisper. "You're not wrong."
Silence settled over the room, even Rikki didn't have a comeback for that. I dropped my gaze to my hands, fingers twisting together in my lap hard enough to hurt.
“You guys lose control for a few hours,” I said quietly. “You sing. You dance. You act a little insane,” I swallowed hard. "I lose control, people get hurt."
Before I realised what was happening, Cleo was beside me, her hand wrapping around mine. “That happened once,” she says gently. “Before you knew what was happening. Before you had us.”
Emma moved, she stopped pacing and knelt in front of me. "What when was the last time you lost control?"
I frowned. "...Years ago."
"Exactly."
I looked between them, my chest suddenly feeling too tight. “That doesn’t mean it can’t happen again.” The words came out quieter than I intended.
I looked over at Rikki for a long moment, waiting for the usual smirk, the teasing comment, the sarcastic jab that normally followed anything remotely heartfelt.
It never came.
My throat tightened.
I looked down at Cleo’s hand still wrapped around mine, at Emma kneeling in front of me, at Rikki sitting there like she’d fight the moon itself if it came down to it.
And just like that… something inside me cracked.
Not in the terrifying, full-moon, siren-losing-control kind of way.
Something quieter.
Something human.
I laughed once, soft, shaky, completely unplanned, as I quickly blinked away the sting behind my eyes.
“You guys are unbelievably dramatic,” I mutter.
Cleo laughs first. “Says the girl who just gave us an emotional breakdown in Emma’s living room.”
“Excuse me,” I say, finally managing a real smile. “I prefer the term character development.”
Emma rolls her eyes. “Please never say that again.”
Rikki smirks. “Too late. I kind of loved it.”
Emma stood back up, folding her arms as she looked around the room.
"Curtains?"
"Closed," Cleo answered first.
"Windows?"
"Locked," Rikki replies.
Emma’s eyes landed on me.
“…Mara?”
I blinked. “What am I responsible for?”
Emma frowned. “Not accidentally eating anybody.”
I stared at her.
Cleo choked on her drink.
Rikki burst out laughing.
“Wow,” I deadpanned. “I share one deeply traumatic secret and suddenly I’m the risky one.”
Outside, I could hear the wind picking up, rattling softly against the windows. Somewhere beyond the drawn curtains, moonlight was climbing higher.
And despite the laughter filling the room, I could already feel the moon. Calling me.
The rest of the evening passed surprisingly...normal. We ate far too many snacks, argued over what movie to watch for at least twenty minutes. Cleo somehow ended up curled between me and Emma on the couch, with a bowl of popcorn in her lap.
I was half enjoying myself as I watched the movie, I was enjoying the simple, unfamiliar feeling of peace as I sat with my best friends.
It should of felt strange.
A full moon. Four mermaids. And absolutely no chaos. Still, every now and then I caught myself glancing towards the curtains. But there was no moonlight shining through.
I still felt the pull. Deep in my chest. But I ignored it easily enough. But I couldn't help every so often, I’d catch myself glancing toward the covered windows, half expecting something.
A sound.
A feeling.
Anything.
But the house stayed quiet.
Safe.
Normal.
And as the hours slipped by, surrounded by laughter, terrible films, and people who refused to let me face anything alone… I found myself relaxing for the first time all night.
Maybe the moon had decided to leave us alone.
Or maybe… it was simply waiting. Though I felt silly as soon as I had thought the words. The moon couldn't think, nor was it our enemy. It just made us go a little silly sometimes.
I looked away, shaking off the thought.
The girls were completely absorbed in the film, eyes fixed on the screen, laughter bubbling up at something I’d missed.
I forced a small smile and turned back to it, letting myself sink into the normality of it all. Hoping the evening would stay exactly as it was.
Bucharest | Marvel Series Rewrite | Chapter 4: Soldier Boy
I'll be true to you
Pairing: Bucky Barnes x Fem!Reader
Warnings: HEED THESE WARNINGS EVERY CHAPTER. BUCHAREST IS VERY EMOTIONALLY HEAVY. self-doubt, self-deprecation, mentions of brainwashing, mentions of abuse (physical and emotional), chronic pain, CPTSD descriptions, implied traumatic brain injury (TBI), mentions of expressive aphasia, mentions of chronic pain, mentions of nerve damage, mentions of amnesia
Word Count: 2299
Mobile Marvel Series Rewrite Masterlist
Bucharest Masterlist
Bucharest: The Playlist
“Hey, Doc?” Bucky poked his head into your room.
“Hmm?” you replied, checking the clock on your bedside table.
“I’m a little early, I know,” he said, scratching the back of his neck.
You shook your head. “No, no, I’m sorry. I wasn’t tryin’ to say it’s a bad thing you’re early. I just wanted to make sure I didn’t miss our time.” You brushed past him to go to the living room. “It’s actually amazing that you’re reaching out.”
“ ‘S not that big a deal,” he muttered.
You rolled your eyes playfully, sitting on the couch in a huff. “Hey, Sarge.”
“Hey, Doc.”
“How are you feeling?”
“I’m alright. Yourself?”
“I’m good, thank you for asking,” you replied. “What’s on your mind?”
“I just feel like I’m a complete mess today,” he admitted. “I can’t focus. I’ll have something I wanna write down, and then, I completely forget. Almost immediately.”
“Does it kinda feel like you wanna jump out of your skin?” you asked gently.
He nodded.
“It’s part of your PTSD, Buck.”
His shoulders deflated a little. “Oh.”
You shifted your posture to attempt to meet his eyes. He was trying so hard to hide them from you. “Does that make you feel better or worse?”
“I don’t know,” he said, sighing.
You pursed your lips, drawing them toward one cheek as you thought. “Have you felt like this since the crash?”
“No. This is the first time I feel like I have any energy at all,” he answered.
“But you just can’t focus it.”
“Right.”
You huffed out a quick breath, still thinking. “I’m gonna try something, and I just need you to stay with me, okay?”
“O-kay…” His head followed you as you walked behind him to go to the bathroom. When you emerged, you were holding his hair brush.
His back was still to the armrest of the couch, and you stood behind him with the brush in your hands. “Is it okay if I touch you?”
He nodded, taking in a nervous breath.
“I just want you to do your best to stay focused on what I’m doing. Focus on the sensation. Focus on your breath. Let your shoulders relax,” you said, voice smooth as honey.
You started brushing his hair gently, brushing starting at the bottom before slowly starting to move up to the root.
Bucky’s eyes closed almost instantly, and he was putty in your hands. As you brushed around his head, you noticed his shoulders lose some of their tension and his breathing get slower and deeper.
“Does that feel okay?” you asked.
“Feels amazing,” he responded, voice hardly above a whisper.
“I wanna talk to you about something that I know may be difficult for you,” you said, continuing to brush his hair. “Just tell me if it’s too much.”
He waited for you to continue, eyes still shut in bliss.
“What did it feel like when you first became Bucky Barnes again? Do you remember?” you asked softly.
Eyes still closed, he said, “Yeah, I do. It… it’s hard to say.”
You tried to be as gentle as possible when you found the occasional knot in his hair. “Just do the best you can. That’s all I ever ask of you.”
He nodded a little, trying not to pull his head away from the brush or your fingers. “Like coming out of a fog. Like a switch got flipped in my head. But it…” he trailed off, sighing. “I don’t know how to describe it.”
“ ‘S alright. You don’t have to tell me. I’m doin’ this for your benefit; not mine.” Although there was a slight joke in your tone, you were completely sincere.
He took a deep breath, trying to keep his focus on the present moment. “I remember what he said. The man on the helicarrier. He said, ‘I’m with you till the end of the line.’ And it… meant something to me. I still don’t remember why. But it felt like I was in control of my body again, but still like I never lost it.”
You kept your eyes on his face, the blissful expression beginning to contort. “Stay with me, Barnes. I’m right here.”
Bucky took a deep breath again, trying to slow his heart rate. “I just felt like I remembered him, and I couldn’t remember why I was trying to hurt him. Why I wanted to hurt him. Nothing made sense. But when he fell, I wanted to help him. When you fell, that urge was even stronger.”
“You pulled both of us out of the water?” you asked.
“Uh-huh,” he responded. “I wanted to.”
The gears in your mind continued to whir while he spoke, and you did your best to understand. “Do you remember what you felt about yourself in those moments? Not me or the man, you.”
He was quiet for a moment before his voice returned, still sounding a little floaty. “Like I’d made a huge mistake. Like I was worthless.”
“What words come to mind when you think of your own name?” For once, you didn't want to hear the answer to your question.
“Stupid,” he said first, his answer almost immediate. His slowly relaxing nervous system allowed him to show a few of his cards. “Weak.”
You nodded. “Are there things that make you feel good? Like you’re a good person?”
Bucky went quiet.
“You don’t have to tell me, I won’t push,” you reminded him after a few minutes of silence.
“I know. I just don’t know that there is anything.”
****
The next morning, you noticed the flowers had been swapped out in the vase you kept on the coffee table. Your legs instantly turned to cement as you stared down at them.
“Bucky?” you called out.
“Hmm?” He stuck his head out of his room, having apparently just pulled on a shirt.
“Thank you. For the flowers,” you said, almost unsure of how to mentally file the gesture.
“Yeah, of course. Are you… okay?” he asked.
You recovered immediately, holding your head upright and relaxing your shoulders. “Sorry,” you laughed at yourself, “no one’s ever gotten me flowers before.”
He almost seemed offended. “No one?”
You shook your head matter-of-factly.
“How has no one gotten you flowers before?” He seemed a little fixated on that.
You laughed again. “That’s not the takeaway here, Sarge, I was just thanking you.”
“You don’t have to,” he replied. “I got ‘em to say sorry.”
You cocked your head to the side. “For what?”
“For not trusting you.”
A crease formed between your eyebrows as they cinched upward. “You don’t have to apologize for that. I wouldn’t’ve trusted me, either.”
He shrugged, unable to meet your eyes. “Still.” Bucky absentmindedly adjusted the vase of daffodils.
“Let yourself off the hook, Barnes. I forgive you.”
****
“Doc.”
His voice sounded distant even though he was simply in the room across the hall from yours.
“Doc,” he repeated, his voice still devoid of emotion.
You leapt up from bed and hurried to his side. “Hey,” you stayed near the doorframe so as to not spook him. “What’s goin’ on?”
He seemed more frustrated with every passing second, pacing around his room.
“Slow your brain down,” you urged him, immediately understanding what was happening. “We’ve got time.”
Although the wrinkle between his brow disappeared slightly, he still looked angry at himself. “Can’t… talk.”
You tried to keep your expression as neutral as possible. “I know that’s frustrating.”
His steps faltered slightly, and he nodded curtly. “Words… find—”
“You can’t find the words?” you restated to him.
Bucky nodded again.
“Okay,” you said gently. “You don’t have to talk today. Just go back to how we used to communicate. You’d tell me ‘yes’ or ‘no’ or grab my wrist or point at things.”
Crossing his arms over his chest, he stared at the floor. “Yes.”
You smiled. “Good. You’re alright, Barnes. Don’t push yourself today.” After tapping the doorframe once, you walked to the kitchen to start making coffee.
****
When you walked out into the living room a few days later, you noticed the dying daffodils had been swapped for hyacinths.
Bucky followed behind you over to the coffee machine and leaned against the counter.
“Flower language?” you asked while pouring you both a cup.
His face dropped.
You laughed. “It’s okay. I thought it was sweet.” You poured your creamer in the cup next.
He wordlessly put the creamer back in the fridge, hesitating before asking his next question. “What was goin’ on with me a few days ago? When I couldn’t talk.”
You turned to him and leaned back against the counter with your mug between your hands. “It’s called ‘expressive aphasia.’ It happened when you first met me after the Insight crash.”
“What does that mean?”
“Just that you’ll have days where you have thoughts you feel like you can’t voice. You might not be able to form complete sentences,” you explained.
He tilted his face toward the floor, jaw tensing.
“Don’t go there,” you ordered, pointing a finger at him.
Bucky looked caught, and you let out a soft laugh.
“I’m not pokin’ fun, I swear.” Between sentences, you took a sip of your coffee. “I just know you. I know where your brain goes.”
He still couldn’t meet your eyes. “It’s the nerve damage, isn’t it.” It was more of a statement than a question.
“Somewhat,” you replied softly. "It's from the continual shocking for memory wipes. The amount of electricity they shot through you... it effectively replicated several mini strokes every time they did. The serum allowed your body to grow scar tissue over the pathways, but scar tissue isn't as effective as the original mechanism."
A few moments passed, neither of you daring to move.
“How’d you know?” he asked quietly. “About the, uh, the flowers.”
“I was suspicious after the daffodils,” you explained. “Suspicions were kinda confirmed with the hyacinths.”
A blush he was fighting desperately against began to crawl up his neck, and you decided to stop torturing him.
“I’ll see you at one, okay?” you said gently.
He nodded, still unable to look you in the eye.
****
“Hey, Sarge.”
“Hey, Doc.”
“How are you feeling?”
Bucky took a deep, steading breath. “Fine, I guess.”
You quirked a brow.
“I’m not lyin’ this time,” he replied. “Been feelin’ better lately.”
“Good," you smiled widely, allowing a crack in your otherwise polished facade.
“ ‘S weird. I’m not used to it.” Bucky scratched the back of his neck.
You pursed your lips to the side. “How did you handle not feeling good at Hydra?”
“I just… didn’t feel anything after a while. Never really had a chance to.”
“I understand.” Maybe it was in your head since you knew what you wanted to ask next, but the tension felt much higher in the room than it was a few seconds prior. “So… when you weren’t in cryo, it was just… immediately time for a mission?”
Bucky nodded. “Or training, whether it be for me or others.”
“I remember learning they made you a trainer in the Red Room in the fifties. Any other times besides that?” you asked, curious what his response would be.
“The other Winter Soldiers. And you,” he responded.
Your breath stuttered just once. A single moment of weakness. “You remember that?”
After a moment of silence, his voice broke around his words. “I hurt you.”
“You didn’t,” you instantly assured him.
“I did.” Bucky’s voice was hardly above a whisper, his head tipped forward. “They dragged you outta there so many times… you screamed for hours. I couldn’t get the sound out of my head.”
“You never hurt me, Buck. I always lost to you on purpose,” you admitted.
“Why the fuck would you do that?” His voice was sharp, but you knew he wasn’t angry with you.
“Because I knew what would happen to you if I didn’t."
His blue eyes were swimming with tears. “You shoulda actually fought me, (Y/N). I saw your back when they were done; they practically ripped it to shreds.”
“I told you, I wasn’t gonna let that happen to you,” you stated firmly.
“I would’ve been able to take it,” he grunted, teeth gritting at the thought.
“I don’t care,” you said. “I wasn’t letting it happen.”
He shook his head. “You didn’t even know me.”
“I didn’t need to to know you were trapped and hurting enough already.” Your gaze pinned him to the spot, and he could only hold it momentarily.
Bucky’s eyes closed, and he shook his head again.
“Bee, look at me.” The nickname slipped out like a reflex.
He shook his head once more, swallowing harshly.
“Look at me,” you pleaded.
When he opened them, you were much closer to him.
“Do not blame yourself for what happened to me. It was not your fault,” you said firmly.
Bucky sucked in a breath through his teeth that seemed to physically hurt him. “If I hadn’t taken you—”
“You were brainwashed, Barnes. That wasn’t you. And when we trained, you never hurt me. There was something in you, even when you weren’t you, that wouldn’t hurt me.”
He turned his face from you but seemed unable to move from the spot.
“Do you wanna know what I did when I escaped?”
You took his silence as a cue to continue.
“I promised myself I would come back for you.”
“Why would you do that?” Bucky almost sounded angry.
“Because I knew that underneath it all, there was still a Sergeant Barnes in there. And that guy is worth saving.”
As soon as those words left your lips, Bucky bristled. His shoulders squared, and he left the room right after.
Warnings: mostly all fluff, anxiety of large crowds
Summary: Your friends convince you to come out of your shell this one time and join them at a bar where an up-and-coming rock band is playing. The band has a bit where they invite someone on stage to help them play one of their songs, and you’re the lucky lady to play with the drummer, Bucky. Despite your anxiety, you find comfort in Bucky, especially when his bold words make your entire body heat with desire.
Square Filled: au: rockstar for 2023 @buckybarnesbingo
Author’s Note: Any and all comments are greatly appreciated! <3
x
You’re lying on your bed, doom-scrolling through social media while your friends raid your closet for an outfit for tonight. If it were up to you, you’d stay in and binge-watch your favorite show until you fell asleep in the middle of an episode. Instead, you’re being forced to go to a concert regardless of whether you want to go or not.
“Are you feeling shorts or jeans?” Sadie asks.
“I’m feeling pajama pants.”
“You can wear that if you want, but you’re still coming,” Lexie smirks.
“Fuck you, bitch.”
“Go get ready, or we’re going to be late.”
You groan as you slide off your bed. “Because that would be a tragedy.”
They always complain that you don’t go out with them, and while that's true, it’s only because you’re very introverted. You love staying in and being by yourself. Being social takes way too much energy from you. You hate crowds, you’re very shy, and you don’t do well around large groups of people.
You’re going now because you feel bad for rejecting their offers to hang out. If you keep denying them, you know you’ll lose them as friends, and you love them too much to let that happen. For one night, you can let loose.
Sadie, Lexie, and Beverly pick out a skimpy outfit for you to wear. Tonight, their favorite band is playing in some rundown bar, and they made sure to get tickets. The bar normally doesn’t do very well on its own, but with the money coming in from ticket sales, it’s boosting its sales a lot more than they thought it would.
This band usually picks rundown bars to play in to help their sales, and the bar becomes a popular spot for months afterward.
The bar is packed when you arrive, but Lexie’s tickets grant you entry in front of everyone else. There is a long line of people waiting to buy tickets. The bar can hold only so many people, so once people start leaving, the bouncer is allowed to let some people in. They might be let in during the beginning of their set or by the end, but they’ll be loud enough for everyone to hear outside, you’re sure of it.
The instruments are all set up, but the band is backstage getting ready for their set. Lexie pushes past the sea of people to get to the bar and orders several drinks for everyone. Lexie, Sadie, and Bev are social butterflies, so they flirt with the bartender while laughing with each other.
Meanwhile, you’re standing awkwardly behind them, wishing you were anywhere but here. There are too many people here. It’s too hot. A lot of noise and bodies. You take deep breaths to keep yourself from panicking.
“Here, drink this.” Sadie shoves a drink into your hands. “This will help loosen you up.”
You finish the drink in three big gulps and cough from the bitter taste. The alcohol burns on its way down, but it does leave a warmth behind that relaxes your body slightly.
“Alright, Y/N!” Lexie laughs. “Here, have another one.”
The second glass eases your anxiety some more. By the third drink, you’re not even thinking about how many people are here.
The band comes out, and your mouth drops when you get a look at the drummer. Fuck, he’s gorgeous. Light blue eyes, dark hair, and muscles for days. He’s shirtless to keep himself from overheating, and nearly all of the girls scream for him. They scream for all of them. They’re all gorgeous men.
Rock music has never been your thing, but they’re pretty good. Lexie nudges Bev and Sadie, and she flicks her chin in your direction. They snicker at the love-struck gaze in your eyes toward the drummer. You don’t believe in love at first sight, but you wouldn’t mind getting to know him.
“Pick your jaw up off the floor before it gets dirty,” Bev smirks as she nudges you.
“What? I wasn’t staring.”
“Girl, drool is coming out of your mouth. I know he’s hot, but rein it in, girl.”
“Shut up,” you mutter and turn back to the band.
The band finishes three songs before stopping their set suddenly.
“How is everyone doing?” the lead singer asks. Everyone shouts and cheers for him, and he scans the room with a cocky grin. “Alright, for this next song, we need some help.” Cheers erupt before the singer has time to finish speaking. “Who wants to come on stage and help Bucky play our next song?”
Almost every hand shoots to the sky as they scream and beg for the singer to pick them.
“What’s going on?” you ask your friends.
