Pairing: Bucky Barnes x OFC (i will not mention skin, hair, eye color. She is a self insert of you!)
Warnings: soft!dark!bucky is a warning in and of itself. Stalking, mentions and depictions of violence, smut, vulgar language, mentions of animal neglect
Summary: Bucky Barnes is government-gifted a new condo in an immense complex downtown New York. So long as he continues his therapy sessions, avoids police encounters, and picks up the phone when Sam calls, he won’t be bothered. Elora lives on the eleventh floor of the complex with her cat, Meatball. When all the things wrong in her life magically fix themselves overnight, she begins to suspect the new tenant.
Please do not post this work on any platform without my permission or falsely post without crediting me. The only characters I own are the ones I’ve made up!
Stuck in the Middle: Sarah is a scholarship recipient working at Stark Industries. Her job? To break the super-serum! But when she falls, literally, into the arms of those super soldiers, will she lose their trust when her work is stolen?
At this point, it’s PG (some swearing), smut to follow, but mostly fluff and some angst BuckyxOFCxSteve, BuckyxSteve, OFC, OFC!scientist, poly relationship
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Fangs and Roses: People are going missing in a small town off exit 17. The Winchester brothers catch wind of these disappearances and find themselves neck-deep in a blood-sucking situation they’ve never encountered before. And when Rose, the owner of a roadside bar Dean took a liking to, gets involved, they find an extra pair of hands can be helpful.
This fic is rated PG13 for the majority of the series. Any additional ratings will be listed at the beginning of each chapter. Same for content warnings!
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L'Incendie de Mon Coeur (Fire of my Heart): After the Opera Populaire’s fire, only ruins remain. Madeleine is one of the surviving ballerinas. When she is thrown into the operahouse with her life at stake, she meets the infamous, Monsieur le Phantom, the unexpected hero.
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Oneshots:
Thicker Bikes: After helping her out with a nasty ex, Bucky invites Cara to join his crew, and later Loki for a very interesting night. 18+ This is pure smut, Biker!Bucky, Biker!Loki, MFM (AO3 link here)
The Music Box:A family heirloom, an old music box, opens the door to a life from long ago. PG, no warnings (AO3 link here)
Leather and Sunsets: I hadn’t been to a bar in a while, at least not voluntarily. Besides, I’d never had much luck finding someone there. That is- until I lock eyes with the most beautiful blue eyes I’ve ever seen. 18+, smut, Biker!OC, OFC (AO3 link here)
Good For You: Chris and Seb come home from filming and are looking forward to playing with their favorite girl. 18+, contains adult themes/smut (AO3 link here!)
Love and Academia Ch.9 - Cold Beer and Crossed Lines
Pairing: AU Professor!Bucky x OFC
Warnings: Swearing, smut, NSFW/18+ only, mentions of death/violence/suicide, Angst
Author’s note: A little attraction. A little flirting. A little Clint. A whole lot of Bucky and Emily!
Also: Holy cow! 5.5k words?? Longest Bucky chapter and longest chapter I’ve ever written on anything to be honest.
And as always, I do not currently have a beta reader so please excuse any larger issues. It’s just little ol’ me!
***
It should be illegal for cookies to taste this delicious. It should be even more illegal for the person who baked them to look so delicious. Bucky watched Emily as she took that Friday afternoon to tidy the lab. A group of visiting middle schoolers had spent the better part of the afternoon with them, learning about science, plants, and ecology and now the room was in shambles. Not that it was very clean to begin with. He had no idea why, but a universal truth existed about ecology labs – they were always a mess. Perhaps it was the lack aseptic technique required for their experiments. It might also have to do with the exorbitant amount of time they spent in the field, their camping materials, hiking boots, and lab equipment almost always coming back caked in mud. Nevertheless, you’d never find yourself in a spic and span ecology lab. The concept was practically an oxymoron.
Still, the mess the middle schoolers left was quite impressive and as his diligent graduate student, Emily had volunteered to clean up and put everything back into place. He watched her through the office window that looked out into the rest of the lab. Her hair was down today the long golden strands cascading down her back in thick waves. If he focused hard enough, he could just remember the silky, soft feel of it threaded through his fingers. She wore the same pair of baggy, paint-covered jeans as the day he walked into his office to find her dancing amongst the piles of Dr. Erskine’s book. They were high-waisted, synched tight at her small waste by a belt, but hanging loose everywhere else. It wasn’t until she bent over to pick something up that he could see the outline of her perky ass and full thighs. Currently, she was on her tiptoes attempting to place a large fluorescent light on top of a cabinet causing the bottom of her shirt to ride up and reveal the creamy skin of her ribcage. God, did she have to wear such little shirts? Not that he thought it would make much of a difference. The girl could probably come to school in a parka and he’d still get an erection watching her.