“They always do this bit where they bring one person on stage to help the drummer play the song, if you know what I mean,” Lexie finishes with a smirk.
“I don’t know what you mean.”
“She should totally go up there,” Sadie gasps.
“No, I don’t.”
“Yeah! She has the hots for the drummer!” Bev grins.
“No, guys, seriously, no.”
“Over here!” Sadie screams. “We have a volunteer!”
“Sadie!” Lexie and Bev start pushing you toward the stage. “Beverly! Lex!”
Your protests fall on deaf ears as they push you toward the front of the stage. The singer looks at Sadie and chuckles when he sees how eager she is to give up her friend for this bit.
“I see we have an eager volunteer!” The spotlight shines on you, and you freeze. “Come up here, darling.”
Bucky, the drummer, locks eyes with you, and he can see the anxiety swirling in them. He understands the panicking feeling when someone is forced to face their fears. Your friends push you closer so that you’re forced to grab the singer’s hand. He pulls you up onto the stage, and you look around nervously.
“Hey, you don’t have to do this if you don’t want to,” Bucky says away from the microphone clipped to his drumset.
Everyone is cheering for you to do this, including your friends. You want to be the kind of girl who is excited about stuff like this. You hate being so introverted and shy. It’s time you step out of your shell and be this new version of yourself.
“Fuck it,” you say. You reach down and snatch Sadie’s drink from her before throwing it back. “Let’s do this!”
“Fuck, yeah!” Lexie screams.
You’re not sure how you’re going to help Bucky play the drums, but you don’t care. With a burst of confidence, you storm over to Bucky and put your hands on his shoulders. You swing your leg over his lap and settle yourself right on top of his lap, facing him.
“See if you can play with me like this.”
Bucky smirks and nods to the lead singer. That’s his cue to start playing the song, and you cling to Bucky’s body as he starts playing the drums. The force of his hits on the drums and the movement of his foot pushing the pedal down is enough to bounce you on his lap.
You’re actually having a lot of fun like this. The alcohol definitely helps. You squeal in laughter when you bounce, and you look at your friends over your shoulder. Your smile falters when you see all three of their phones’ cameras pointing right at you. People in the crowd have their phones on you and the band. This is going to be on the internet for millions, even billions of people to see.
Bucky sees the change in your behavior when you tense up. He looks at your face and then to where you’re looking. He’s gotten used to cameras being pointed at him, but for some people, it’s the end of the world.
“Look at me,” he says. When you don’t answer, he leans in and breathes on your skin. “Darling, look at me.” You snap your eyes over to him when you feel his hot breath. “Just focus on me.”
Bucky’s eyes are so much bluer up close. They’re light with a dark ring of blue around the edges. He continues to play as you continue to bounce lightly on his lap, but the energy crackling between you two is because of the eye contact. Your panic slowly ebbs away, but you’re very much aware of the cameras on you.
“Tell me something.” His voice is soft, but because you’re so close to him, you can hear every word.
“Like what?”
“Anything.”
“I’m not this kind of girl.”
Bucky smiles and says, “I’m not this kind of man.”
The song ends a couple of seconds later, and you grip his shoulders as you climb off him. “Thanks…” Bucky’s eyes bore holes into your back as you walk away from him, but you don’t dare to look back.
“Girl, you crushed that shit!” Sadie squeals.
“That was hot as fuck,” Lexie says.
“How did it feel?” Bev asks.
“Overwhelming,” you say truthfully. You don’t know exactly how you feel, but overwhelming is the biggest truth. At least you did it. You’ve got that going for you.
You spend the rest of their set by the bathrooms since it’s the place with the least amount of people. Even shrouded in the shadows, Bucky still finds you. His gaze is full of fire, and you can feel the warmth from where you are.
The band eventually finishes their set, and most of the people leave the bar. The band is the main reason why people have come out tonight. The rest of the people turn to their own companies and enjoy the rest of their evening.
“Hey, can we go home?” you ask. “I’ve had enough time here.”
“Sure,” Sadie says. “Let me just pay the tab.”
Sadie walks away just as Bucky approaches the group. Lexie and Bev’s eyes widen at seeing the drummer here, but they move away to give you two some time alone.
“Hi,” you say softly.
“What’s your name?”
“Y/N.”
“I’m Bucky.” Like you don’t already know his name. “I don’t think you would have gotten on my lap if you did, but I’m gonna ask anyway. Do you have a boyfriend?”
Your cheeks heat from his question. “Um, no.”
“She never leaves her house enough to have one,” Lexie cuts in from several feet away.
“Shut up,” you grumble at her.
Bucky smirks and chuckles. “Well, I don’t know about you, but this is my first time in this city. Care to be my guide and show me some cool places? We’ll be in town for a while.”
You look at Bucky, then at his bandmates, then back at Bucky. “What about your bandmates?”
“Let me think about that.” Bucky leans against the wall. “Sweaty dudes or a date with the most beautiful girl I’ve ever seen. You do the math.”
Your cheeks heat even more than the first time. “You think I’m beautiful?”
“Ask me that again at the end of the night. What do you say?”
One of your friends nudges you closer to Bucky because, of course, they’re listening. “Yes.”
A piece of hair falls over your face, and Bucky reaches out to tuck it behind your ear. The motion has you leaning in closer to him. You glance down at his lips, and he purposefully runs the tip of his tongue over his full bottom lip.
“I’m not gonna kiss you.”
You pull back, suddenly embarrassed that you were caught staring. “Oh.”
Before you can be too disappointed, Bucky adds, “I’m not gonna kiss you because you’ll be begging me to by the end of the night, and I kind of want to hear what that sounds like.”
The fucking nerve of this guy. His words inspire confidence to bubble up to the surface. “I think it’ll be you begging me.”
“You’re probably right.” He holds his hand out. “Shall we?”
You take his hand with a grin, and you look at you friends who have big smiles on their faces. “I’ll see you ladies tomorrow.”
“Have fun,” Bev sings.
“Wrap it before you tap it!” Lexie teases.
“Make him work for it!” Sadie giggles.
You can’t help but laugh as Bucky leads you out of the bar through the back door. Bucky, temporary or not, might be the thing missing from your life.
x
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Summery of fic: Reader/Jess Harper has already survived abuse and sexual assault by stepbrother Nate Millers, but the reward was a prison sentence for murder at Litchfield penitentiary…
What happens when you/Jess come face to face with Nate’s old colleagues and friends, Correctional Officers Steve Rogers and James ‘Bucky’ Barnes, who both seem set on making you pay for your mistakes. Will you be able to survive it all over again?
Pairing (kinda): Steve Rogers x Reader, Bucky Barnes x Reader, Nate Millers (OMC) x Reader
Words: 8739
Warnings: DARK AU, dubcon/noncon elements, Dark!Bucky, Dark!Steve, implied sexual acts, sexual acts, mention of murder, mentions of death, mentions of violence, mentions of NC/SA and death, mentions of blood
You have been warned.
Chapter 25
-
You were back in your bunk, still drowsy and dizzy from the medication. The doctor hadn’t told you just how under you would actually be from the ‘mild’ sedative... You could only vaguely remember the car ride back to Litchfield, not really sure how you even got into the car in the first place. You remembered resting your head on something warm and solid but still soft, and calm, low voices speaking, but you didn’t remember what they were saying. It didn’t matter though, it probably wasn’t meant for your ears anyways.
How you got to lay on your bed again and sleep it all off, was thanks to the kind officer Fisher who had led you back to the dorm, letting you lean on her as you stumbled along, that much you knew. You could still hear some of her encouraging words. Where Bucky had disappeared to you had no idea, but you weren’t about to argue with it.
Every second spent with one of the men who had raped you was painful to bare. There was no hiding from the truth then, no other thoughts to hide behind when it was all still present in front of you. You felt them on your body, inside your body. They were everywhere in your mind, and everywhere out in the world. There was no escaping them.
If only they would leave you alone, leave you to your own devices. But that would never happen, that much you were sure of. Either they wanted to bear witness to your pain, see their work, or simply do more of it. The fact that they hadn’t hurt you since was not as reassuring as you wished it would be. It was a constant worry of doing something wrong, of guessing when the next moment would be, or what they might do. Was your wrist just the first of many breaks?
Your wrist was slightly throbbing come to think of it, still moulding to the cast. But the lingering buzz of morphine coursing through your system was dulling it nicely, and everything else for that matter. And the fuzzy feeling in your head wasn’t a bad vacation after everything you had been through. You were glad to have it over and done with, but coming back to the cage of politeness and tiptoeing around the men that harmed you was its own kind of pain.
Not remembering all that happened in the hospital was worrisome. Had you been touched in any way? Had officer Barnes seized the opportunity to get his hands on you without a fight? Although there was no fight left in you anymore. He could do what he wanted, and you would let him. It hurt less to do so. But you hated not knowing.
The rest of the evening went by in a haze. You stayed were you were, going in and out of consciousness, not getting up to do anything if you could help it. But, of course, you couldn’t. So, when officer Rogers and Bennett came in to do a count before lights out, you reluctantly got out of bed. Sitting was still very painful, but walking and standing was almost painless at this point. So, you stood up and shuffled over to stand outside your cube, ready to be counted. There were still some slacking inmates coming in from behind the officers, Gina being one of them, scurrying like it was her only gait.
Steve spotted you from across the room. Bucky had let him know everything that had happened, and he was relieved to hear that everything had gone well. As well as the doctor’s tries to get you to agree to a check-up, which was shut down by both you and Bucky alike. He still felt like shit for being comforted by that fact, when you might be in more need of medical attention but too afraid to ask for it. Too afraid of them. But it allowed them time to think, to be there for you, to protect you from others and make everything right. Or at least try.
“Count time, ladies,” Bennett said, and everyone quieted down.
The officers passed through the dorm, one side each per usual. Steve was brought closer and closer by the second, and you willed yourself not to close your eyes and wish him away. He passed with a click of his counter in hand, not stalling close to you, or staring blatantly. Sure, he looked down at your recoiled form still protecting your now reset wrist, but his eyes didn’t linger like they had before. He wasn’t stalking you like prey like he had before. But that didn’t stop the wolf whistle from Tricia.
Pretty much every inmate started choking on their laughter, trying to hold it back. There were several spurts of amused chuckles coming from all around, eyeing both you and the officer standing not too far from you. You looked shamed and scared where you stood, Steve just looked pissed.
“That’s enough,” he barked at everyone, before zeroing in on Tricia. “You wanna spent a few days down in seg, inmate?”
She visible gulped, cowering under his height and gaze as he glared down at her, taking a step closer.
“No, sir,” she said, head down and eyes turned away.
“Then keep your mouth shut. Or I’ll shut it for you.”
Steve threw a quick glance around the room. Everyone had quieted down, not finding the officer in any way amusing in his threats. Bennett was looking around as well, equally disappointed in everyone as Steve was, but he didn’t add anything.
Steve turned his head to get a look at you, to see how you were doing with it all. You looked sad. Brows worried together and eyes down on your scuffing boot. He hated seeing you like that. After everything you had been through, everything, you didn’t deserve to be name called and ridiculed. But you were in this position because of him. This too, was his doing.
He looked back at Tricia, not too happy about her instigating things and making everything even worse than it had to be.
“You open your mouth one more time, and you’ll be rotting in the SHU.”
Tricia flinched back, eyes jumping up to meet his for just a millisecond, before she nodded at him to acknowledge his words. Steve carried on with the count, the tension in the room now palpable, before he met up with Bennett to check numbers. Both men gave everyone a measured gaze, both fed up with the childish antics, before leaving.
The inmates started turning back to their cubes, heading for the bathroom, or wherever they needed to roam before the privilege was revoked, but not Tricia. She watched you like a hawk, despite you not looking up at any point whilst starting to go back into your cube.
“Nice guard dog you have,” she said, making you freeze in the doorway.
She crossed her thin, spaghetti arms over her equally thin chest, and took a few steps closer to you. You still didn’t move. You kept her in your peripheral, turning to keep your wrist protected should she do anything other than talk.
“Must be nice to be protected by your boyfriend,” she said, and scoffed. “Or at least one of ‘em.”
Snicker was heard behind you, most likely some of Tricia’s friends who found it all very amusing to watch.
“He’s not my boyfriend...”
Your voice was low, and not very strong, but you didn’t have the energy to argue. The drugs were still leaving your system, and you desperately wanted to go to sleep. But you didn’t want to let her keep thinking that about Steve, or anyone else for that matter. You didn’t want them referred to as anything romantical.
Tricia scoffed at you, moving her tongue around in her mouth before speaking.
“Oh, no? That’s the second time he’s threatened me. For you.”
“That’s the second time you’ve insinuated that he has an inappropriate relationship with an inmate.”
Oh, where was this spit coming from? Jess, behave! You’re gonna get your ass kicked by a noodle. Well, at least the morphine will dull the pain.
You heard some ooh’s from somewhere in the dorm, and Tricia did not look all that happy at you clapping back at her. She shuffled from one foot to the other, mouth twitching as if wanting to move up into a snarl at you.
She took a step towards you, grabbed you by the shoulder and shoved you against the side of the doorway, half your body still visible in the dividing corridor. You raised your head but didn’t give her the time of day when she tried to tower over you, which was hard when you’re the same height as someone, and could very well be snapped like a twig, but that didn’t stop her from trying to act intimidating.
“I’m not insinuating shit! We all know they’re fucking you. So, how are they, huh? They any good?”
You just wanted to press yourself into the wall and disappear, not wanting to hear how Tricia was talking about the men who had raped you, asking about their performance. You didn’t want to remember anything about that night, or the pain they’d inflicted on you.
“Where’s your little hiding spot?” she went on. “A utility closet? The bubble? Or... maybe they bend you over a fucking table in the cafeteria when they’re on the nightshift, and fuck you raw? Hmm? Is that it? They fuck you right in the open when no one’s around to see?”
She was all up in your face, and you just wanted to sink through the wall and crumble into a heap of bones. You shut your eyes so hard you could see stars twinkling in the black. You didn’t want to listen to her, didn’t want to hear anymore of her words, hear her talk about Steve and Bucky fucking you like it was in any way consensual. Like it was something dreamy to obtain. Like something out of a whimsical porno.
The truth was much more brutal, much more painful and traumatic. It was nothing fanciful or tender about the way they manhandled you down onto that table, held you down and forced themselves into you against all your struggle. You just wanted them to stop, wanted her to stop.
“Stop...”
But Tricia just laughed at you, clicking her tongue against the roof of her mouth as she watched you recoil into yourself, pressing back into the unmoving bricks of the wall.
“Is that what you said to them, huh? You like it rough? Want ‘em to give you the full officer-treatment, hmm? Cuffs and all? Maybe even fuck you with their nightsticks?”
Her voice contorted into a laugh, which was echoed by her friends, who had started to creep closer to join in on the fun, circling like a cackle of hyenas. She turned her head to give everyone a better view, as she continued taunting you.
“Maybe they stick their cocks up your ass and fuck your twat with the stick, huh? Maybe spit roast you? Fuck an end each?”
Laughter was starting to roar in the dormitory, Tricia making quite the show out of it all. Even inmates who weren’t in on it, on either side, were starting to find her teasing amusing. But not you. You were creeping closer and closer to a breakdown with every word being said. It was all starting to play out in your head, everything was becoming so real you could feel the phantom touch of their fingers and more. Goosebumps prickled your skin like an armour of thorns, tears stung behind your eyes, beckoning you to open up and let them fall. So, you did, and everyone laughed even harder.
“See?” Tricia said to the room with a triumphant smile. “I fucking told y’all. This bitch is gettin’ fucked by the guards, and gettin’ treats for it. I hope that fucking chocolate’s worth it,” she said through a laugh, and, finally, stepped back.
Your shoulders were up to your ears by now, tears streaking your face. It hurt all over. Your body remembered their treatment of you, how they had hurt you. Tricia’s few words of truth hit like an arrow right into your soul. They were everywhere. Even when they weren’t here with you, you could still feel them.
And you were right to. Because behind the glass windows of the bubble to B-dorm, officer Barnes looked out, having just stepped in with his cup of coffee and another crosswords magazine to entertain him through the night. He saw Tricia Miller mentally pinning you to the wall, and laughing as she did. He couldn’t see your face, it was turned in towards your bunk, but the parts he could see of your body were all showing signs of discomfort and fear, and that boiled his blood.
He slapped the magazine down on the counter, his coffee spilling over the edge of his cup as it followed, and slammed the door to the dorm open.
“Hey!” he barked, and everyone’s smiles turned into dreading lines of worry at the sight of the angry officer.
Hearing his roaring voice shout out made your breathing seize up. He was going to hurt you. He was coming over and he was going to hurt you again. It was happening all over again, you were sure of it. But his eyes were set on another inmate.
Tricia gave a short, nervous scoff as Bucky’s steps ate up the ground quickly, holding her hands out to show she wasn’t a threat. She took a few staggering - fearful- steps backwards, looking around her for some support.
“Ey, I wasn’t doing nothin’,” she said, but her voice reeked of apprehension.
“Oh, yeah?” Bucky said through gritted teeth, and grabbed her arm with way more force than needed, and she winced. “I have fucking eyes, inmate. Think I didn’t see that?”
She gulped, eyes locked with his and not able to look away, no matter how much she wanted to. He was almost lifting her off her feet with his grip on her.
“We-we were just messin’ around, ya know?” she tried through a nervous snort.
But Bucky wasn’t believing any of it, having seen enough to know that she was lying. His jaw clenched as he scowled down at her.
“Didn’t look like Harper was enjoying it much,” he said, and turned on his heel with her swinging at his side. “You’re going to seg, inmate.”
“What? The fuck, dude? Ow!”
Bucky yanked on her arm at her disrespectful words, not giving one fuck about her discomfort whatsoever. As he passed your cube, he looked to your cowering form still stuck to the wall, not daring to move an inch. You were trembling even, tears still falling down from your eyes, landing on the floor in a growing puddle. Oh, Miller was going to stay in seg for some time for this!
Bucky stalked out of the room with Tricia still complaining loudly at his treatment, but he had every right to step in and do it. The fact that it was you he was helping and not just some random inmate, made him feel extra good about his interference, but he wished he would have caught it sooner. Maybe then he wouldn’t have left you behind in tears.
Everyone still left in the dorm were all quiet and tense after the officer walked away with Tricia dragging behind. Some looked accusingly at you, some seemed more ashamed of their own actions during it all. There were only a few that hadn’t joined in on the laughter, but mostly because they just didn’t care about the trivial matters of prison squabbles.
When it felt safe to do so, you tried once again to get to your bed and have a lie down, hopefully even sleep, but that was doubtful with all these questions running amok. Why had Bucky done that? Maybe he didn’t want someone else messing with you that wasn’t him or Steve. Perhaps they wanted the joy of being the ones to make you squirm exclusively, who knew? Or maybe it was a ruse to add even more fuel to the fire... God only knows what everyone must be thinking after Steve and Bucky both had told Tricia off for messing with you. Sure, her behaviour did call for correcting during both occasions, but they were both directed at you, and that was the conclusion everyone would come to in the end.
First Steve, then Bucky. It did not look good in anyone’s eyes. And in yours, it looked like a setup. They would most likely want you to be grateful for them stepping in and shutting Tricia down, something past experiences told you was not fun for you. Perhaps a sexual favour would be enough? Just a quick blowjob and you’d be done. You hoped that was the case.
You turned your head into the pillow and let go of the tears still dragging behind, weeping like a baby missing its mama. Images were flashing in your head of everything Tricia had said, everything the officers might do to you. You couldn’t survive anymore, you didn’t want to. You just wanted to disappear, to fall asleep and never wake up. But alas, the only thing you got was some relief of the tears shed, but sleep never found you. You just stayed where you were, and let time pass by, no matter how slow.
Everyone started quieting down, and soon they were asleep. Maybe not everyone, but most at least, but not you. Not only was your bladder poking for attention sooner rather than later, and sooner couldn’t come soon enough apparently, but you could endure some added pain to avoid potentially having worse done to you by any of the inmates in Tricia’s crew. But the main reason you stayed put, was that you were just waiting for officer Barnes to come back and call you away from everyone, tell you to show your appreciation. It was a regular occurrence with Nate, so why would Steve or Bucky be any different?