He didn’t know when the line of propriety in his mind had been crossed, but he was currently miles past it with no intention of turning back. The best he could do at this point, would be to come to a screeching halt and take five where he was. However, that was a little hard to do when everywhere he went, there she was. When he taught his classes, she was there. Sitting in the front row, idly doodling in her notebook, pen flipping in her delicate fingers, long legs crossing and uncrossing over each other. Often times, he found himself losing his concentration mid-sentence, too focused on the way Emily’s lips wrapped around the end of her pen. Even in the seemingly sweet solitude of his lab she was ever present. It didn’t matter what day or what time, she was there. Headphones on, working diligently at her desk. Dr. Erskine hadn’t been kidding when he said she was a hard worker. The amount of time she spent grinding away at her work bordered on unhealthy – bordered on his work ethic.
He had an excuse of course. He was using his work as a distraction. He always had. When Jenny Haver broke up with him his first year of graduate school, he locked himself in his room and didn’t come out until two weeks later, a full PhD proposal written to perfection. Is that what Emily was doing too? Avoiding something? Using her work as a distraction? He couldn’t imagine what it would be. She always seemed so happy and bright. Every morning, she swept into the lab like an early spring breeze, fresh and invigorating. Often times the day didn’t feel like it began until he saw her smile. Not that he would ever admit that to anyone. Even himself. She was his student. What he was experiencing was simply a basic case of carnal attraction. It was biological. Unavoidable.
“Hey, Dr. Barnes.” His wandering mind was brought back by the woman in question, standing in the doorway of his office. Despite their more relaxed relationship, she still kept her distance whenever she could, and she still insisted on calling him by his professional title. Probably for the best.
“Emily, what can I do for you?” he asked, trying to keep his tone light and friendly and free of any hint that he had been ogling her moments before.
“I’m taking off early today. I wanted to let you know, I’ll have the rough draft for my introduction to you by Monday,” she said, tucking a piece of her hair behind her ear.
“Yea sounds good. Any fun plans for the weekend?” He wished he could pretend that he’d only asked to be polite, but truthfully, he wanted to know more about her. He needed to.
Emily rolled her eyes exaggeratedly, “Oh yea. Major fun. That is, if working all weekend is considered fun. I’ll be swimming in it.”
“Whoa there, someone better real you in before you get too out of hand,” Bucky said dryly, joining in on the joke.
“I know, an absolute menace to society.”
“The worst.”
They smiled at each other, finding a soft comfort in their banter. It was not the kind of joke that brought you to audible laughter. Instead, it filled you with a warmth and fondness that stuck with you. The thought of it possessing the ability to make you smile for days, months, even years.
“What, um, what about you?” Emily asked, shifting her weight and leaning against the doorframe.
“Oh, well I’ve got midterm grading to do. I might meet up with Steve for a few beers.” Bucky didn’t actually have plans with Steve, but he found himself making up the detail on the spot. The need for his life to seem less boring taking over momentarily.
“Oh fun…so it looks like you liked them.” Emily pointed towards the plate of almost finished cookies on his desk.
“Yea, they’re delicious,” he complimented, watching as Emily chewed her bottom lip as her gaze focused on the plate of snickerdoodles. She appeared to be deep in thought, the contents of it becoming clear when a dusky blush began to spread across her cheeks.
Clearing her throat, she snapped out of her trance and pulled her eyes away from the plate of delicious treats, making an effort to look anywhere but him. Realization flooded through Bucky, his mind wandering back to their texts from the previous night. Apparently, the exchange hadn’t been as one sided as he thought. He hadn’t meant for the text to sound so sexual when he sent it. Truthfully, it was a case of mistype, having forgotten to tack on the ‘s’ at the end of the word cookies. It wasn’t until the text was sent that he realized his mistake and how it might be construed. He thought about sending a follow up text immediately to correct it, but something had stopped him. Some sick, depraved part of himself wanted to know how she’d react. Emily in a whole was an enigma. Ever since their truce, he’d tried to spot any hint of the confident, sexy, bold woman he’d met that night at the bar. Something to prove to himself that it was her raw sexual prowess and the memory of it that weakened his resolve. However, that version of her had since been seen again. Instead, in its place was a sweet, intelligent, and sarcastic woman. A little shy. A little quiet. Funny. He didn’t know how to justify that in his mind. How to justify his attraction to that version of her in his mind.
“Well, have a good weekend,” Emily said softly, disappearing from his doorway before Bucky even had the opportunity to respond.