Officer Kowalski had been the one to strut through the dorm once the lights were lowered, checking for attendance and counting heads. You guessed that Bucky was busy taking Tricia down to solitary, but he would be back soon. What would he do? What would he ask of you in return for everything done? Would Steve also expect to be ‘thanked’? Worries circled in your head, overshadowing everything else. Your body tensed up with even the slightest dread of being invaded again, making your bladder press even harder for relief, but you didn’t care. You fought hard to ignore it, but all these ‘what ifs’ were growing like fields of dark sunflowers calling for attention.
Bucky had sent Tricia Miller off with Bennett to take her down to the SHU. His shift was ending soon, so Bucky had told him he could leave for the day when he was done. Bucky was his superior officer, something which came with a few perks. Instead of taking her down himself, he had gone to find Steve and share the latest news with him, as per usual.
“Hey, Stevie,” he said when he found him at the intake, going over some papers.
There was no one around except for an inmate further down the hall who was currently mopping the floor and mumbling to herself. Whatever she was saying they couldn’t hear, so she probably couldn’t hear them either. Bucky rested both his forearms on the counter, looking over it and down to see whatever Steve was doing, which didn’t seem all that exciting.
“I sent Tricia Miller down to the SHU,” Bucky said matter-of-factly. “Thought you should know that, as captain and all.”
Bucky wasn’t actually upset about Steve being assigned captain in Caputo’s absence, he just liked to tease him for whatever reason he could find, and Steve was a good sport about it. He knew Bucky didn’t have his eyes on any higher positions at work, so he took the jabs all in jest, giving his friend a glare and a tight, sarcastic smile.
“Thank you, officer,” Steve said, and kept on fiddling with his papers. “Please write up a report and hand it in at your earliest convenience.”
Bucky sighed, but couldn’t help but give a slight laughing scoff.
“God, you’re a pain in the ass,” he said, and smiled at Steve who just returned it.
“For real though,” Steve said. “What Miller do this time? I already told her off for inappropriate behaviour during count.”
“She was messing with Jess.”
That got Steve’s attention, and he looked up from his papers, even closing the open folder he had before him. He put his hands on the counter and leaned forward.
“Really? What happened?”
Bucky gave him a shrug.
“Don’t know, didn’t see it all. All I saw was Miller and some of her friends laughing, and Jess was pretty much pinned to the wall. She was crying and all, so... couldn’t have been nice, whatever it was.”
Steve nodded slowly as Bucky spoke, taking it in. It seemed to be something to that Miller/Millers name that just wanted to fuck with you apparently, make your life a living hell. It was infuriating.
“Yeah,” Steve said. “She whistled suggestively during count. I think the rumours of some sort of sexual relationship is at the root of it. Which, of course, is our fault. Well... mine.”
Steve looked down, ashamed of the truth of it, in all aspects. But Bucky gave him an apologetic look.
“It’s both our fault,” he said with a sigh. “We’re both to blame for everything and anything that’s happened to her.”
Steve nodded, feeling like he actually wasn’t alone in bearing the burden of it all, even though he still couldn’t get the shame to leave him alone. And the inmates weren’t all that wrong about what the two of them had been doing with you, just the gist of it. He had many things to feel ashamed about lately.
“Yeah, well,” he said, and cleared his throat. “Good thing you took Miller to SHU. Maybe that’ll ease some of the pressure off of Jess.”
“Yeah, maybe,” Bucky agreed, but sounded doubtful. “She doesn’t look too good, Steve.”
Steve heard the seriousness of Bucky’s voice, and met his worried eyes. The remorse and regret were hard to deal with as it were, even more so when seeing that you were hurting, for whatever reason. They felt responsible for you, and wanted to look out for you. Maybe in some way that would make it all better, make you feel better about them and not see them as monsters. At least not completely.
Steve sighed.
“We’ll keep an eye on her, Buck. Make sure she’s safe.”
Bucky nodded, trying to convince himself to listen and not let it all eat him up inside.
“Okay,” he said with a firm nod of his head, trying to clear out all the doubt. “Think Caputo’s reached the lawyer?”
Steve quirked an eyebrow and drew a deep breath.
“I haven’t heard anything. It’s getting late so I think it’s a lost cause for the night. He’ll continue tomorrow, I’m not even sure he’s still here, his shift ended an hour ago.”
Bucky nodded at him. He felt kind of crestfallen that Joe still hadn’t managed to reach your lawyer and get the ball rolling. You deserved a win after everything. But he decided to look on the bright side of things, and take another dig at Steve.
“Well,” he said, and knocked his knuckles on the counter. “At least I don’t have to take orders from your dumb ass anymore.”
He gave Steve a shit-eating grin when he met his sarcastically annoyed face. Steve glared at him for a moment.
“Just get back to the bubble, punk.”
Bucky let out a short-lived guffaw enough to jolt his entire body, before it died down to just a wide grin. He cleared his throat and straightened his back, trying to look serious, though his smile and tone greatly betrayed him.
“Sir, yes, sir.”
Steve couldn’t help the smile that broke out at the sarcastic honorific to mimic their military days. He watched Bucky’s back as he walked off towards the dorms to go about his round.
“I’ll be there in a minute,” he shouted after him, and Bucky raised a hand in acknowledgment, but nothing more. “Jerk,” Steve muttered under his breath, and finished the last of the paperwork.
Bucky checked all of dorm A, C and D before heading back to B-dorm. Kowalski was keeping tabs on the other three, much smaller dorms which were all connected, but Bucky wanted to return the favor and give Kowalski the rest, at least for one check. Everything was as calm as it should be, so he headed to his own dominium for the night, eager to see how you were doing.
Sleep still hadn’t found you after the worries were all resurfaced by Tricia’s words. It didn’t take much to dig them up, you never managed to bury then particularly deep. The fact that they had even been buried under something at all to begin with was astonishing. But then again, the treatment and use of you was not new. Nate had gone through quite an artillery of inventive things to do to you, so there wasn’t much left that would be new to you. But the fear was different.
Fearing not one man, but two different men was something else entirely. And these men had all the power in the world over you, not just physically. It didn’t take much to overpower you, and Nate had done a bang-up job of breaking you down both emotionally and mentally as well, so all they had to do was pick up where he left off. But these men were authority figures, people put in charge and most likely were trusted by their peers. And you were a convicted felon, an inmate in a prison on the charges of murder. There was no way anyone would believe one word you had to say about either officers that could tarnish their reputation, and that was an even scarier truth.
You lay on your side, watching Gina sleep soundly in the bed across the cube. She had her back to you as always, blankets up to her ears. There was something hypnotic about watching the slow rise and fall of her chest, while you yourself couldn’t find a calm nerve in your body that would grant you sleep.
The small creak of the heavy door being opened stood out in the sea of soft snores and mumbles. Low, steady footsteps drew near, and you recognized his footing right away. Your heart beat loud against your sternum, the thrumming echoing in your ears. You could see the reflective light of his flashlight on the ground, pendulating from one side to the other until its source was visible behind the dividing wall, and the hand which controlled it came into view.
Bucky stopped in his tracks, slowly peeking his head around the wall to see if you were awake. Your eyes were set on the circle of light on the floor from his flashlight, but you were very much awake. He stepped inside the cube, speaking in a hushed voice.
“You okay?”
He could almost swear he saw a tremble travel through you, but he couldn’t be sure. It could be a trick of the light, but he wouldn’t be surprised if it wasn’t.
Was this it? you wondered.
“Yes, sir,” you said, also keeping your voice hushed and low enough so no one would hear.
You slowly sat up in your bed, lifting the blanket off your body as you slowly rose up and planted your feet on the floor, still sitting down despite the pain. You were still wearing your clothes, even your hoodie, anything to cover up the still healing bruises.
“Where would you like to go, sir?”
Bucky furrowed his brows, not understanding what you meant. He swayed uncertainly from one foot to the other.
“What?” he asked, almost ducking his head to get closer and make sure you heard him.
You swallowed the lump in your throat. It wasn’t anything new to be asked to ridicule yourself through an explanation, making it seem like you were indeed asking for it.
“So I can thank you properly, sir,” you asked, and bowed your head at the mention.
Bucky couldn’t believe what he was hearing. You were blatantly asking for him to take you somewhere private so you could ‘thank him’ for what he did. You were actually offering to service him just to appease him, probably doing so to not risk having him demand it and hurt you. What the hell had Millers done to you?
“N-no, I…” he started and took another step in to really make sure that no one heard him.
You fought hard not to flinch back when he came closer. After all, you would have to get even closer if you were going to make him happy. You didn’t look up when he all but towered over you. Though his energy was forgiving instead of intimidating, it did nothing to reassure you of any kind intentions.
“I don’t want anything in return for what happened with Tricia Miller. I was just doing my job.”
He looked down at the top of your head. You didn’t look all that convinced where you sat staring at the floor, or more accurately; his boots.
“I’m not gonna hurt you, Jess.”
‘I’m not gonna hurt you’. How many times had you heard those words being said to you, only to then have the opposite proven? Those words were nothing more than a smokescreen, a mirror in a funhouse to show a distorted reflection of reality.
Your brows twitched in apprehension, you opened your mouth but didn’t know what to say. Did he want you to beg him to let you suck his dick to show gratitude, anything to make him happy? Or was he simply not in the mood? Or maybe the coast just wasn’t clear enough. All these ‘what ifs’ were getting exhausting to keep track of, or even try to sort through.
Bucky saw your struggle, figuring you didn’t know what to say to that. Maybe it was the first time you had even heard a man say that to you? Though he guessed it was most likely a lack of trust of his words that made you mute. After what he did, after what Steve did… he really couldn’t blame you for not believing him.
Bucky drew a deep breath only to let it out, and crouched down before you. He watched you recoil, slightly shifting where you sat on the bed. Your face scrunched up in pain from the movement, and your eyes started glistening with unshed tears even in the dimly lighted room. God, could he just do something to not scare you? He hoped at least his words would come out right.
“I know you don’t believe me when I say that, but I do mean it. I’m not…” he sighed as he tried to find his words. “I’m not gonna hurt you again, Jess. Neither is Steve. We’re… we’re so, so sorry for what we did, we—”
Bucky stopped himself. He couldn’t say too much or he would spill everything. He had no idea how to ever even start apologizing for what both he and Steve had done, but he had to say something to try and reassure you of your safety. They weren’t going to hurt you again, they weren’t going to rape you again. And he needed you to know that.
“I’m sorry,” he whispered, stood up and walked out of the dorm.
You watched his back as he left, not understanding what had just happened. It was like you were in some kind of dream state, or an alternate reality. Like up was down, and right was left. Were you even here? Was this real?
Your heart started beating like it was trying to pound a hole in your chest. Your pulse was loud in your ears, thrumming away like it was trying to drown out everything else. Eventually it won. Your head filled with static, buzzing like a billion mosquitos had invaded your mind. Without noticing, you started rocking back and forth whilst cradling your head, the pain in your lower parts forgotten and overruled by fear. Everything started spinning. Even when you shut your eyes, everything was still spinning.
What had happened? You didn’t understand it. You just couldn’t wrap your head around it, no matter how hard you tried. What was this game? What had you missed? Surely there must be something that you’ve missed. Oh, no, what had you missed? There must be something. You couldn’t remember doing anything wrong. You had followed all the rules! Think, Jess, think! If you don’t figure this out soon, you’re gonna end up dead, or even worse… Just figure out the rules!
Bucky was sitting in his chair in the bubble, elbows on his knees and his hands folded underneath his chin. He was lost in thought and emotion. So much so, that he didn’t notice Steve walking in behind him, until he pulled out a chair from under the table and sat himself down with a loud puff of air.
“Oh,” Bucky said and cleared his throat. “Hey.”
Steve looked at him searchingly.
“Everything okay?” he asked, before looking out through the glass at the dark dorm. “Jess okay?”
“Yeah, yeah, she’s fine,” Bucky said, and raked his fingers through his hair.
He sighed loudly, still lost in the moment that had only just passed. Steve was getting worried.
“Seriously, Bucky. What’s going on?”
Bucky sighed again, and leaned his forearms on his knees.
“I… I talked to Jess,” he said, and waited a beat before continuing. “I asked if she was okay after everything, and she…” he gave a saddened scoff. “She asked where I wanted to go, so she could thank me properly.”
He let that sink in for a moment, seeing the wheels turning in Steve’s head. His face contorted from worry about Bucky, to worry about Jess and the whole situation.
“She what?” Steve asked dumbfounded, frozen in his seat.
“Yeah,” Bucky said as he nodded continuously, and gave a sad, ironic chuckle. “She actually asked to basically suck my dick because I stepped in when they were ganging up on her. She wanted to make sure I knew that she was grateful for it. I mean, how fucked up is that, Steve?”
Steve sighed and pressed the palm of his hand into his eye.
“Jesus…”
You must be so scared in order to do that, to offer yourself and hope it was what Bucky wanted of you. How on earth could they not see it before? Everything you did reeked of subservience, obedience and fear. They really must have spurred each other on just to keep from seeing it, to keep from redirecting their venom.
Steve couldn’t separate his feelings of hate between Nate and himself. They blended on far too many spectrums. Millers had done such a good job to keep everyone in the dark, to keep his true nature hidden. And here he and Bucky were, keeping their own secrets hidden, as you slowly crumbled into nothingness.
“What’d you say?” Steve asked, feeling as pensive as he looked.
“That I wasn’t going to hurt her,” Bucky said. “And neither were you. Then I said I was sorry.”
Whether it was the right time or not was still up for debate, but the truth of his words and their need to be said was still clear. He needed you to know that he was sorry. They both did.
Steve inhaled deeply, his already broad chest puffing out before he released it.
“Yeah…” was all he said, feeling the itch to do the same.
“It just slipped out,” Bucky said, looking down at his hands. “I couldn’t look at her and not say something when she’s that scared of me.”
Steve nodded. He understood completely. It was just a matter of time before one or both of them started letting the apologies flow.
“Well,” Steve said and looked out into the dark room. “Wouldn’t mind doing the same.”
Bucky looked up at that.
“Think that’s wise?” he said. “I mean, I don’t know if someone might’ve heard it. I didn’t say anything about the… rape, but… Never know what conclusions these women come to, you know?”
“Yeah, but I can’t not say anything, Bucky, when you’ve already opened that door. I mean… I’m sure she’s not gonna believe either one of us, but… I have to tell her that I’m sorry. For everything.”
Bucky watched Steve’s face go from eagerness to sadness at the slightest mention of what they had done. He wasn’t going to lie and say that apologizing didn’t ease some of the pain of it all, despite Steve being right about you probably not believing either one of them.
You sat there on the bed just staring out into the dark, trying to makes sense of… well, anything. It was such a strange thing for the officer to do, to say that he was sorry. Nate had never said that to you, not unless it was mandatory and he had to put on a front. But this didn’t feel like that. Bucky had seemed almost like he was cornered, like there wasn’t anything else he could possibly say. Like he actually meant it. What was this game?
Had someone heard him talk to you? Was someone else awake? They would probably take the chance to come up to you and call you out on whatever the situation was if that was the case. No one passed up the chance to step up, or create even more gossip. And after what happened earlier, you were most likely the most wanted, and not in a good way.
Which reminded you of the more pressing issue, no pun intended. Your bladder was loudly calling out for some attention sooner rather than later. Stretching your neck, you spotted the clock on the far side wall; it was closing in on midnight. You’d have to go now, or wait until morning, unless you wanted to risk getting another shot for being out of bed when you weren’t allowed. Should you risk it? Both officers were working the night, which meant they could go in the bathroom if was needed. Maybe that was what they wanted? Should you go and see what happened?
You decided to do so, figuring it might be the right move in whatever new kind of game these men were playing. Grabbing a roll of toilet paper and your toiletries from the top of your locker, you stood up on weak legs. Your knees were almost shaking with apprehension, but you kept on. You walked slowly and quietly around the wall, hoping no one was awake to see. Despite keeping your eyes down on the ground before your feet, you could see both officer Rogers and officer Barnes sitting in the bubble, the dim light shadowing and darkening their shapes. All the hair on the back of your neck rose up, but you had to keep going.
Bucky and Steve both watched you shuffle across the floor, heading for the door. Steve checked the time; you had about ten minutes before the clock struck twelve. You knew it was last call, and had decided to chance it. He recalled the last time you had gone to the bathroom just before midnight, and what he had done. Yet another thing to feel shame about.
“I’ll go now,” Steve said, and stood up from his chair.
Bucky sighed, yet again, feeling like it was a risky move, but he couldn’t argue when he himself had just been dumb enough to talk to you out in the open like that. At least Steve could plan his words a bit better, and maybe not be propositioned right before apologizing, after conditioning you to do it in the first place.
“Be careful,” Bucky said just before Steve was out the door but turned his head. “She’s already a bit freaked out. And make sure not to say anything about... the footage.”
Even just the mention brought back all the horrible images they had witnessed playing back in those videos, and the horrible images of what they themselves had done.
Steve nodded with a reassuring smile on his lips, and disappeared behind the doorframe, heading towards the B-dorm bathroom.
Your bladder thanked you for the relief, and some of the added anxiety was lessened too. You changed the pad you had on, surprised at how little blood had seeped out. Maybe you were healing even faster with morphine in your system?
Throwing the bloodied rag away, you washed your hands and brushed your teeth. It didn’t matter that you would want to do it again should you be forced to suck any dicks tonight, going through the motions and following the routine helped keep the mind ghosts at bay, at least until the officers showed up.
They never did. You even waited a minute longer in case they were going to show, but no one came. You looked at the clock on the wall; two minutes left. You were cutting it close, you had to get back.
You rounded the corner from the bathroom to the corridor, and were met by a patient Steve standing just a few feet away from you, waiting. He was leaning one shoulder on the wall, facing you, and his hands were both in his pockets. He didn’t look mad, or predatory in any way where he stood staring down at the floor before looking up at you, but tell that to the lump in your throat.
Steve turned the corners of his mouth up in a gentle smile, not pushing off the wall, but stayed where he was.
“Hi,” he said softly, his smile still as gentle.
You stood as still as you could, not really knowing what to do besides wait.
“H-hello, sir.”
Steve nodded his head, looking back down at the ground. How he hated to hear that fearful ‘sir’ added after everything you said, hated that he had enforced it with his behaviour.
“Bucky told me what happened earlier,” he said. “With Miller. Tricia,” he corrected when realizing the similar name to your late stepbrother.
Was he waiting for you to say something, or should you just be quiet? You went for the last option, but made sure not to look disinterested in what he was saying.
Steve put his hand back in his pocket after it had flown up, seemingly on its own, when he added the name.
“How he went back to check on you,” he continued. “To see that you were okay. He—He didn’t see what happened with her but he saw that whatever it was, it was making you uncomfortable, so he wanted to make sure.” Steve waited a beat, but you didn’t move a muscle. “If I’d known it was gonna blow up, I would’ve removed her earlier.”
What? Was this another addition to things you should be grateful for? Things you needed to show gratitude for?
Your mouth opened and closed like a fish out of water, trying to find the words.
“Y-y...” you swallowed. “You couldn’t h-have known, sir.”
Please let that be the right thing to say.
Steve blew some air out of his nose, almost like a strangled snort.
“Yeah, well, I should’ve known,” he said. “Then Bucky wouldn’t have needed to step in and remove her, and make an even bigger scene out of it all. If I had just done it straight away, you wouldn’t feel the need to thank him for what he did.”
Now you understood where he was getting at. He wanted you to thank him, not just Bucky. But why he wasn’t crude about it and simply just told you to get on your knees you still couldn’t understand. Both officers had seemed very comfortable with giving orders before.
You closed your eyes for just a brief moment, pushing down the shame that was starting to bubble up inside you for what you were about to say.
“Would you like me to show you my gratitude, sir?”
Steve looked up from the spot on the floor which had taken his interest while he waited for you to speak. He pushed off the wall, but immediately regretted it when you took and involuntary step back, before catching yourself and stepping forward again. You were looking straight ahead, eyes lost somewhere in the long corridor. Anything to not look at him.
“No, no, I...” he took a breath, and tried again, keeping his distance. “That’s not what I meant. I don’t want anything from you, Jess. No, I came here... to apologize.”
What did they mean by that? What the hell kind of game was this, you couldn’t figure anything out! One step right, then two steps left, and then it all changed again. What were they getting at? Was it just to play with your mind, make you think they were something that they weren’t and fool you into feigned security?
Steve sighed again, and dared to take a small step closer to you. You didn’t flinch back, but he could see the tension grow in your shoulders, and you hugged the items you were holding even closer to you. His eyes fell on the cast, and he had to ask.
“Which one of us did that?”
He lifted a finger to point at the cast, as if to clarify what he was referring to.
Would he be disappointed that it wasn’t him? You swallowed hard.
“O-officer Barnes... sir.”
Your voice was weak and shaky, your jaw trembling with the growing tension. Was he going to break your other wrist now, to make it even between the two?
“Bucky?” Steve asked lowly, and you only nodded in response.
He nodded his head back at you, making sure to keep his movements slow as to not scare you even more. He didn’t want to linger on the information, that was not the reason he was there, and he actually wasn’t relieved by the fact that it wasn’t him. He cleared his throat.
“I’m really sorry that happened,” he said, and saw the quick furrow of your brows for just a second. “I’m sorry any of it happened. It’s not gonna happen again, I promise you that.”
He watched your face as you processed what he was saying. Never once did you look reassured by his words, only pensive and worried. He kept talking anyway.
“I know you probably don’t believe us after what we did, and we don’t expect you to forgive us, and we would never ask you to. But I just want you to know that… I’m sorry.” He drew a deep breath to compose himself. “I never thought I would ever do something like that… But I did what I did, and there’s no changing that. But I am sorry. I’m so sorry, Jess.”
A lonely tear ran down your cheek at the words. Whatever game, whatever angle they were getting at, whatever their intentions were, you had never ever heard anyone say that they were sorry for hurting you. The words felt light and warm when he spoke them. You never knew how much you had wanted to hear those words being said, no matter it they held any truth or not. He had said them. You heard him say it, and the context was clear. You knew what he was saying sorry for.
Steve watched the tear slowly fall down your face, how your mouth opened in a silent gasp of disbelief. You looked stunned. He wasn’t sure if you even cared to hear him say it, or if you could even begin to believe him, but he felt better for having said it. He just hoped it would make a difference.
You closed your mouth, licking your lips to try and taste any words wanting to come out. Questions were running haywire in your mind, and dread grew as you didn’t know the correct response. Was it even real?
“…okay…”
Steve couldn’t fight the tender smile spreading on his lips when the soft-spoken word met his ears. He looked down at you, wanting just to hold you and make the pain go away, but he knew better. He would never truly understand what you felt, or how what he and Bucky had done had affected you. But he could understand that you’d rather not have them embrace you for their own selfish need for reassurance.
“Okay,” he echoed, his own voice stronger and surer.
He let out a breath of relief, feeling some of the weight lift off his shoulders from just speaking the words. It was no way near enough, and he still hated himself down to the bone. But the initial itch to tell all, to let you know that they knew about the footage, that they knew about your past was severally lessened, and for that he was grateful. Because that was protecting you. If you knew about it now, before anything could be done, or the ball had even begun to roll, that might be even more damaging than keeping you in the dark. And if them saying they were sorry could help even one bit, then that was just an added bonus.
“You should probably get some sleep,” he said, and turned his body so he wasn’t blocking you.
You nodded again, and started shuffling forward, half expecting him to stop you. He didn’t, he just followed along beside you, one step behind the entire way.
It wasn’t right. He shouldn’t be behind you, you should walk behind him. He was a man, an officer, your own tormenter… You should show him the respect of not walking ahead of him. But whenever you slowed, so did he, so you just had to keep walking.
The door was straight ahead, just a few feet left. Your eyes darted up to the ticking clock above it, noting that it was now four minutes past midnight. That was a shot.
You slowed your steps to a full stop, and turned your body slightly towards him. He kept his broad shoulders hunched forward, trying to appear smaller and less intimidating, but you knew the truth. He looked down at you as you spoke.
“I-I’m sorry I’m late back, sir.”
Your voice barely carried any volume, almost brittle to the sound. At first he couldn’t understand what you were getting at, but then he looked up to find the clock staring back at him, the time mockingly continuing to tick by.
“Oh,” he said. “Oh, no, that’s—You’re not in trouble. You wouldn’t have been late if I didn’t stop to talk to you, so…”
Your eyes darted up to meet the officer’s against your better judgement. You locked eyes with him for a second or two, trying to get a reading on his intentions. He had made you late before, what was different now? Surely it had all been a ruse then? Anything to get you into even more trouble than before. This was all just some sick game they were playing. They were just making a fool out of you. You were nothing more than a toy to them.
You averted your eyes as quickly as they had jumped up, hiding the tears stinging and fighting for release. Of course, it was all fun and games to them. They just wanted to play tricks on you, see what buttons to push to get you to break. And it was a job well done.
Steve sighed, and reached for the door, speaking before opening it.
“Just get some shuteye and forget any of this ever happened.”
If only he could understand that what he meant by those words, was not what you heard.
Pairing: Steve Rogers x Bucky Barnes x reader
Summary: Tonight was about slow. But momentum takes control.
Tags/Warnings: plot what plot, pet names, m!receiving anal, f!receiving oral, ambiguous relationship between the three
Word Count: 720
+toast yap ! I am at the beck and call of my girlies … thanks for the idea @rosemint-tea @sassandscribbles, popped my Stucky cherry …
Nothing could be sweeter than the sound of Bucky gasping against your lips.
You kissed him slow, filthy, your tongue tangling with his as he choked on another moan.
“Baby, you’re doing so good,” you purred, stroking his cheek as yet another shudder wracked his body.
Peeking over his shoulder at Steve, you winked. Steve’s smile bloomed, his hand resting at the small of Bucky’s back gently steadying him.
“You good, Buck?”
There was a sound somewhere between a grunt and a whimper, and you held back your giggle.
Ghosting kisses against his lips, his cheeks, and his damp forehead, you ran your fingers carefully through his hair, nails scraping against his scalp just the way he liked.
His cock hung heavy between you, untouched, bobbing against your stomach with every thrust he took. You ached to press up against him—but that wasn’t what tonight was about.
Shuffling further up the bed from where Bucky knelt on all fours over you, you carefully took his shoulders in your hands and encouraged him to lay his head down in your lap.
Steve took the opportunity to drive deeper, a slow grind that pressed Bucky’s face against the curve of your belly, his guttural moan into your plush soft skin making you bite your lip.
“I know, darling,” you murmured, stroking his hair back from his forehead in time with the tortuously slow strokes of Steve’s cock inside him. “You needed this, didn’t you, hm?”
Bucky huffed a soft yes against your skin, pressing open mouthed kisses into your body.
Above him, Steve breathed out a groan, his dark eyes flicking between where he fucked Bucky deep and where Bucky’s head lay.
“So pretty,” he grunted. “So damn pretty, punk.”
Groaning long and deep at the praise, Bucky’s teeth scraped against you, lips closing on a light nip at your skin, and you couldn’t control the way you jerked up into him.
The rasp of his stubble against your belly, your thighs, and the sensitive skin between drove you wild. You rocked beneath him again, hand at the back of his head urging him lower, until finally his chin brushed against your mound and you sobbed in near-relief.
Bucky caught on quick. He pushed lower, tongue searching for your clit. Your hand in his hair clenched hard, angling him just so, until—there.
Your strangled cry when his tongue pressed and curled matched his low groan at the tangy taste of you.
Bucky ate at you greedily, tongue lapping at your aching folds, drool dripping down his chin to mix with your slick.
“Is he—?”
“Yes,” you hissed, and Steve’s jaw clenched.
His pace never changed, rhythm holding steady, but you felt the shift in power when every driving thrust forward sank him deeper inside Bucky’s body, and Bucky’s face deeper into you. Your hips caught the rhythm, pressing up into his tongue, moaning over the sound of skin on skin.
Your hands stayed woven in Bucky’s hair, keeping him buried deep in your cunt.
He groaned into your flesh when Steve rutted deeper, hummed against you, sending tingling lightening over your skin, but never did he give you his fingers. Your pussy clenched around nothing, aching to be filled, but Bucky knew better.
After all, that wasn’t what tonight was about.
He only pulled away once.
“You gonna cum?”
“Yes,” you and Steve groaned in unison.
Steve fell first. He lost all rhythm, rutting into Bucky with singleminded determination, hands gripping his hips and face scrunched in desperate concentration. Until finally, pressing deep, he came hard with a gasp, pulling Bucky’s hips back tight against him.
Slumping forward the weight of Steve’s body pressed that delightful tongue deeper, Bucky’s nose grinding down onto your clit, and you jerked in his grasp as your orgasm flooded over you.
Your keening cry sent Bucky over the edge and with a shuddering groan he finally came, spilling into the sheets.
Bucky lapped greedily at everything you gave, moaning at the taste, prolonging your pleasure with every swipe of his tongue. You were a quivering mess, moaning helplessly beneath him.
When he slowed, pressing a last precious kiss into you, he rolled to the side, taking Steve with him, using your sweat-slicked thigh as a pillow.
Somewhere between the tangle of bodies, Steve’s hand snaked up to capture yours.
I don’t have a taglist! Follow @retoast for updates!
Welcome back to another fun-filled week at Writer in a Cryofreeze! We have nine nifty drabbles for you today, all written to the following prompt:
This Will Not Happen in Doomsday!
That's right, folks--take all the spoilers you may or may not have read about the upcoming Avengers movie and throw 'em out the window, because this week, it's about what WON'T happen!
Once again we have a split post today: one sexy explicit drabble is posted under the cut here, and eight amazing General Audience drabbles are located on the post at this link. Be sure to read as many drabbles as you are able and feel comfortable reading before voting.
Your task is to vote for up to TWO of your favorite drabbles. Voting will be open until about 4pm NY time on Friday afternoon. The two authors of the drabbles with the fewest votes will get their own shiny Cryofreeze, from which they can watch the premier of the movie when it's finally released!
Ready to read? FANTASTIC (four, that is)!!!
Ready for some sexy probably-won't-happen-in-Doomsday goodness? Here you go!!!
Drabble 9 - End of the World
Rating: Explicit
The world was ending. Again. Bucky didn’t care.
He’d booked the lakeside cabin to spend this weekend with you six months ago. The apocalypse could wait.
His phone kept buzzing.
Bucky dipped his head, tongue dragging slow and filthy through your soaked folds, sucking your clit until your back arched.
“Doomsday can wait until Monday. I’m busy," he murmured against your cunt, pushing two thick metal fingers inside you. You shattered with a cry.
Bucky lapped up every drop, drawing out your orgasm until you were sobbing. His belt clinked open.
“Good girl, now turn over, we’ve got all weekend.”
🚫
That's all the General Audience drabbles for today!
Be sure to read the Explicit Drabble if you haven't already.
Otherwise, please head over to the voting poll to choose your two favorite drabbles.
Check back on Friday afternoon for the author reveal, and thanks for reading!
Welcome back to another fun-filled week at Writer in a Cryofreeze! We have nine nifty drabbles for you today, all written to the following prompt:
This Will Not Happen in Doomsday!
That's right, folks--take all the spoilers you may or may not have read about the upcoming Avengers movie and throw 'em out the window, because this week, it's about what WON'T happen!
Once again we have a split post today: eight amazing drabbles are rated General Audiences and can be found below the cut. One sexy explicit drabble has been posted on its own over here. Be sure to read as many drabbles as you are able and feel comfortable reading before voting.
YOUR JOB is to vote for up to TWO of your favorite drabbles. Voting will be open until about 4pm NY time on Friday afternoon. The two authors of the drabbles with the fewest votes will get their own shiny Cryofreeze, from which they can watch the premier of the movie when it's finally released!
Ready to read? FANTASTIC (four, that is)!!!
Thanks for reading!
Drabble #1 - Hope
Rating: General Audiences
The battle ended without fanfare. No portal in the sky, no impossible odds, no incursions. The multiverse was safe.
Weeks later Bucky was at an animal shelter, standing in front of a white kitten in the cage.
Retirement wasn’t what he’d expected. He imagined boredom, restlessness. His days became wonderfully ordinary: coffee, aimless walks, reading, sitting with Alpine on the balcony, watching the sunset.
He started imagining a different future: go back to school, reelection.
Perhaps, settle down, start a family.
It felt unbelievable. The universe had stopped asking from him or taking from him.
Bucky was allowed to live.
🚫
Drabble #2 - Shots Fired
Rating: General Audiences
"This is stupid!" Sam yelled, waving his gun in the air.
"The games the game." Bucky chuffed with a smirk.
"You're the one who suggested this." Yelena chuckled alongside Bucky.
"Yeah a nice normal game of Lazer tag. Not Lazer tag with the world's best assassin!" Sam continued.
"Look man," Joaquin huffed as he joined Sam's side, "Maybe we just call it quits, we've gone 5 rounds, we keep losing."
"No we go again." Sam replied sternly, pointing at Bucky with narrowed eyes, "You, left hand only."
"Fine by me." Bucky grinned before jogging back into the darkened zone laughing.
🚫
Drabble #3 – Do This All Day?
Rating: General Audiences
Sam laughed once humorless. “Trust? Don’t start with me on trust, Buck. I had to hear about your new team from the evening news.”
“That’s not what happened.” Bucky groaned
“No? ’Cause it sure as hell felt like it.” Sam's tone cold.
Bucky stepped closer, jaw tight. “They have information. Information that can help.”
Sam opened his mouth, anger ready.
Another voice beat him to it.
“You two gonna do this all day?”
Everything in Bucky locked up. He turned too fast, breath catching painfully.
Steve stood there, steady and impossible.
For one stunned second, Bucky only stared. Disbelieving.
“Steve?”
🚫
Drabble #4 - Doomsday, Declined
Rating: General Audiences
Bucky is trying, with effort, to understand a tax-credit rider. It’s not going well, but it is going privately, which seems important.
You’re halfway through explaining depreciation when his phone rings.
YELENA BELOVA
Decline.
Again.
Decline.
YELENA: Stop being dramatic. Is only maybe end of world.
Swipe.
SAM: don’t be like this.
His jaw shifts.
Swipe.
DEADPOOL: Winter grandpa, Kevin says assemble.
Swipe.
You lower the bill.
“James.”
“No.”
“Could be important.”
“It’s always important.” Bucky’s phone flips facedown. “I’ve appeared in every MCU phase. The other guy who managed that turned into a tree. Let me legislate in peace.”
🚫
Drabble #5 - Apocalypse Meow
Rating: General Audiences
Standing shoulder-to-shoulder with Steve, preparing to face the end of the world was familiar. Everything after that was not.
“That was anticlimactic,” Steve said.
“They can’t all be Thanos,” Bucky agreed.
“Hardly worth coming out of retirement. This happen a lot since I left?”
“Fury’s cat’s saved the day before, but it’s a first for Alpine.” After a beat, Bucky added defensively, “She’s still a kitten.”
Kitten or not, her purrs almost drowned out Doom’s booming admiration while he pet her rather than lay waste to the world.
“Come on, Steve. Fight’s back on if I can’t rescue my cat!”
🚫
Drabble #6 - Them
Rating: General Audiences
The ozone on his tongue was sharp and growing sharper by the second.
Something was wrong.
More than the battle chaos amidst the ruins of the Stark Expo grounds.
Bucky turned slowly, surveying his surroundings.
Then he saw them.
Each wore his face but not his history. One in a crisp, white uniform from some alternate century, a stillness to him like a wolf that knew every trick in the book and didn’t need to snarl. The other a grizzled wreck: gray at the temples, sleep deprivation tattooed under his eyes. Both sported the arm—his arm, that ugly, magnificent thing.
🚫
Drabble #7 – Tumblr to the Rescue
Rating: General Audiences
He was dying. Fine. He'd done it before.
Then the portal opened. Blue. Tumbling. Chaos shaped like small circular portraits of strangers, cats, anime characters, and— unsettlingly— him. Long hair. Short hair. One arm. Two. Smiling, something he didn't remember doing.
One handed him a juice box.
Bucky stared at it. Stared at himself, multiplied, in eras he couldn't fully account for.
"This," announced an icon of a small white blue-eyed cat, "will not happen in Doomsday."
He had no idea what that meant.
Something about the cat felt familiar. He couldn't place it.
He drank the juice box anyway.
🚫
Drabble #8 – Fix It
Rating: General Audiences
Bucky sheathed his knife when you walked in.
“Bucky,” you began softly. “What are you doing?”
“I’m gonna make the writers fix it.”
“Fix what exactly?”
“Everything,” he answered through his teeth. “Like Natasha dying.”
“Bucky…”
“And Steve’s ending.”
“Bucky.”
“And Sam and I being on the outs again.”
“Bucky!”
He paused to look at you.
“You can’t fix it,” you whispered. “You’re not supposed to be aware that you’re in a movie, and I shouldn’t even be here.”
He blinked, confused. “Then… what do I do?”
You smiled. “Leave it to the fanfiction writers. They’ll know what to do.”
🚫
That's all the General Audience drabbles for today!
Be sure to read the Explicit Drabble if you haven't already.
Otherwise, please head over to the voting poll to choose your two favorite drabbles.
Check back on Friday afternoon for the author reveal, and thanks for reading!
AN: for @societynsoelsscribbles June Jukebox Scribbles, day 10, swapped, “I don’t want anybody else.” Divider courtesy of @saradika-graphics.
Warnings: NSFW for oral sex (f receiving), vaginal fingering, language, pussy pronouns (she/her).
Bucky backs you up against the wall right there in the entryway, the cool metal of his left hand sliding up your ribs while his warm right hand cups your jaw. His body is solid heat and muscle pressing into you.
Bucky’s fingers trace the expensive lace over your tits, thumb brushing your already hard nipple through the sheer fabric. His hand slides down, finding the crotchless opening immediately. He groans when his fingers meet your soaked pussy. “Fuck… already this wet for me?”
You whimper as he circles your clit slow and firm. “I don’t want anybody else.”
He drops to his knees right there in the hallway, pushing your thighs apart.
“Fuck, doll… she’s even prettier in person,” he murmurs. He drags two fingers slowly through your folds, spreading you open while he looks up at you like you’re his new religion. “Look how she’s glistening for me already.”
The first slow drag of his warm tongue through your folds makes your knees buckle. He eats you like a man who’s been dreaming about it for weeks — messy, hungry, one hand gripping your ass while the other holds one of your thighs over his shoulder.
You’re moaning loud, fingers in his hair, hips rolling against his face. “Bucky— oh my god, yes… just like that.”
You cry out, one hand fisting his hair, the other gripping his shoulder as he eats you like a starving man.
Bucky pulls back just enough to slide two thick fingers inside you, curling them perfectly against that spot that makes your eyes roll. Your eyes meet his as you look down. The sight is almost your undoing - Bucky’s got a filthy grin, lips shiny from your juices.
“So tight around my fingers, doll. Greedy little thing.”
He stands up suddenly, lifting you like you weigh nothing and carries you straight to the bedroom. The second your back hits the mattress he’s on you, yanking the bralette down so your tits spill out. He sucks one nipple into his mouth hard while he keeps fingering you, wet squelching sounds filling the room.
You’re writhing under him, moaning loud. “Need your cock, Bucky.”
Bucky lets out a wrecked laugh and sits back, stripping his henley off in one move. His cock springs free: thick, heavy, and leaking at the tip. He strokes himself slowly, eyes locked on your spread thighs and that soaked, pulsing pussy.
“Look at her twitching,” he groans. “She’s so fucking pretty when she’s desperate. You gonna be a good girl and let me wreck her tonight, doll?”