He sighed, burying his head in his hands and taking a deep breath before raking his palms over the rough stubble on his cheeks. He needed a distraction. Something entirely graduate student free. His thoughts wandered to his lie about hanging out with Steve. Maybe that wasn’t such a bad idea.
Picking up his phone, he opened his recent call list. Mom. Mom. Mom. Sister. Steve. Clicking on Steve’s number, the phone rang.
“Hey Buck, what’s up?” Steve’s voice asked from the other end, the screams and shouts of little kids sounding from the background.
“Hey Stevie, I’m not bugging you at work, am I?”
“No, no. We’re on our second recess of the day. I’m monitoring. What’s up?” he asked again.
“Just wanted to see if you were free to grab dinner and a few beers tonight. There’s this place near my house I’ve been wanting to try,” Bucky said, leaning back in his chair.
“Yea—” Steve’s answer was cut short by a loud screech somewhere on his end “—Jackson, stop. Put that down!” Bucky heard Steve scold; his voice more distant as he spoke to the children around him. “Yea. That sounds good. Just text me the place and time and I’ll meet you ther—Martha, that’s not how we talk to our friends.”
Bucky laughed, accustomed to half conversations with Steve when he was at work.
“Alright punk. I’ll see you tonight.” He hung up, not bothering to wait for a response. He knew he wouldn’t get one. When Steve was around his kids, they dominated all of his attention. He lived for those kids, every one of them. Just looking at the impressive cut of Steven Grant Rogers, you’d never think that his life’s calling was wiping snotty noses and teaching the ABCs. But one conversation with the human embodiment of a basket of yarn, you very quickly realized that he wasn’t fit for much else. Allegedly, and while Bucky had seen the pictures he still wasn’t fully convinced, Steve used to be just a sprig of a thing. Barely over five feet tall and a buck twenty soaking wet. He had told Bucky years ago in college that he’d hit a growth spurt halfway through high school and taken up weightlifting to stop getting his ass handed to him every day. But secretly, he believed the real reason behind his impressive growth in mass was to be able to one day lift his entire kindergarten class with one arm. He’d personally seen his best friend hold up ten giggling five year old’s dangling from a single arm like little monkeys.
No, tonight would be good. An extra-large pizza split between them both and one too many beers was just what the doctor ordered. Maybe a game or two of pool if they had a table. If not, he would be perfectly content with bullshitting and talking about the old days. This was just what he needed to clear his mind of Emily.
Four hours later Bucky was walking through the side entrance to Goody’s still reeling from the conversation he’d had with his mother. She wanted him to come home for thanksgiving. He did not. Let the argument commence. He loved his mother. He really did. And he knew she meant well. He really did. But he also hated her inability to respect his boundaries. He really did.
As he entered the small pizza joint and bar, he was pleased to see a few decent and empty pool tables in the far corner. Spotting Steve already sitting down at a table, two beers and giant steaming pizza before him, Bucky headed towards him.
“Got here early so I ordered for you,” said Steve, standing up to pull Bucky into a brief hug. Bucky slapped a hand on his friends back before pulling back and looking down at the pizza. Extra-large meat lovers. Extra cheese.
“Aww darling, my favorite. You remembered,” Bucky teased, sitting down and taking a large sip of the lager. Setting his pint glass down, he reached forward and grabbed a piece of pizza, the cheese stretching with a perfectly melted consistency.
“Well you know, I wanted to try the alfredo pizza they had, but someone refuses to eat anything but the most testosterone filled, artery clogging pizza.”
Bucky shrugged, taking a large bite of his slice and speaking through the pizza as he chewed, “Hey man, why bother with anything but perfection?”
“Well I can’t argue with that logic,” laughed Steve, grabbing a slice himself.
“Oh, my mom wanted me to tell you that she got your card,” Bucky remarked, remembering his mother’s parting request right before he ended their call. Every year Steve sent out a card with a picture of him and his new group of kids to all his family, that list seemed to include his parents.
“Oh great! How is Winni?”
Bucky sighed, “She wants me to come home for thanksgiving. I told her I was spending thanksgiving with your family. By the way, can I come to thanksgiving?”
“Yea, you’re more than welcome Buck,” Steve laughed before taking on a more serious tone, “Are they all still on your case for moving?”
“Like you wouldn’t believe.” He rolled his eyes, taking another swig of his beer. “Mom figures I should have stayed after everything with Diane. But, fuck, the last thing I wanted to do was be closer to her and all those memories. Plus, her and my sister still baby me over the whole thing. I’m a grown man. I don’t need their coddling. It’s been almost a year and a half.”