Summary: On Paige’s last day at Green’s Tavern, she reminisces with Bucky about all the changes in their lives since meeting. After walking Noah to school the next morning Bucky feels content with his life, looking forward to what comes next.
Length: 5 K
Characters: Bucky, Paige, Noah, Mrs. Kavinsky, the Avengers, bar staff.
Warnings and other notes: Very fluffy final chapter. Thank you for supporting this work. It's been one of my favourite fanfics to work on. I used my daughter's expertise as a former bartender for those portions and a certain now 10 year old as my inspiration for Noah. Although we saw a bit of dark Bucky after Paige's abduction I also wanted to show a man wanting to grow and feel like part of society again. He just needed some extra help to get there. Please vote and comment if you liked what you read. Cheers!
<<Chapter 27
The walk to Green's Tavern took no longer than it usually did as Paige approached the bar. Even though she knew for some time that this day was coming it was still hard to finally know that this part of her life was going to be over. Stopping outside the place she saw that the warm weather had prompted the manager to roll up the big door, bringing more of the outside indoors. There were already a number of patrons on the patio, enjoying the autumn warmth. Tawny, who was just serving a table, noticed Paige and waved at her, coming over.
"This is it, isn't it?" she asked. "Last night as a bartender."
"Yeah, seems weird," replied Paige. "I've worked here for four years. I heard they already found two new bartenders to replace me and Emily."
"Well, they'll be doing your job," agreed Tawny. "Not sure they'll replace you. They have big shoes to fill." She put her tray down and hugged Paige. "Just in case we get too busy I wanted to do that. You're a good bartender and I always liked working with you."
"Thanks, I enjoyed working with you as well. Better get in there."
She walked in through the large opening and waved at André as she headed to the small staff room to deposit her purse and jacket. He came in behind her, waiting at the open door.
"Can't believe the day is already here," he said. "You and Emily are going to be missed. Both of you going on to bigger and better things."
Paige shrugged. "Once I got my CMA designation it was just a matter of time. Never thought it would be with the Avengers." Emily walked in at that moment, hugging André first, then Paige. "She's the ringer. Getting the PR job for the Avengers practically handed to her on a plate."
"What can I say? I have a personality that Nick Fury thinks is perfect to handle all the requests they're getting for personal appearances."
"It's also an easy way to keep an eye on that boyfriend of yours," teased André. "Sam said he's smitten with you. I'm just happy to have the reception here for Paige and Bucky's wedding."
"It was the least I could do," smiled Paige. "Although, I heard a rumour that you've put in a bid to run the bar at the Avengers new compound." André tried to look like it was the first he was hearing of it. "I have some clearance now, so I hear things."
"Keep it quiet," he smiled. "I want to prove I'm up to the task. Tim is in tonight as Bobby phoned in sick. Personally, I think Tim just wanted to be here on your last shift. Anyways, I'll let you two get ready. With this warm weather I think it's going to be busy."
Locking her things up, Paige put her apron on and headed out to the bar, checking the levels on the syrups and juices, and making sure the ice wells were full. Tim greeted her with a big smile.
"I made sure the day staff got everything ready for you," he said. "It's going to be busy with this warm weather."
Getting her first order off of the printer Paige began making the drinks for a table while Emily handled the patrons sitting at the wood. As she poured out the soft drinks first, then began assembling the other drinks she thought over how the last couple of months had been since her kidnapping. After the small one-day break in Las Vegas that turned out to be pretty therapeutic she and Bucky had returned back to New York, picking up his SUV and driving back to the apartment. Mrs. Kavinsky and Noah arrived about an hour later to a tear-filled reunion for all of them. From that moment on, Noah called Bucky, Dad, fully accepting the super soldier as his parent. When Paige shared the circumstances of her kidnapping and rescue with Mrs. Kavinsky, the older lady had hugged Bucky emotionally, telling him how proud she was of him for taking responsibility.
"I hope you didn't mind having to look after Noah," he said. "I didn't really have time to call you and ask. It was an assumption on my part that you wouldn't let us down."
"It was no problem, and that nice Mr. Fury made me feel like I was important to national security," she said. "He sent me, Noah, and Stan to a lovely resort in New York State. We had our own driver and two armed guards to make sure we were safe. Stan even met a nice lady there, a widow. They're going to keep in touch."
Paige smiled at the memory as she finished the order and placed the drinks on the service bar. The server added the garnishes then carried the tray over to her table while Paige pulled the next slip out of the printer, tacking it to the wood and assembling her glasses and ingredients. As she poured out the soft drinks first, she recalled the week alone they were supposed to have while Noah went to the overnight camp she had registered him in. On the designated morning they drove him to the meeting point, where the bus was waiting that would take the kids to the camp. He started to cry as Bucky put his suitcase in the luggage compartment of the bus.
"I don't want to go," he whimpered. "What if ... what if that lady gets out and takes you away again? Or she finds out where I am and comes after me?"
"Please, let me stay home," he sobbed. "Don't send me away."
Bucky, who stood beside her, rubbing Noah's back offered his arms to the boy who grasped onto him tightly. Together, they walked away a bit, and she watched as Bucky talked calmly with him. After a few more minutes, Noah settled down and Bucky kissed him on the forehead then carried him back to where Paige was waiting.
"Tell them we've changed our mind," he said calmly. "I'm not ready to let my son go to an overnight camp yet." He smiled apologetically. "It's alright. Maybe next year."
She was going to ask about his GED examinations, as he planned to take them while Noah was away, but he gave her a look that said he would explain later. Trusting his judgement on this Paige pulled the suitcase out, told the camp administrator that Noah wouldn't be going, and together the three of them went back to the SUV. Within minutes Noah was asleep in the back seat and Bucky grasped her hand as he drove.
"He said he wasn't able to sleep at night as he had nightmares about being kidnapped. I couldn't force him into going." He looked at his son through the rear-view mirror. "Look at him. His face is peaceful now. He didn't say anything to us because he was trying to be strong. Didn't want us to think he was a baby. I can reschedule my exams for when he's back in school."
"You're sure?" asked Paige. "I know you've worked a lot on it."
"I'm sure," he smiled. "I'll manage just fine."
She loved him so much at that moment. After his admission about his rage being triggered, he had seen Dr. Raynor within a couple of days after their return then several more times in the few months since the kidnapping. Together they worked on coping mechanisms, things to ground him whenever he felt overwhelmed by negative emotions. That week ended up being one of the best ever as Bucky and Noah went on their own adventures around New York visiting the museums, and the zoo, even riding out on the motorcycle to where the new SHIELD / Avengers compound was being built. He wanted to show Noah the area where they would be moving to, the school he would attend, and all the amenities they would have that he could use. The other four new super-soldiers had all decided to be part of the Avengers and those with kids were bringing their families, as they were promised a safe place to raise them. With SHIELD staff also living onsite their families would be there, all of them part of a close-knit community.
"Excuse me, what does someone have to do to get a drink around here?" said a familiar voice and Paige looked up to see Thor and Erika right in front of her.
"Hi! I wasn't expecting you to be here," she said brightly to the pair. "What will you have?"
"Anything for my lady, here," grinned Thor. "I will take one of those drinks with the absinthe in it. If you please, Lady Paige."
"Who's watching the kids?" she asked Erika.
"They're in New Asgard with Love," she smiled. "They should be asleep for hours already. White wine for me please."
"King Valkyrie has someone staying with them while we came to celebrate your final evening at this tavern," stated Thor. He looked around. "Are not the other Avengers here to mark this occasion?"
Paige looked around as well. "No one said they were coming. Was it supposed to be a surprise?"
Thor looked at Erika then grinned and shrugged. "You're probably correct. Oh well, you Midgardians are better at pretending to be surprised. Don't let on that I spilled the beer."
Paige and Erika both grinned at his mangling of the phrase "spilled the beans" but didn't say anything to him. Placing their drinks in front of them Paige went on to the next order that had just spit out of the printer. She and Emily were both kept busy as more patrons seemed to be coming in.
"It was never this busy on a Thursday night," said Paige to her bartending partner. "It can't be because of us leaving, can it?"
"I may have put something on the Avenger's Instagram and Twitter tagging Green's Tavern about some Avengers showing up tonight," blushed Emily. "Maybe some locals thought they would check out the bar and get a peek at their superheroes."
"Well, better to be busy," answered Paige, nodding towards where Thor was already taking selfies with a couple of guys in tight T-shirts.
Just then Thor raised his hand in greeting to someone coming in. "Falcon! It's about time you others got here," he boomed then looked beyond the young flyer. "Where are the others?"
Joaquin leaned over the counter giving Emily a quick kiss. "It was supposed to be a surprise," he said to Paige. "They're on their way."
"Bucky is at home with Noah," she replied.
"No, he's not," said Bucky, appearing suddenly. "Mrs. Kavinsky graciously offered to have him over for a sleepover so I could be with you on your last night as a bartender." He waved at Tim then slipped behind the bar quickly to kiss Paige, leaving only when she swatted him on the backside. "I'm going, I'm going."
Paige reached for the bottle of Macallan and poured a double for Bucky. He slipped her a twenty-dollar bill and waved off the change.
"Big spender," she grinned, as she continued to work on her order.
A wave of orders came in and Tim was suddenly at her side, handling some of the easier ones. "I can call in someone, if you want," he stated, looking at the stream of people showing up. "I might have to become doorman if we get many more people."
"I can help," offered Joaquin. "I bartended in college."
"Like I want you behind the wood with your girlfriend," laughed Tim.
"I don't think André left yet," replied Paige. "But an extra person at the bar would be good. We're already three deep in a couple of spots."
With a nod he finished his order then hurried to the office where André was doing some paperwork, advising him of how busy the bar was becoming. He stepped out to have a look and agreed to come out to become doorman after he called in one of the other bartenders. By the time Derrell arrived to work at the bar, André had put up stanchions outside where a lineup had formed. Several other Avengers had arrived by then, including two of the newer ones, Liam McGill with his girlfriend, and Paul Sheridan. Miller was still in Las Vegas, wrapping up the sale of his home while Grainger was on a training mission with SHIELD, otherwise they would have been there according to McGill. After an hour non-stop, Tim told Paige to take a break and she headed to the office to get away from the noise. A knock on the door was followed by Bucky sticking his head in.
"Come in," she said, sitting on André's chair. "I don't think I've ever seen it this crazy on a weeknight."
"You're going out in style," he said. "Stand up."
He came over to the office chair, sat in it, then patted his lap for her to sit on him. She leaned her head against his chest as he put his arms around her. This was the best part of the evening, some quiet time with Bucky, even though it would only be a few minutes. Idly, he picked up her left hand, looking at the engagement ring. His original plan, before Paige was kidnapped, was to ask her to marry him at Niagara Falls, as he had planned a day trip there when they all went to Toronto for that week before school started. They still went, enjoying the spectacle that awed both him and Noah, as Paige had been there before. But the engagement itself became something more intimate and personal.
"What are you thinking about?" Paige looked up at him. "You seem quiet."
"About the day I officially asked you to marry me," he smiled.
"That was a great day," she said. "Noah was so proud that you planned it with him."
"It was all his idea. A helicopter ride to see the sights of New York from the air, pizza at Patsy's Pizzeria for a meal, then a harbour cruise to see New York from the East River and I would propose with the lights of Manhattan as our backdrop."
"Then a thunderstorm grounded the ride, and the power went out, so Patsy's was closed, and the winds were so high that they cancelled the cruise," said Paige. "He was so disappointed."
"Yeah, but lighting the candles in the apartment, then eating chips and dip for supper, followed by the last of the movie candy for dessert was kind of nice," reminisced Bucky. "It seemed the right time for me to ask the woman I love to marry her, with our son present. Just us three."
"It was the best time," smiled Paige. "I love the ring."
"You don't mind that it's vintage?" he asked. "It reminded me of my mother's ring. She would have loved you and Noah."
She held up the pink diamond ring, admiring the way the light hit it.
"It's beautiful, and the pink reminds me of a couple of certain nights."
That brought a tender but still intense kiss that was interrupted by a knock on the door, followed by André's head.
"Sorry, it's crazy out there again. We need you."
Before standing Paige received another kiss from Bucky then she headed back out into the hectic atmosphere of the bar. His seat at the bar was now taken by another person so he threaded his way over to the table where Sam and the others were. A steady stream of people were stopping by, asking for selfies or autographs. He obliged a couple of people then asked the server for a double Macallan. Maria scooted over on the banquette, followed by Sam and he squeezed into the spot they opened for him. Sam looked at his watch.
"New record for you," he said to Bucky.
"What do you mean?"
"You know." Sam grinned and raised his eyebrows up and down.
"We just talked, if you must know," answered Bucky, shaking his head. "This is busier than the nights we did the charity events."
"I know," replied his partner. "She won't miss nights like this. I'm actually going to miss this place once we move to the new compound." Sam took a drink. "What is Paige going to do with her apartment?"
"She hasn't decided whether to sell it or rent it," said Bucky. "It's her property so whatever she decides is okay with me. It will be months before the compound is ready so there's no rush."
There was a commotion at the entrance to the bar, making Bucky, Sam, and Joaquin stand up to see if it was something they needed to be involved in. They could hear Peter Parker's voice and Bucky repeated to the others what was being said.
"I know I look young, but I really am 24 years old." Peter was complaining to André who was handling the lineup. "Ask Sam, he'll tell you."
"I better get out there and vouch for him," said Sam. "It's only because he hasn't been here before, I'm guessing."
He squeezed out from behind the table and headed over to his friend, vouching for the young Avenger, plus MJ and Ned who also came out for the evening. Yelena and Kate yelled for them to come sit at their table, asking the tables nearest them if they could take the extra chairs. As they squeezed into the tight space Yelena ordered vodka shots for all of them. MJ declined, explaining she was designated driver and the server brought her a soft drink on the house. Peter and Ned did do a shot, prompting Bucky to shake his head.
"Leave them alone," said Maria. "Our babies are growing up."
He smirked at how she called the three young ones their babies, but it was true. Ever since Peter's existence was restored to people's memories, they had watched over him and his two friends, feeling responsible for their wellbeing. It hadn't been easy for the three of them, but they were all good people. The sound of a bell ringing stopped all conversation, and Bucky was shocked to see Paige and Emily helped up to the top of the bar by André.
"Alright, before it gets any busier, I want to introduce two of our bartenders," yelled André. "Paige and Emily. Some of you are familiar with them but by the number of new faces here tonight I'm guessing most of you don't know that this is the final night for both of them in our tavern. They are both moving on to new jobs for the Avengers, Paige in their financial division and Emily as their PR rep. In honour of their time as two most excellent bartenders for this establishment they are each going to make a signature flaming drink that they have invented and auction off that drink to the highest bidder. Bids will start at $50, and the proceeds will go to the Brooklyn Sexual Assault Centre. So, watch these two talented bartenders come up with something spectacular."
With the two women helped back down, the space around the bar became crowded as people wanted to watch the creation of the new drinks. Paige went first, and just like she did on the night Bucky met her she commanded the audience, explaining the ingredients in the drink she called the White Wolf. Describing how the combination of them would provide a drink that would be memorable, she entranced everyone with her dramatic presentation while André handled the bids. When the winning bid was made Tim dimmed the lights, and she lit it on fire, bringing applause from everyone. Then the flame was extinguished, and the patron drank the drink, declaring it a success. Emily went next with her creation, the Falcon Flame, displaying a little flair bartending skill as she assembled the drink. After the winning bid was accepted, she set it afire and sprinkled cinnamon into it making the flame sparkle as it lit the spice up. That patron also raved about the cocktail.
André brought an oversized brandy snifter out from the back and explained it was a tip jar for donations to the sexual assault centre. Two hours later, when last call was made it was jammed full of bills. As the place cleared out of regular patrons the servers began cashing out, Thor and Erika said their goodbyes, followed by most of the other Avengers. They all hugged Paige and Emily, promising to see them at work soon. Emily and Derrell cashed out, although they both took some time to clean up the work area. Joaquin waited for Emily, and they stepped out into the night together as he saw her home. Finally, it was just Paige, Bucky, Tim and André left in the empty and now quiet bar while she cashed out.
"Go home," said André. "Tim and I can finish cleaning up."
"Are you sure?" asked Paige. "I feel like I'm leaving you hanging, and you've been here all day."
"You're not," replied the owner. "You've been an incredible employee, right from the start. I'm going to miss you."
"I'll miss working with both of you," she replied, her eyes tearing up a little. "You helped me through a rough time in my life and that's worth a lot."
Bucky smiled as the three of them exchanged hugs. He waited as Paige went into the office to grab her jacket and purse then she came out and went to the door with him. Turning around she took one more look at the bar then looked up at her fiancé.
"Walk me home?" she asked.
"My pleasure," he replied.
They held hands on the walk home, not needing to talk on the way. Bucky opened the door and put his arm around Paige on the elevator up to the sixth floor. He hung back a little in the hallway, letting Paige open the apartment door herself. She kicked her shoes off as she removed her jacket and hung it up. Turning on the kitchen light she was surprised to see several floral arrangements.
"Where did these come from?" she asked.
"The yellow roses are from Andre to thank you for a job well done," said Bucky. "The daffodils are from SHIELD, to welcome you under their umbrella. They arrived just before I left."
She smelled the flowers then looked at the large arrangement of soft pink roses.
"Who sent these?"
"I did," he said, pulling her close. "They symbolize happiness, joy, and love. You mean so much to me and I feel like a good man when I'm with you."
"You are a good man," she replied, looking up at him. "I realized that very quickly."
"Then you make me a better man," he countered. "Every day and every night I'm going to tell you how amazing you are, and it still won't be enough to make up for all the years you struggled on your own without knowing that."
"I guess we're going to be telling each other that a lot," smiled Paige, as she caressed his cheek. "You're pretty amazing yourself."
Their embrace continued in the bedroom, in a physical but tender display of giving and sharing love. Afterwards, Bucky watched over the woman he loved more than anyone as she curled into him, feeling safe enough to sleep, hoping that for this night at least, her nightmares wouldn't wake her. If they did, he was there for her, knowing that of all the people in the world who knew about nightmares, it was him. The sleep interruptions were lessening in frequency, something that her therapist said was a testament to their bond. As he helped her, he also helped himself as it strengthened his natural protective tendencies but also redirected them into calmer, more gentle ways.
In the morning he whispered to Paige, when she was stirring awake. "Stay in bed, love. I'll get Noah off to school."
After quickly showering then dressing, he went across the hallway to Mrs. Kavinsky's door, knocking gently. His son opened the door almost immediately, still wearing his prototype Avenger pyjamas that had everyone on them in their tactical suits. Bucky didn't even mind how he looked on them. The two greeted each other with a joyous smile.
"Come in for breakfast," said the older woman, sticking her head out of the kitchen. "Noah was just about to have his Fruit Loops."
Bucky stepped inside and toed off his boots, seeing the spread of food she had already prepared for him.
"You didn't have to do this," he said, as he sat at the table.
"I figured you wouldn't have much time to make breakfast after you got up," she replied. "Paige is still sleeping?"
"Yeah, she's tired. No nightmares this time, knock on wood."
He knocked on the table and began eating, knowing that Mrs. Kavinsky liked looking after all three of them. He was still trying to find a way to convince her to move with them out to the new compound, knowing her maternal and nurturing nature could be a great asset to the whole team. The fact that the suggestion came from Nick Fury still amazed him, but the man did have good instincts about people, Sharon Carter excluded.
Half an hour later he and Noah were on their way to school. It was still warm from the night before and the morning sun made the changing leaves glow, bathing everything in a golden light that just made them both feel energized. As they got closer to the school more kids called out to both of them by name. Bucky acknowledged them all with a smile. There were several of Noah's classmates already playing on the playground equipment.
"Can I play before school?" he asked.
"Yeah, go ahead, I'll guard your backpack," said Bucky, sitting on the bench that faced the playground.
He watched the kids playing a form of tag on the equipment; once someone was "it" the others would scatter over the different parts of the structure, jumping onto the various bars that hung from it and using their arm strength to get away, without falling to the ground. It was energetic, loud, and it blew him away how strong these boys and some girls were as they clambered easily over the structure that looked nothing like the monkey bars of his childhood.
"Mr. Barnes, can you watch my stuff?" asked a voice and Bucky looked at the face of one of Noah's quieter classmates, waiting near him.
"Sure," he answered. "It's Theo, isn't it? I'll make sure no one takes your stuff."
The shy boy beamed, pleased that the Avenger knew his name. Happily, he approached the structure, watching the others at first, hoping to be invited to join. Bucky made eye contact with Noah and nodded towards Theo. There was a sense of pride in Bucky at that moment when his son jumped off the equipment, landing near the other boy.
"You wanna play?"
Theo nodded. Noah explained the game then waited for the shy boy to join him on the structure. Both of their faces showed the absolute joy of childhood as they got into the game. When the outdoor bell rang, and everyone jumped off the equipment Bucky handed Theo his backpack then picked up Noah's. As the boy's arms circled around his neck, he held him tight, then kissed his cheek.
"I love you Noah," he whispered.
"I love you, too, Dad," said the boy.
Then he stepped back and smiled at Bucky as he put his backpack on. Frowning at Bucky's chest he pointed to a spot, making Bucky look down. When he did so, Noah brushed his finger up against Bucky's nose, making them both grin. Standing up the tall super soldier watched his son run to where the other students were entering the school. Just before Noah entered, he turned and waved at Bucky. The super soldier waved back then began the three blocks walk back home. It was just one of many days that he took Noah to school, and just one of many to come. When he got back home, he would spend the day with Paige, doing ordinary couple things.
Being part of a family was still something he couldn't believe was actually happening, but it was something he knew he needed. It fed the human part of him that HYDRA spent years trying to destroy. Steve Rogers may have saved him from HYDRA and Sam Wilson helped him get past his self-pity after Steve left. But Paige and Noah saved him from himself; they nurtured him and gave him a reason to be part of life again. They quickly burned away the remaining layers of ice that he hid behind, allowing him to accept himself fully as a husband, father, friend, and Avenger. In his opinion it was the only way of beginning a new life with people you loved. It was a life sentence that Bucky was happy to serve.
The End
Series Masterlist
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Rating: As a whole, The Fall is rated E due to mature themes (smut, violence, trauma & PTSD, etc.). Content warnings can be found directly on applicable chapters. Please be mindful of your media consumption; take care of yourself.
Content Advisory: smut; penetrative sex (p-in-v sex); unprotected sex (🫣); aftercare
Chapter: 168/270
Chapter 167 | Chapter 169 | The Fall masterlist
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NOVEMBER 29, 2019 — AVENGERS COMPOUND — RÉA
A delectable aroma wakes me.
I hear Bucky in the kitchen; rolling over, I look at my phone, seeing it’s half-past-nine. I quickly pull on a pair of emerald-green, flannel pyjamas, then run a brush through my hair before gathering it into a top knot.
I pad into the kitchen and see Bucky at the stove, stirring something in a saucepan.
“That smells amazing,” I say. “What is it?”
“Red sauce,” he replies. “And pasta,” he gestures to a large pot. “I know it’s late, but I’m starving, since we slept through lunch and dinner.” He pauses, turning towards me with a cheeky grin. “Well…slept and slept.”
Turning his attention back to the sauce, he gives it another stir then places the spoon on a spoon rest and covers the pan before pulling me into a hug. I sigh contentedly as I rest my head on his shoulder and breathe in his warm, soothing Bucky smell.
“You always smell so good,” I murmur. “Like cedar, vanilla, and cinnamon. It’s comforting.”
I feel him press a kiss to the top of my head.
“I know what you mean,” he replies, his voice quiet. He pauses for a moment. “Spun sugar and raspberries.”
He clears his throat.
“That’s partly why I stood there, just staring at you, when I came to your room after the welcome party. When I inhaled to tell you it was me, I smelled spun sugar and raspberries, and my brain…went fuzzy. Because I realized it was you, and all I could think was that you smelled good.”
I smile as I remember that night.
“I thought you might want to kiss me that night. And I…part of me wanted to lean in and kiss you, but I was…I was too shy.”
“I did want to,” Bucky replies. “There were a lot of times I wanted to kiss you; to hold your hand, or tuck your hair behind your ear, or hold you in my arms…starting in Wakanda.” He pauses. “I just…I told myself you could never be mine; that I didn’t deserve you. And the more time I spent with you, the more I wished you could be. And when we started spending our evenings together, I…I wanted to tell you that I wanted more than friendship. I just didn’t because I was scared.”
He inhales deeply, and when he speaks again, his voice is thick. “I passed up so many opportunities with you because I was afraid. I let fear control my life, and I….”
“My biggest regrets used to be the things I did as the Winter Soldier. And while I still do—and will always—deeply regret those, my greatest regrets are all the times I kept myself from telling you how I feel; the times I let opportunities pass by because I was scared. If I could go back and have those moments again, I wouldn’t waste a single second.”
“I understand,” I murmur after several quiet moments. “I feel the same.” I pause. “I also know that I will not let that happen again. I’m not saying I won’t get scared…I will. Because what I feel for you is beautiful, and amazing, and wonderful, and terrifying, all at once. But I’ve learned that being brave doesn’t mean not being afraid; it means doing things in spite of the fear. So, again, I’m not saying I won’t get scared…I am saying that I’ll be brave.”
I lift my head and look into Bucky’s eyes.
“Because you are worth it…because this,” I gesture between us, “is worth it.”
He gently cups the nape of my neck and pulls me into a kiss; my arms twine around his neck and my lips part. He’s just deepened the kiss when the sudden ringing of his phone pierces the air.
“Timer,” he says, shutting it off. “Would you grab a couple of bowls while I finish up dinner?”
“Sure.”
I place two bowls on the counter beside the stove, then take flatware, napkins, and glasses to the table while Bucky drains the pasta and adds it to the sauce. He fills our bowls as I fill a pitcher with water; together, we settle at the table.
Bucky immediately tucks in, and while it smells delicious, I only manage a few bites before I begin to pick at my food.
“Everything okay?” Bucky asks.
I nod.
“Yeah. The food is great! I’m just…I’m not…I mean, the couch is right there,” I say, blushing, even as I let my gaze rove over him. “So I’m not really hungry for food right now.”
I watch his expression turn carnal, his eyes clouding with lust.
It’s quiet for several beats, then he pushes his chair back and stands. He makes his way over to me, lifting me by the waist. I wrap my legs around him and crush my mouth to his.
He immediately deepens the kiss, tongue slipping into my mouth as he strides towards the couch. Without breaking the kiss, he sits down; I’m now straddling his lap, and I rock my hips against him.
“If memory serves, you have entirely too many clothes on,” he rasps as he pulls back just enough to speak, his lips brushing mine as he does.
I stand and reach for the buttons of my shirt; he shakes his head.
“Leave it on for now,” he says.
I nod, understanding what he wants, and I lower my hands to the waistband of my pyjama pants, sliding them and my underwear down my legs. I step out of the garments, leaving them on the floor, and return to Bucky’s lap.
He pulls me into a searing kiss; it’s a dance of lips and tongues and teeth, and my pulse skyrockets as heat pools in my core.
I reach for the buttons of my shirt again, and Bucky leans back, his gaze on mine before it drops to my hands.
I slowly undo the buttons, then part the material, letting the shirt slip off of my shoulders and down my arms to pool on the floor.
“От вас захватывает дух,” he says, his tone reverent. You are breathtaking.
I want to reply; to tell him I think the same about him, but he pulls me into another kiss and that thought evaporates.
The kiss is heady and intense, and I once again rock my hips against him as fire courses through me. I slip my hands beneath his shirt, letting them glide over his muscular torso as I lift it.
Bucky breaks the kiss to pull the shirt over his head, then leans forward to press kisses to my neck. He trails his lips to the place where my neck and shoulder meet, drawing a soft moan from me as he nips the spot.
“Oh gods, Bucky,” I pant as he glides his lips to my breast, laving the peak with his tongue before pulling it between his lips.
Just like that time at the Plaza, I pull the waistband of his pants just low enough so that his thick length springs free. I wrap my hand around him, lining him up with my centre before sinking down onto him, taking all of him.
A wanton, throaty moan slips from me, and his vibranium arm wraps around my hips as his right rests along my spine, his hand lightly gripping the nape of my neck.
“Ебать, куколка. Христос Всемогущий,” he groans, leaning his forehead against mine. (Fuck, doll. Christ Almighty.)
Allowing instinct to take over, I start to move, chasing the pleasure that I always find with him. His head falls back and both his hands settle on my hips. I ride him eagerly—almost desperately—as that wonderful coil starts to wind within me.
“Возьми у меня то что тебе нужно,” he pants, lifting his head to look at me. (Take what you need from me.)
It doesn’t take much longer for me to fly over the edge; his hands tighten on my hips, helping me keep the rhythm as he thrusts up into me.
“Вот так, детка. Такая хорошая девочка, кончающая на моем члене. Сделай это снова.” (That’s it, baby. Such a good girl, cumming on my dick. Do it again.)
He begins to thrust harder and faster, pulling me down onto him every time his hips rise; with the new rhythm he’s set, it doesn’t take long before I’m close to climaxing again.
“Я знаю, что ты уже близко, куколка. Я хочу почувствовать, как ты сжимаешься вокруг моего члена. Дай мне это, детка,” he growls. (I know you’re close, doll. I want to feel you clench around my cock. Give it to me, baby.)
Even if I didn’t understand the words, my body would react to his nearly-feral tone; because I do understand, I react to both, not just reaching the peak but flying over it into the stratosphere as my walls tighten around him. He gives a few more thrusts then I feel him follow me into bliss.
My head is fuzzy and my body boneless; I lean against Bucky, who holds me close as we both come down. When I can finally think—and move—again, I sit up, brushing his hair off his forehead then letting my palm rest against his cheek.
“У тебя довольно рот на тебе. Конечно, я уже знал что,” I say, giving him a flirtatious smirk. (You’ve got quite a mouth on you. Of course, I already knew that.)
“Wait…did you just—”
“Говорите по-русски? Да.” I pause. “Я думаю от вас захватывает дух также.” (Speak Russian? Yes. … I think you are breathtaking too.)
His eyes widen, and a blush stains his cheeks; I know it’s because he’s realised I understood everything he said.
“I…” he clears his throat, “I…um….”
‘Okay, I see why he thinks this is cute when I do it. He’s adorable.’
“Все в порядке…Мне нравится когда ты говоришь так,” I whisper. (It’s okay…I like it when you talk like that.)
I feel him twitch and start to harden inside me; my core clenches around him.
“God, Réa,” he rasps. “Nu ai idee cât de sexy ești.” (You have no idea how sexy you are.)
“Doar pentru că tu mă faci să mă simt așa,” I reply. (Only because you make me feel that way.)
Our lips collide, and he manoeuvres so that my back is on the couch as he starts to move, sending fiery pleasure through my veins.
He feels amazing, but he’s still being gentle with me, and I want more…I want him as undone and frantic as I am.
“Mai mult. Te rog, Bucky, mai mult,” I pant. “Fă în așa fel încât să nu pot merge.” (More. Please, Bucky, more. … Make it so I can’t walk.)
“Sfinte iad,” he replies, and I watch his already-dilated pupils blow. (Holy hell.)
Based on his reaction, I expect him to go feral, but he holds my gaze, his eyes searching mine.
“Ești sigur, Réa?” he asks, his voice husky. (Are you sure, Réa?)
“Yes. I’m sure. Please, Bucky,” I mewl, my tone desperate and needy.
I don’t know whether it’s my words or my tone, but suddenly he moves lightning-fast. He slips his vibranium arm beneath me to wrap around my hips, holding me tightly to him as he slides his legs off the couch so he’s kneeling on the floor, me astride him. He shifts, leaning forward so that he’s once again above me, his gaze still on mine…and I see the moment he lets go.
‘There’s the feral,’ I think.
Bucky doesn’t hold back; he thrusts into me relentlessly. Unlike the bed or the couch, there’s no give in the floor, and I have no choice but to take every single inch of him as deep as he can go. It feels incredible, and my hips lift into his, matching him thrust for thrust.
“I…oh gods,” I manage to gasp as I feel another orgasm approaching, the feeling already more intense than any of the others. “Don’t stop, Bucky, please…don’t stop.”
He doesn’t; in fact, he moves faster and harder, and within mere seconds, there’s a gush between my legs as my back arches and I scream his name.
My brain barely registers his words; he’s still moving inside me, and I’ve lost the ability to think. I cling to him, my legs wrapped around his hips and my hands on his shoulder blades as he pushes me into climax after climax while he chases his own release. I can’t even make a sound; despite all of the orgasms, an inferno still rages inside me, and all I can do is stay wrapped around him, panting, as he stokes the flames higher.
His rhythm starts to falter, but he doesn’t stop moving until I’ve peaked once more; he gives a final, deep thrust, stilling as he spills inside me.
He lies on top of me, supporting his weight on his forearms and resting his forehead against mine as we both breathe heavily. Eventually, he pulls out of me and stands, then bends down to lift me into his arms. He carries me into the en suite and into the shower, setting me on the teak wood shower stool before turning on the waterfall. After a few moments, he checks the temperature then closes the drain in the pool. He exits the shower enclosure, and I hear him opening and closing cabinets. He returns with a washcloth and my container of Epsom salt. He adds several generous scoops to the pool before setting the container outside the shower door. He returns to me and turns on the sprayer, waiting for it to heat before soaking the washcloth.
He parts my thighs and gently cleans me up, then rinses and wrings out the washcloth before hanging it on one of the hooks on the shower caddy. He once again lifts me into his arms, carrying me over to the waterfall. He turns off the cascade then settles us into the pool in our usual position: me between his legs, my back against his chest and my head leaning on his shoulder.
I must doze off, because the next thing I’m aware of is Bucky’s voice.
“Réa, wake up.”
I open my eyes, my gaze immediately colliding with Bucky’s steel-blue one.
“Hi, gorgeous,” he says sweetly. “Time to rinse off then go to bed.”
I nod, but don’t move.
“My legs are all shaky,” I say softly.
Bucky chuckles.
“I can help with that,” he says as he picks me up and carries me back to the shower stool.
He once again turns on the sprayer; once the water is warm, he rinses off then helps me stand, holding me up with his left arm around my waist. His right hand removes the sprayer from the holder and manoeuvres it, rinsing off the salt residue. He shuts off the water and returns the sprayer to its spot before sliding his right arm behind my knees and lifting me.
He carries me out of the shower and I see that he’s laid a towel across the counter. He sets me down on it, then grabs another towel and drapes it around my shoulders. He dries off, then dries me before once again lifting me into his arms.
He makes his way into my bedroom and over to the bed, turning down the covers. He gently places me on the mattress then climbs in beside me, pulling me into his arms.
A giant yawn escapes me, and I snuggle into his chest.
“I love you, Bucky,” I murmur.
“I love you, Réa.”
I fall asleep in his embrace, knowing I’m cherished and loved.
Prompt: "Jump (For My Love)" - Pointer Sisters// "I know you like what you see"
Pairing(s): Reader/Bucky
w/c: 430 (oops)
Warnings: obsession, voyeurism(not in the way you'd expect), teasing, civilian!reader, avenger!bucky.
a/n: ahhh i love this prompt! and thank you @societysoelsscribbles for hosting this challenge!
You are beyond interested, you're obsessed.
Bucky Barnes, the only Howling Commando to give his life for his country... and then come back to life 70 years later looking the exact same?
Yeah, the math isn't exactly clicking for you, but you care less about the how or why, when you can focus on the who.
You have an apartment, in Upstate New York, and it just so happens that your window gives you an unobstructed view... right into one James Buchanan Barnes' window, which he leaves open even while he changes.
So, maybe you have a bit of a problem, but god, you just can't help yourself.
He's right there, he has no idea that you exist, and you get to see this man in all his glory every day.
Speaking of, you just woke up. It's 06:15, which means Bucky has been up for an hour.
Crud.
You really hope you didn't miss it, as perverse the thought is.
You, not so stealthily, creep to your window and use your phone camera to zoom in(because while you have an unobstructed view, the view is still a good dozen acres away). You bite your lip, feeling a mix of guilt and pure longing as Bucky steps perfectly into view, his muscular back to you, and his long hair covering his pretty face.
Turn around, you think, heart pounding. You don't even know I'm here.
Now of course, Bucky knew someone had been watching him.
He isn't a super soldier for nothing.
But what he didn't expect, was to like the attention.
As dirty as it is, as sinful as it is...
he just wants to feel wanted.
He wants to be admired.
He wants to be touched with a gentle hand instead of being treated like a weapon.
He's a man too, under all that tough soldier.
He's a man, and he knows a woman is watching him, and for some inexplicable reason, he revels in that knowledge.
So, turning slowly, he lets his button-up shirt fall open and reveal the deep contours of his torso, littered in fading scars and birthmarks.
He looks out through the window, a devastatingly slow smile spreading across his face as he catches the glint of a phone camera, and he waves.
"I know you like what you see."
The other window shuts their curtains quickly, and Bucky chuckles softly as he turns back around and finishes changing his clothes.
This isn't the last I'll see of her, Bucky thinks to himself before opening his door and starting his day.
A/n I'm sorry for not post anything for week,I got a cold. I know I said I will rewrite the cuddling in bed fic, but I'm not not right now.
You are heading to the hospital for surgery, your stomach was hurting mostly because you can't eat anything before.
The ride felt forever but you still were a bit worried, it's always a risk for any surgeries, you notice how Bucky was sweating.
You: it's going to be okay.. it's just sugary.
Bucky: .. I know it's just .. when I saved you and you.. lost so much blood I thought you would make it and the motorcycle accident I..
You: I will make it out alive.. I promise.
You promise that, you hopefully hope you make it.
The rain drops running down from the window, this day and next month will be a long time.
You felt his hand on yours, it made you feel calmer than ten seconds ago.
The hospital, everything felt so long to wait, you felt very nervous and dizzy.
The big lights made your head hurt, the sound of everyone around. Bucky sat across the room looking out the window.
The nurses come over and make you ready for the surgery, Bucky was very worried about this, he had a feeling something was wrong.
It's been mostly a few minutes after you left the room, Bucky looked around to see if Steve or the others would show up for support but.. he saw a few doctors running down to the operation room where you were.
Now his heart rate was up.
Steve: BUCKY!
Bucky turned around and saw Steve running down to him, Steve looked between him and you inside of the room.
Bucky: .. He's.. the doctors..
His words just stumble over each other, he thinks he's going to lose you.
Steve: Bucky.. he's going to be okay.. the surgeons will make sure he survives.. he's been so near death so many times.. and still walking around on this planet.
It felt like forever, it's been eight hours.. The surgery is supposed to only be 1.5 to 4 hours.
Bucky: he's been in there for a long time now.
Steve: Buck.. let them.. they know what they are doing, I promise he's coming.
Bucky just sighs and looks over to the clock.
about to leave but then you come back from the operation room and still under anesthesia.
Everything felt so unreal, but you made it out alive like you promised.
You: Bucky..??
He didn't answer but he hugged you very tight he was afraid to lose you.
Steve: How do you feel?
You: Drugged..
Steve just laughs a little and Bucky ruffles your hair.
Bucky: .. you made it.
You: Told you.. I would.. Have you been crying.?
Bucky: No.
You knew that was a lie but he was happy you are still here after all and are happy for you to be the man you are.
My Roman Empire is that there are MULTIPLE fanfiction writings featuring Dr. Brendon Park (a.k.a. Park the Shark) when he was in ONE of THIRTY episodes of The Pitt. Not only that, but he was also only on screen for maybe five minutes.
FRAGMENTS OF A LONELY TIDE (1)
dockworker!bucky barnes x mermaid!reader [8k]
— ⟢ SUMMARY: a grumpy dockworker reluctantly rescues you—a stranded, wounded mermaid—with every intention of sending you back to the sea once you’ve healed. until the idea of losing you becomes something he can no longer bear.
— ⟢ CHAPTER WARNINGS: 18+ story MDNI; bucky’s in his 40s; grumpy!bucky (starts off rude and cold); mention of divorce; mention of deceased family members; reader is mentioned to have hair; descriptions of injuries & blood.
A/N: even if my exam went well (🥳) these nights my anxiety is through the roof, meaning I’m doing anything except sleeping lol. so I decided to be productive and finish this. I guess it’s also an alternative to gods, gore, & groping—I know many people don’t like monsterfucking.
btw I’m so excited I’m actually shaking as I’m writing this 🥹 these two are already my favorite!! fun fact: I had h2o: just add water ambient instrumentals on repeat while writing this 😭
hope you’ll enjoy 🌊
next part | series masterlist
Northwick sits at the edge of a stretch of coastline so remote that most maps barely seem interested in acknowledging its existence.
There is a road leading to it—a narrow ribbon of asphalt that winds its way through miles upon miles of dense pine forest and jagged cliffs, before finally surrendering to the sea. But the journey is long enough that very few people ever find themselves here by accident. Nobody even passes through on their way somewhere else, because the road ends here, at a cluster of weather-beaten buildings pressed between water and rocks. It feels like nature has been slowly reclaiming the town for years.
Most of the time, the sea and the sky blend into a single sheet of dull grey.
Drizzle visits often enough that the residents rarely bother carrying umbrellas anymore, choosing instead to endure the weather with the sort of weary resignation that comes from decades of losing the same battle over and over again.
The wind is worse. It never seems to stop entirely, always carrying with it the scent of salt, seaweed, and old wood. It comes shrieking off the water at all hours, rattling shutters and slamming loose signs against walls.
The sea itself is no friendlier. Dark, cold, and perpetually restless, it spends its days throwing itself against the cliffs with a violence that makes outsiders wonder why anyone had chosen to build a town there in the first place.
The truth is that nobody living here remembers a different life.
Certainly not James Bucky Barnes.
He has spent every single year of his existence within sight of that sea. He was born in the small hospital overlooking the harbor, attended the local school, worked the docks since he was old enough to lift a crate without embarrassing himself, and eventually inherited the modest house that had belonged to his grandparents before him.
His entire life can be traced through these streets: every corner carries a memory, every building has a story attached to it—although most of them aren’t particularly interesting.
His parents are gone now. His grandparents too. An assortment of aunts, uncles, and cousins disappeared over the years until the Barnes family, which was one of the memorable families in town, had gradually been reduced to a single man living alone at the end of a quiet street.
He has a sister, but after a long series of arguments that neither of them seemed willing to lose, she eventually left for New York and they simply stopped trying to bridge the distance.
There was a period of time, many years ago, when he imagined things might turn out differently.
He married young enough to believe that marriage itself would somehow change him and introduce a desire for things he had never wanted before. Instead, it had simply highlighted the differences that had always existed between himself and his wife.
She wanted cities, opportunities, children, experiences and possibilities that stretched beyond the horizon.
Bucky looked around at the life he already possessed and failed to understand what was missing.
The divorce was not dramatic. There was nothing to hate, no one to blame, only the slow realization that they were standing on opposite sides of a road that kept fracturing each passing year.
When she finally left, loading her belongings into a rented truck before driving away from Northwick without a second glance, Bucky watched her disappear around the bend at the end of the road and accepted, with surprising clarity, that he would probably never see her again.
He was right.
More than fifteen years have passed since then.
No letters. No phone calls. No messages.
For all he knows she might have built the exact life she had always dreamed about.
The thought doesn’t bother him, and not because he is heartless; he has simply made peace with the fact that some people are meant for larger lives than his.
And Bucky chose this life.
He chose the quiet predictability of his routine.
Every morning begins with the same shrill of the same alarm clock, and every night ends at the same hour in the same bed.
Some people would call the repetition depressing, lonely... Bucky calls it peaceful.
Bucky reaches the harbor when engines start coughing to life and the first ropes are being dragged across wet wood.
He adjusts his gloves as he walks, fingers closing briefly in a fist around the worn fabric before releasing again, more out of habit than anything. His boots strike the planks in a steady rhythm that never changes, no matter how many years pass.
“Well,” a raspy voice calls from his left, tinted with exaggerated surprise. “If it isn’t the ghost of punctuality himself being five minutes late.”
Bucky doesn’t slow down, but exhales through his nose, a quiet sound that barely registers as acknowledgment.
Pietro appears beside him a moment later anyway, just like every morning, matching his pace with the effortless ease of someone who has never once respected personal space in his life. He has been working the docks for a few years now—one of the youngest of the group—and possesses the deeply unfortunate personality trait of wanting to talk to other people.
Specifically people who wish to be left alone.
“I was beginning to think you’d finally retired.” He continues, glancing at Bucky with a grin that suggests this is already the most interesting thing that would happen all day.
The older man lifts a crate without breaking stride, shifting it onto his shoulder as though it weighs nothing, then sets it down exactly where it needs to go.
“I’m forty-five.”
Pietro hums thoughtfully, hands tucked into the pockets of his jacket. “Exactly.”
Bucky throws him a glance and the blond young man does nothing to hide his smugness.
Workers move between warehouses carrying clipboards and coffee cups as forklifts rumble across the rain-darkened planks. There isn’t a particularly pleasant smell—a mix of diesel fumes and fish—but after nearly three decades of working here, he barely notices it anymore.
As a matter of fact, the harbor itself has changed very little since Bucky was a child. New boats occasionally arrive. Old boats occasionally disappear. Businesses open, fail, and reopen beneath different names. Yet somehow the place always remains fundamentally the same, preserved beneath layers of salt and stubbornness.
A few meters ahead, Sam and Drax are arguing over a misprinted shipping label, their voices rising just enough to cut through the wind. The moment Drax notices Bucky walking by, he immediately straightens, catching Sam’s attention with a light tap to his chest.
“Morning, Barnes.” He grins.
Bucky gives a single nod without looking at them properly, already scanning the area for whatever needs fixing or lifting before anyone else can complain about it.
The gesture, minimal as it is, detonates something entirely disproportionate in the group behind him.
There is a beat of silence, the kind that always comes just before trouble.
“Did he just—”
“Oh shit.”
“He acknowledged us.”
“Barton, write this down. We need witnesses.”
“Already got three.”
“You think he’s feeling alright?”
“I don’t know. Somebody check his temperature.”
Bucky closes his eyes briefly. When he opens them again, half a dozen colleagues are watching him with varying degrees of amusement.
Pietro walks right into his line of sight, turning to stare at him with open disbelief.
“Barnes,” he starts slowly, as if addressing a skittish animal. “Was that... social interaction?”
Bucky shoots him a flat look.
“Have you never seen a nod?”
The dock erupts at once. Brock, who is standing near the edge of the dock, drops a coil of rope in theatrical shock.
“He talks!”
“He’s evolving.” Clint crosses his arms to his chest, nodding sagely.
Pietro clutches his chest dramatically, staggering back a step.
“I can’t believe I lived to see this day.” He sniffles, wiping away a fake tear.
Bucky resumes walking, expression unchanged, though his grip on the next crate tightens slightly as he lifts it.
“Don’t start, Maximoff.” He mutters.
But Pietro jogs ahead of him now, walking backward just to keep eye contact, clearly enjoying himself far too much.
“Seriously, you feeling okay, Barnes? You need water? A nap? Emotional support?”
“I’m fine.” He sighs.
“That’s the most words I’ve heard out of you in a week. I was starting to think you’d forgotten how language works.”
Bucky stops to set the crate down harder than necessary, the impact echoing loudly through the wood beneath it, before staring blankly at the younger man.
Pietro raises both hands in surrender, though his grin never falters.
“Alright, alright. I’ll leave you alone.”
But he doesn’t actually leave. He just sort of… shifts his weight.
Bucky exhales through his nose and decides to ignore him completely, moving to the side where a length of rope has been left half-coiled from earlier work. He starts redoing it properly, hands working in tight, repetitive motions that give him something solid to focus on.
“So...” The younger man draws out. “How’s your love life?”
Bucky considers walking directly into the sea.
See, the problem with living somewhere this small is that people become comfortable... far too comfortable. After decades of seeing the same faces every day, the boundaries that exist in normal society begin to erode, and privacy becomes communal property as everyone feels entitled to everyone else’s business.
Especially his.
“Dead.”
That answer, as always, triggers a round of snickers among his colleagues.
Pietro claps him on the shoulder. “You’re so funny, man.”
Bucky follows the movement of his hand with frightening calm, causing Pietro to immediately snatch it back, before he clears his throat awkwardly.
“I wasn’t being funny.” Bucky retorts as he picks up the rope, the movement sharper this time as his patience thins in a way that’s entirely visible to anyone who knows him well enough.
Unfortunately, his colleagues couldn’t give two fucks about it.
“You know,” the younger man quips, leaning casually against a stack of supplies as if he has completely forgotten why he is here in the first place. “My aunt’s still single.”
Bucky stops mid-step. Slowly, he turns his head, just enough to stare at him right in the eye.
“No.”
“Hey, c’mon now, you didn’t even ask her name!”
“I don’t need to.” He resumes walking.
Pietro is already at his heels. “She’s nice.”
He rolls his eyes to the sky. “I don’t care.”
“She makes excellent soup.”
“I can cook.”
He once again jogs ahead to face Bucky. “She’s rich.” He lifts his eyebrows knowingly.
“I’m leaving.” Bucky announces deadpan.
“What—” Pietro’s eyes widen. “You just got here!”
“I can still leave.” Bucky shrugs nonchalantly.
The threat carries absolutely no weight, everyone knows it. Including Bucky, yet a chorus of protests promptly rises.
“You can’t quit.”
“We need you to scare the seagulls away.”
“Who’s gonna stop Maximoff from talking our ears off?”
“Hey!”
He shakes his head.
Some days he wonders if he’s the only serious person in town. Probably not, but it’s becoming increasingly difficult to prove.
“Tell you what,” Pietro continues, clearly encouraged by his own stupidity. “If you won’t date my aunt, what about Ms. Hargrove?”
Bucky looks mildly horrified.
“No, no, hear him out.” Drax promptly intervenes, approaching the two of them.
“She’s only seventy-two!” Pietro continues.
“Seventy-four.” Brock corrects as he passes by.
“Still young at heart.”
“She’s been asking about you for years, Barnes.” Clint snickers, a cup of coffee already in hand.
“Everybody’s been asking about him for years.” Sam adds with a poorly concealed grin.
That, unfortunately, is true.
People ask constantly, because Bucky has become something of a local mystery. A man who lives alone on the top of a cliff, works alone, spends his evenings alone. Who has not been seen on a date in over two decades...
“She bakes.” Drax starts counting on his fingers.
“Oh, God.” Bucky mutters, tipping his head back tiredly.
“Excellent pies.” The other man continues solemnly. “She owns a house. She has all her teeth—”
“Most of them.” Sam interjects.
“Most of her teeth,” Drax agrees. “She grows her own vegetables. She volunteers at the church. She has strong opinions about parking regulations.”
“And she killed a raccoon with a shovel once.” Pietro adds with his stupid big grin.
Drax lights up. “See? She’s strong, a protector.”
“Leave him alone.” A new cocky voice appears.
Oh, great. Mr. Congeniality #2 has finally graced them with his presence.
“I bet he’s secretly married with some pretty businesswoman.”
“Shut up Storm, Barnes’ a ladies’ man.”
“Maybe he’s a spy.” Drax suddenly gasps, and he and Clint point at each other, clearly agreeing. “That’s why he always disappears after work! He might be working for the KGB.”
Johnny cringes. “The KGB hasn’t existed for thirty years, you idiot.”
Sam snorts. “Also, a spy who spends every day lifting crates and yelling at the weather? Really?”
“You don’t know if that’s a cover and he just pretends to work.”
“I know for sure he doesn’t pretend since you lazy asses are too busy gossiping like old ladies instead of doing your job like Barnes.” A deep voice interjects firmly and the group springs into action at once.
Sam bends down to inspect a crate as Pietro grabs a random clipboard from a nearby table, him and Johnny furrowing their brows at it with the intense concentration of someone attempting to decipher ancient scripture. Clint picks up a perfectly coiled length of rope and begins rearranging it for no apparent reason, while Drax plants both hands on a pallet jack and starts pushing it confidently in a direction that serves absolutely no purpose.
Fury shakes his head from the door of his office shack, choosing to ignore their quiet sniggers.
This is why, more than anything else, Bucky prefers the sea.
The sea minds its own damn business.
The longer Bucky works at the harbor, the more the routine stops feeling like something he follows and more like something that follows him instead.
It’s present in the way he ties his boots each morning, always in the same order, the laces pulled tight with a consistency he never consciously thinks about anymore. In the way he checks the weather without really needing to. In the route he takes to go grocery shopping, because some paths avoid certain corners and certain people who like to talk too much and ask questions that linger longer than he likes.
He thinks of these choices as efficiency. Or, if he is being honest in a way he rarely allows himself to be, as a way to preserve his peace.
Quiet people are often misunderstood. Others assume silence means absence, sadness, but Bucky has never felt better. He simply prefers to keep things where they belong: work stays at the harbor, the rest of his life within his house.
Memory, on the other hand, stays locked away in compartments he doesn’t open unless absolutely necessary.
Even grief has been assigned its proper space.
His parents belong to a drawer he doesn’t open often. His failed marriage to one he avoids entirely.
Eventually, even absence weaves itself into his routine.
And so Bucky goes to work every morning and comes home at the same time every evening. He fixes things that are broken and ignores those that are not worth fixing. He reads whenever he feels like it, though there is rarely anything new that piques his interest. He eats without much thought and sleeps enough to recover from exhaustion.
It’s not a life that demands attention, that’s precisely why it suits him.
His colleagues, though, treat it like something flexible that could be interrupted for conversation, for laughter, for questions that have no real purpose other than the enjoyment of seeing him grumble.
Bucky tolerates it all, but there are limits. They are not clearly defined, but simply translate into an internal threshold he recognizes immediately when it’s crossed.
A delay in starting the day. A change in the order of tasks. A request that requires him to be somewhere other than where he intended to be.
These are the kind of things that irritate him more than he ever expresses, because they are unnecessary.
And the world, in his opinion, is already full of many unnecessary things.
On that particular Thursday morning, nothing suggests it would be any different from the thousands that have come before it, because disturbances don’t announce themselves.
They don’t arrive with warnings or changes in weather that could be meaningfully interpreted as signs. They don’t break the rhythm of the town or alter the predictable movement of the harbor. If anything, they present themselves as almost insultingly ordinary, as though the world took care to disguise them beneath the same grey sky and the same restless water so that they wouldn’t be noticed until it’s already too late to ignore them.
Bucky wakes before the town has properly decided to exist for the day. He drinks his coffee in silence, standing by the window of his kitchen while the sky outside slowly shifts to a dull white. Watching the harbor lights flicker off one by one as the workers begin to arrive gives him a strange sense of tranquility.
He drives the same route through the narrow streets, passing the same abandoned buildings that have yet to be fully repaired.
At the docks, crates still need moving, boats still need unloading, and machines still need maintenance that nobody ever seems particularly grateful for until they stop working entirely. Pietro still talks too much, appearing beside him at inconvenient moments with questions that are more invitations to participate in conversations Bucky has no intention of joining. The others still laugh at his lack of participation, and he answers in the same way: briefly, reluctantly. Only when necessary.
When the end of the shift finally starts approaching, the harbor gradually empties around him as engines fall silent one by one. Warehouse doors roll shut at last and workers drift toward parking lots and side streets in loose groups, already discussing dinner plans, family obligations, and whatever local gossip has managed to survive the day.
Bucky avoids all three, which is how he finds himself at the far end of the outer dock, finishing one last inspection before heading home.
The outer moorings are more exposed to the weather than the rest, and by evening the wind has picked up enough to sting against his face whenever he turns toward the open sea. That’s why this is the kind of task nobody particularly enjoys.
Still, the lines need checking.
A damaged mooring left unattended can become a costly problem overnight, and Bucky has always preferred spending an extra ten minutes solving an issue now rather than dealing with the consequences later.
This section of the dock is also quieter, far enough from the warehouses that most voices blur together beneath the constant rush of the waves, and that gives him some sort of reprieve from his colleagues’ ability to turn any moment of silence into a forced conversation. It’s one of the few places where he can work without someone deciding that his apparent lack of enthusiasm is an invitation to fix it.
Bucky tightens the last line, testing the tension with a practiced pull before slowly standing back to his full height. The movement draws a familiar sting through his thighs, one he barely notices anymore.
Almost done.
A few more minutes and he can go back to his silent house and worn books.
His gaze drifts absently toward the water as he reaches for the clipboard tucked beneath his arm, and his entire body stills.
At first he sees only a shape, a disruption in the surface several yards beyond the dock, where the harbor opens toward deeper sea. Something moves beneath the waves, slow enough that it might be debris caught in the current or a trick of fading light reflecting on the water.
He watches it for a moment, but eventually lowers his eyes back to the clipboard and continues writing.
It’s only when the shape surfaces again, closer this time, and holds its position in a way that no floating object should have been capable of, that the rhythm of his day finally stutters.
The shape rises and falls with the movement of the water, appearing and disappearing between swells. But it doesn’t tumble the way driftwood would have, nor bobs with the lightness of abandoned equipment.
Bucky cautiously rests one hand against the railing and continues staring with a deep wrinkle between his brows despite himself.
The shape drifts closer.
A swell lifts it.
For a brief moment, something iridescent emerges before disappearing again.
His eyes narrow.
Then, a human arm.
The realization doesn’t alarm him immediately. The possibility of people ending up in the water presents itself before anything more unusual could. A fisherman might have fallen overboard, or the current has carried a body farther than expected.
Neither explanation is pleasant, but both are infinitely reasonable.
Another wave rolls through the harbor, and it stirs the figure more harshly.
Strands of hair spread across the water. A shoulder becomes visible, then the outline of a head. The closer it drifts, the more certain Bucky becomes that he’s looking at a person, and although the sight should have inspired urgency, there is something oddly unsettling about the way the body moves—some small inconsistency his mind can’t quite identify but refuses to ignore.
It’s only when the water shifts again that Bucky swears he feels his heart stop for a moment.
The lower half of the body should have surfaced with the rest. Instead, the same iridescent thing flashes again beneath the water.
For a moment he thinks it might be a trick of the light—the evenings are dark here, and the sea tends to distort everything with its uneven inconsistency. He has spent enough years staring at moving water to know how easily the eye could be fooled. Yet when the figure rises again, there is enough distance behind him from the rest of the harbor and enough light across the liquid surface for Bucky to be confronted with an unjustifiable fact.
Because the upper half of the figure is human.
The lower half is not.
A tail emerges only briefly before slipping under water once more, but the glimpse still allows him to recognize scales that catch what remains of the afternoon light. He sees the shape of it and understands that whatever is floating toward the dock doesn’t belong to any category of living thing he has ever encountered.
“Hey, Barnes—”
The sound breaks through the unnatural quiet so abruptly that Bucky turns far more sharply than he intends to, the movement quick enough to make Sam take a step back.
“Whoa man,” he flinches, lifting his hands. “You okay?”
Under normal circumstances, Bucky would have answered immediately—perhaps with a grunt—and both of them would have gone on with their evenings without giving the exchange another thought. Instead, he finds himself standing there in silence, too aware of Sam’s growing confusion.
Of the fact that something half human and half fish is floating right behind him.
Now, Bucky has spent his entire life in Northwick. He understands how information moves through places like this, how a single unusual detail could travel from one end of the town to the other before sunset and somehow become common knowledge by breakfast. People talk. Most of the time it amounts to nothing more than harmless chats about neighbors, relatives, weather forecasts that end up being wrong, and private arguments that are treated like celebrity gossip.
Something like this, however, would not remain gossip for very long.
It would take one person looking in the right direction.
One person deciding to tell somebody else.
One person making a phone call.
The thought settles like a boulder in his stomach as he imagines the chain reaction unfolding beyond anyone’s ability to control it.
The harbor would fill with annoying strangers first, because people have always been drawn toward things they don’t understand, particularly when there is a possibility of witnessing something extraordinary with their own eyes. Then would come the reporters, eager to turn a forgotten coastal town into a headline. Scientists would inevitably follow, along with researchers, government agencies, and every other institution that believes to have the right to dissect, catalogue, study, explain, and ultimately claim the unknown.
The town would become famous, either as a tourist destination overrun with Airbnbs and souvenir shops selling mermaid-shaped keychains and t-shirts with the town’s name printed across the chest, or as a heavily restricted government zone surrounded by fences and security checkpoints.
For years, one of the things Bucky has appreciated most about living here is the simple fact that nobody cares about it.
People drive past it. Forget it exists. The isolation that others complain about has always suited him perfectly because it allows him to live at his own pace, untouched by the constant noise of the outside world. Bucky has no desire to watch that disappear because of whatever thing happened to be floating toward shore today.
Nor does he particularly enjoy imagining what role he might end up playing in the disaster.
The man who found it.
The man who saw it first.
The man everyone would inevitably want to speak to.
Questions, interviews, strangers knocking on his door, people expecting him to repeat the story over and over again to squeeze the news until the very last dollar.
The more he thinks about it, the more his anger grows.
All because of a creature he would have been perfectly content going his entire life without seeing.
Sam is still watching him, and the concern in his expression has deepened, gradually replacing whatever casual curiosity had prompted the question in the first place.
“Bucky?”
Only then does Bucky realize how long he has been standing there, silent. The pause has stretched far beyond what’s normal, long enough that another few seconds might encourage Sam to get closer and see for himself what has captured his attention.
That can’t happen.
Not now.
Perhaps not ever.
“Yes.”
The answer is devoid of any emotion yet delivered with enough certainty that someone else might have accepted it without question.
Sam knows him too well for that.
For a long moment he studies Bucky’s face with the skepticism of a man who has already reached the conclusion that something is wrong but has not yet decided whether it’s worth arguing about. The wind moves between them, tugging at jackets and carrying the distant sound of waves against the rocks beyond the harbor, while behind Bucky the figure continues drifting steadily through the dark water.
Eventually, Sam exhales and gives a small nod.
“Alright,” he hums. “Pietro wanted me to ask if you’re coming to Joe’s for a beer.”
“No, I’m beat.”
Sam stares at his friend for a little longer, before nodding slowly. “Alright. I’ll see you tomorrow.”
But he doesn’t make any move to leave.
“What?”
“Nothing.” He doesn’t sound particularly convinced as he frowns. “You sure you’re alright?”
“Why shouldn’t I be?”
He shrugs, his eyes flicking briefly toward the open sea out of sheer habit before meeting Bucky’s gaze.
“Well, don’t stay out here all night.” He sighs.
“Wasn’t planning to.”
Sam nods again, giving him a tight-lipped smile.
“See you tomorrow, Barnes.”
Bucky grunts in response, waiting until the sound of his footsteps has disappeared completely before allowing himself to look back at his new problem.
The first indication that Bucky has made a catastrophic mistake arrives approximately halfway between the maintenance ramp and his truck.
Up until that point, the plan seemed bothersome but achievable. Certainly not smart, but achievable.
You, the creature—because he still refuses to think of you as anything else—were fully unconscious as the current eventually carried you near enough for him to step off the ramp and into the freezing water. From there, he decided that he would check whether you were alive, get you out of the water, and then figure out the rest somewhere private.
Instead, the moment his hand finally closed around your wrist, the entire evening began deteriorating at an alarming pace.
The first problem was that you were barely alive. The pulse beneath his fingertips was weak, but still there.
The second problem revealed itself only after he managed to drag you close enough to properly examine you, and that forced Bucky to immediately abandon several much simpler solutions, because his nose instantly caught the revolting smell of seaweed mixed with iron.
The blood was difficult to see at first in the dark, diluted by water, but red streaks had spread around you as the waves shifted, eventually staining his palms and clothes once he reached underneath your shoulders to keep your face above the surface.
Bucky adjusted his grip and promptly regretted it when the movement caused the weight of your tail to shift again.
“Jesus Christ.”
If there was one thing he had learned during the last twenty minutes, it was that mermaids are significantly heavier than they look.
His attention then settled on the scratches scattered across your arms and shoulders—thin deep lines that looked as though a ferocious beast with big claws had taken an interest in you with all the intention of turning you into its next meal. More marked your sides as others disappeared around your back.
The damage to your tail, however, was horrifying.
Even now Bucky finds himself grimacing whenever his eyes drop to the big bloody stains on the beach towel wrapped around it.
Several scales were torn away completely and parts of the fin looked shredded. Deep gouges crossed sections of muscle that probably made swimming impossible, as the amount of blood surrounding the wounds suggested that whatever had happened to you was quite recent.
The sight alone was enough agonizing to make Bucky wince.
And because the injury somehow made the entire situation feel more real.
Unfortunately, the third problem proved considerably more immediate: transportation.
Bucky stops briefly beside a stack of lobster traps to adjust his hold before continuing toward the parking lot.
You remain entirely unhelpful throughout the process.
“Could’ve at least woken up.” He grunts. “You don’t have to hold a conversation. Just enough to explain why your mauled tail is so damn heavy.”
The closest thing to a response he receives is your head rolling slightly against his shoulder.
His jaw clenches.
“Yeah, that’s about what I expected.”
The walk should not have been difficult, his truck is visible from the dock, a distance he crosses almost daily without effort. Tonight, however, every step seems determined to prove some previously unknown law of physics regarding large aquatic women.
The tail keeps shifting, the fin catching against his legs.
Twice he nearly lost his grip entirely.
The second occasion could have been particularly catastrophic because it occurs directly beside a puddle deep enough to soak both of you. The sudden jolt nearly sends you slipping from his arms and onto the hard concrete.
Bucky lurches forward instinctively.
“Absolutely not.” He tightens his hold.
“No.” He grits out, his chest heaving quickly under the exertion. “We’re not doing that.”
He stops for a second, enough to properly recover his balance.
“If I drop you in a fucking parking lot after dragging you out of the damn sea, I swear on my mother’s grave I’m leaving this town.”
By the time he finally reaches the truck, his lungs are burning.
The vehicle sits alone beneath one of the lampposts, exactly where he left it that morning, completely unaware that its owner has apparently spent the evening acquiring a mermaid.
Bucky stares at it for a long moment, before he looks at you.
Then back at the truck, before his eyes fall on the tail.
A deep sigh escapes him.
“Stupid dock.”
He shifts your weight.
“Stupid town.”
He takes a step forward.
“Stupid Sam.”
A particularly awkward portion of your tail nearly slides out of his grasp.
“Stupid fish-lady.”
The nickname feels unfair, but he uses it anyway. Because blaming himself would have required accepting that every terrible consequence currently happening is the direct result of a decision he had made entirely on his own.
The irritation only grows as Bucky awkwardly maneuvers you on the passenger side, already wondering how exactly he intends to explain the blood covering his clothes if anybody happens to drive past before he gets out of there.
That concern alone is enough to make him move faster.
Carrying an unconscious, half-naked woman through the harbor after dark would already guarantee several months of gossip.
Carrying an unconscious, half-naked woman covered in blood would almost certainly result in the police becoming involved.
And carrying an unconscious, half-naked mermaid covered in blood...
Bucky doesn’t even bother finishing the thought.
Some things are too large to contemplate while lifting.
The passenger seat offers the illusion of structure. It’s familiar, comfortable... None of which matter the moment he realizes that your lower half doesn’t, in fact, respect the concept of seating.
The tail doesn’t fold, nor moves in any cooperative manner. It simply exists—heavy and entirely indifferent to the existence of upholstery.
Bucky stands before the passenger seat for a moment longer than necessary, breathing hard with one hand braced on the truck door while the other supports your shoulders. He stares at the seat with quiet resentment.
“Of fucking course.” He grits out under his breath.
Carefully, he tries once again to lower you into the seat anyway, because he has already wasted too much time trying to not drop you on his way back to the truck. The moment your weight shifts fully into the cabin, the tail slides sideways with alarming inevitability, dragging across the door frame before settling awkwardly along the floorboard, resulting in the fin to bend unnaturally.
Bucky pauses to look at it for a long moment, arms open as if ready to catch you, before he lets out a slow sigh.
“This is fine.” He murmurs, in the same tone of someone who is trying to convince himself as well.
The engine starts with its usual reluctant groan and for a few seconds there is a brief, deceptive sense that the worst part has just begun.
The road away from the docks is, as always, in a state of neglect that could only be described as communal acceptance of decay. Potholes interrupt the asphalt at irregular intervals, forcing the truck into sudden dips that make the suspension complain loudly, while uneven patches send vibrations through the chassis that consequentially reach the passenger seat.
And you.
The first jolt is mild, barely noticeable. The second makes your upper body shift forward enough for Bucky’s arm to shoot out instinctively, bracing across your chest to push you back against the seat.
“Yeah,” he exclaims flatly, eyes going back and forth between you and the road. “That’s right. Stay there.”
Another pothole hits immediately after, harsher this time, and the truck lurches hard enough that your entire weight shifts again.
Bucky’s hand moves without thought, catching your arm firmly before you can tilt any further.
“I don’t know who the hell is in charge of this town,” he states far more loudly than before, steering one-handed as the road curves unexpectedly. “But I would very much like five minutes alone with them and a shovel.”
The truck bounces again and your tail scrapes against the floorboard with a dull, dragging sound that makes his jaw clench.
“We have time and money to build a fucking dock extension nobody asked for, but fixing the only road anyone actually uses is apparently optional.”
The silence that follows is, as always, entirely unhelpful. It makes the entire situation worse—at least if you had been awake, he could have been annoyed at you directly.
Instead Bucky is forced to distribute his frustration evenly across the universe.
The truck continues forward, tires thudding rhythmically over uneven pavement, while the landscape outside the windows shifts from industrial structures to the quieter edges of town. Streetlights pass in slow intervals, casting brief white flashes across the interior of the truck that make you look almost unreal, as though you were the beloved, ethereal character out of a forgotten fairytale rather than a half-dying creature tossed around by the cruel sea.
Bucky keeps one hand on the wheel and the other occasionally bracing you when the road demands it, each movement growing more automatic the longer the drive continues.
Eventually, the houses grow farther apart and the roads slightly less cratered, until the familiar shape of his street comes into view.
Only then does he notice the faint sting in his muscles, how tightly his shoulders have been locked.
Bucky parks into his driveway with more precision than usual, worried that any sudden turn might somehow jerk your body one final fatal time. When the truck finally comes to a full stop, he allows himself to exhale properly.
For a long moment, he just sits there with the faint noise of the engine ticking as it cools, and his hands still on the wheel.
Then, slowly, he turns his head.
You are still unconscious. Still inconveniently alive. Your tail occupies roughly eighty percent of his passenger seat in a way that suggests you have no intention of becoming easier to deal with at any point in the near future. Saltwater has already begun to dry in uneven patches across the upholstery and Bucky already knows he is going to regret the smell for a very long time.
With a tired sigh, he tips his head back against the headrest, letting his eyelids flutter shut.
Even for him—broad-shouldered and built for hauling anything the harbor demands—this is a new kind of effort. It settles deep into his muscles in a way that ordinary work never does, accumulating in his forearms and shoulders and along the length of his back with a dull, persistent ache that sharpens every time he shifts in his seat.
Crates have handles, machinery can be pushed, and even the heaviest loads usually possess the decency to distribute their weight evenly. But between the painful wounds and the sheer mass of that ridiculous tail, carrying you feels more like wrestling with gravity itself.
Now that the adrenaline has worn off, a knot throbs beneath his left shoulder blade. His lower back protests when he breathes too deeply, and his hands faintly burn from how tightly he had been holding on.
Bucky drags a hand down his face, and as he sits in the dark in the middle of his quiet driveway, he’s forced to acknowledge the next dreadful step: getting you inside.
That night, locking the front door comes with a heavy weight on his chest.
He can no longer pretend this is temporary. The ocean is not going to reclaim you overnight, nor the harbor is going to quietly undo his fate.
Officially you are, for the foreseeable future, his responsibility.
The bathroom is the only place that makes even a limited amount of sense, because as far as Bucky is concerned fish need water to survive.
He carries you in carefully, adjusting his grip more than once with low, strained groans, and by the time he finally manages to lower you into the tub, he is already panting in a way that has nothing to do with physical strain alone. The tub itself is barely large enough, your body forced into a curled position that makes the entire thing feel wrong from every possible angle.
With a long sigh, he can finally focus on the injuries.
Every time he peels back maimed scales or moves a section of the tail enough to inspect the wounds, he finds himself pausing for a fraction too long, hissing quietly as he registers just how extensive the damage actually is.
The scratches along your arms and torso are deep enough that he cleans them with antiseptic without hesitation, muttering under his breath the entire time.
“What the fuck did you do?” He shakes his head, though there is no indication you could hear him.
The gauze comes next, wrapped carefully around injuries that would have required a hospital if you had been human. He works methodically, hands steady out of habit more than comfort, leaning closer than he would have liked in order to keep the bandaging tight enough to stay in place without cutting off circulation.
The tail is another story.
Nothing about it behaves like something that could be treated in a conventional medical way. Bucky does what he can, though, gently wiping the blood, applying antiseptic where it makes sense, and then carefully positioning the injured section so that it remains mostly above the waterline while the rest of you is gradually submerged.
It’s an awkward compromise, the kind that makes him repeatedly adjust the placement of towels and folded fabric until he is reasonably satisfied that nothing is actively getting worse.
Bucky stands over the edge of the tub for a long moment, one hand braced on the tiles to support his aching body as much as he can while he watches absently the water fill around you. At least something in your posture finally eases a little.
“That’ll have to do.” He mutters, finally breathing properly once he steps into the hallway.
Over the next three days, the house stops feeling his in any meaningful sense.
The bathtub remains occupied at all times, which means that basic routines have to be adjusted in ways he finds increasingly irritating. At one point, after nearly knocking over a bottle of soap while trying to maneuver around the bathroom, he stares at you for a long moment.
“This is ridiculous.”
You don’t respond, which he has already established as your primary method of communication.
On the third day, he drives into town and returns with a large tub that requires significant rearranging of his living room to accommodate. The old furniture is pushed aside with minimal ceremony, the new container placed near the center of the space like some kind of absurd contemporary art installation he refuses to acknowledge as emotionally significant in any way.
“I’m not doing this for you,” he grunts while dragging it slightly to the left. “I’m doing this because I need a place to shower without stepping over a fucking unconscious fish.”
When he finally deems the position satisfying, he stops right before the tub and stares at you.
“You’re not even supposed to exist.”
By the fifth day, Bucky has acquired a new kind of routine, because now every part of the day revolves around returning home.
He checks on you before leaving for the dock. At first, the visits are practical and necessary: he needs to make sure the water is clean, that the bandages have not come loose during the night, that whatever infection he has been quietly expecting has not finally decided to appear.
The tail still unsettles him every time: some mornings he rounds the corner carrying a mug of coffee and stops at the sight of the scales beneath the surface before remembering that there is, in fact, a mermaid occupying his living room.
The realization is somehow never less strange.
He checks on you again when he comes back for lunch. He tells himself it’s because no sensible person would leave an unconscious stranger unattended for twelve hours yet this conveniently ignores the fact that he has never once come home for lunch before, though. It happens on the third day of this new arrangement for the first time ever, not even realizing what he’s doing until he’s pulling into his driveway instead of sitting with the others eating his sandwich.
The second time, he pretends it’s intentional. Until he gives up trying to justify it altogether.
The moment he returns in the evening, before taking off his boots—before even putting away his keys—Bucky walks to the tub.
His groceries sit forgotten by the front door more than once. One evening he tracks muddy footprints across half the house because he catches sight of the injured part of your tail on the brink of falling into the water, so he ends up jogging straight past the mat. Another time he leaves the television running in the background for nearly an hour before realizing he has spent the entire time sitting beside the tub staring blankly at the water instead of watching the stupid show Sam insisted he would like.
At some point during the night, he inevitably finds himself getting up for no reason he can adequately explain, walking across the house in silence and standing beside the tub just to confirm that you are still breathing.
Sometimes he remains there longer than necessary, enough to notice that the house sounds eerily different at night. The old pipes creak, the wind howls against the windows, water shifts softly whenever you move in your sleep... and he catches himself waiting for that sound.
He hates himself.
It’s fucking humiliating and he’s fully aware of that.
And then there is the staring.
Bucky would like to claim that it only happens while he’s changing the bandages, while his hands are occupied with gauze and antiseptic and his mind with the careful reminder of making sure nothing has worsened overnight, because that would somehow justify it.
Yet there are moments when he lingers there long after cleaning your wounds, sitting beside the tub with his hands resting loosely on his knees, his attention no longer anchored to anything in particular, as though he has simply forgotten to stand up and leave. Only after several seconds does he realize that his eyes have settled on your slack face and stayed there without permission.
The problem is not simply that you are beautiful, though even that thought irritates him in a way he doesn’t fully care to examine, because it’s too simple and therefore too easy to dismiss. The problem is that everything about you feels impossible in a way that doesn’t sit comfortably within the ordinary structure of his life.
Although silence was forced upon you, your magnetic presence still creates an unsettling contrast with the quiet, predictable weight of his house. At the end of the day, you are something borrowed from a place that doesn’t follow the same rules as the rest of the world.
More than once, while standing in the middle of tasks that require his full attention, he finds himself wondering what color your eyes are, and not as a question he intends to answer, but as something that simply appears in the background of his thoughts and refuses to leave when he tries to push it away.
It leaves him with a bitter taste on his tongue, because it’s unnecessary and Bucky doesn’t have time for unnecessary things. It implies a level of attention he has no intention of giving, even though it returns again and again in the quietest moments, as persistent as the sound of the tide against the harbor walls.
At work, he is more silent than usual even by his own standards, which is something Pietro comments on more than once with the kind of exaggerated concern that suggests he is both amused and genuinely uncertain whether something is wrong. Even the few words he normally allows himself seem to cost more effort than they should, part of his attention already drifting back toward the house without him fully noticing it.
There are moments when he finds himself standing still, eyes fixed on the open stretch of sea beyond the harbor where the water darkens with depth and distance. His thoughts lose their usual shape and linger instead on the parts of the world that have never been accounted for in humans’ understanding of it.
It’s not simply the sea as he knew it, with the predictable rhythms of tide and current and the weathered ships moving in and out of the harbor, but something broader and less defined. Your existence is indeed the confirmation that most of it remains unseen, untouched, and entirely outside of anything he has ever had reason to consider.
Bucky wonders, without meaning to, how many things move beneath that surface without ever breaking it, how many shapes exist in the deep water that have no connection to anything on land, and whether the world has always been fuller than it looks from the edge of a dock.
The thought is not particularly welcome, because it doesn’t fit into anything that Bucky normally considers useful.
Another ten days pass and you still haven’t awakened, but your breathing has stabilized and that has to mean something. Right?
That morning, when he steps closer to the tub, Bucky is already reaching for the edge before his brain fully registers what his eyes are seeing.
The bandages on your tail are still in place, though slightly shifted from movement he had not witnessed. The injuries beneath them look marginally less severe than before—still far from healed, but no longer actively worsening.
He frowns slightly as he leans in, adjusting the gauze diligently and checking the open wounds with the same clinical focus of the last couple of days.
“Still looks like hell,” he mutters. “But at least you’re stable.”
He straightens slowly with a sigh, unconsciously letting his gaze trace the length of your body until they reach your face.
And there, he meets your eyes.
Your open eyes.
Bucky freezes mid-motion, both his hands still hovering over your tail. His lips part pathetically at the ethereal sight, but before he can comprehend what’s happening, you scream right in his face.
— ⟢ END NOTES: thank you so much for reading 🤍
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