“I get that. Took nearly two years for Mary and my mom to stop trying to take care of me after Peggy left me. Nearly lost my mind, but they finally got the memo that I was okay. Are you…okay that is?” Steve asked, leaning forward on the table, eyebrows raised in concern.
Bucky had to think for a moment. Was he okay? For months he had felt consumed by the emptiness Diane’s departure from his life had left. The world had felt so bleak. He held so much anger towards her. For leaving. For giving up the way that she did. But now, things felt different. He didn’t know when it had happened but waking up in the morning no longer felt like a chore.
“Yea, I think I am,” he answered truthfully, finding realization and catharsis in the statement.
“Good. Good, man. I’m really happy to hear that Buck.”
They shared a brief smile before Steve’s morphed into a mischievous glint, “So does that mean you’re ready to get back out there?”
Bucky snorted, shaking his head, “Let’s just take this one step at a time, alright pal? But speaking of dating, how are things going with you and Natasha?”
Bucky watched as the smile on Steve’s face widened, the tips of his ears turning bright red.
“You dog. That good?”
“Better. I uh…yea. Definitely better.”
Bucky laughed, taking another bite of pizza. Well, at least one of them was getting laid. He was happy for Steve. Even during his entire relationship with Peggy he’d never seen him so smitten.
“There she is!” A chorus of cheers and greetings flowed through the air from the bar behind him. Bucky didn’t think much of it until he heard the sound of a familiar voice.
“I know. I know. Maria had me in the basement doing inventory.”
Turning in his chair, Bucky was surprised to see Emily, standing behind the bar, chit-chatting with a group of older men and women. So much for a night free of his graduate student.
“Where have you been girl? We haven’t seen you in forever!” asked the patron near the end – an older woman with greying hair and kind eyes.
“I know. I’m sorry! My day job has been kicking my butt lately. But, it will all be worth it once I graduate,” Emily laughed, leaning against the bar top.
Bucky watched her as she interacted with the group. She seemed comfortable. At ease. The group must be regulars.
A throat clearing pulled him away from Emily and back to Steve, who looked at him smugly, “I could use another beer. Why don’t you run up to the bar and grab me one Buck?”
Bucky nodded, downing the rest of his and standing, “I’ll be back in a sec.”
“Uh huh, sure. Take your time man.”
Walking up to the bar, Bucky watched as Emily’s gaze passed over him and then doubled back, a smile spreading across her face.
“I guess you weren’t lying when you told me you were a bartender,” he said, setting his and Steve’s empty glasses down on the bar top. Emily raised an eyebrow, leaning forward on her elbows.
“Half-truth Dr. Barnes. Graduate student most of the time. Bartender sometimes.”
“I don’t suppose the sometimes you’re a bartender, you could call me Bucky?”
Emily breathed deeply, scrutinizing him through squinted eyes, “No, I don’t think I can.”
“Oh, come on. I don’t have any leverage as your advisor for you to change your mind?” Bucky asked mischievously.
“That sounds an awful lot like abuse of power Dr. Barnes—" Emily replied, a similar mischievous glint in her eye “—Now, what can I get you?”
“What do you recommend?”
“Can’t go wrong with a Caribou Slabber,” Emily stated resolutely, grabbing two pint glasses from the shelves behind her.
“Alright, I’ll take your word for it. Two of those and uh, two waters.” Bucky pulled his wallet from his pocket and leaned against the bar, rubbing at the rough stubble on his cheeks as Emily poured his beers. Emily laughed, a small light thing.
“What?” asked Bucky.
“Watta,” Emily repeated, imitating his accent crudely.
“It’s not that thick,” Bucky defended himself good naturedly.
“Whatever you say Brooklyn.”
Bucky laughed, the sound of the nickname rolling off her tongue made something tug in his chest. Shaking it off, he pulled out some cash and placed thirty dollars on the bar top in exchange for their drinks.
“Keep the change.”
“Thanks,” said Emily, “Say hi to Steve for me. Let me know if I can get anything else for you.”
A few hours later Bucky found himself in an aggressive game of one-pocket. Many hours spent in their dorm hall rec room had resulted in their shared skill at pool and they had a bad habit of getting a little competitive.
“Is that the best you can do?” Steve taunted when Bucky made his second scratch of the night.
Bucky sighed, standing up straight and taking a large gulp of Caribou Slabber. She really did have good taste in beer. “Shut up punk. I taught you how to play. Remember?”
“And now, the student has surpassed the teacher—” Steve shrugged, watching as Bucky eyes diverted towards the bar for the hundredth time that night “—okay. What’s going on?”
“What?” Bucky asked, feigning innocence and stupidity.
“Oh please. You can’t stop looking over at her. Is there something going on?”
“What? Don’t be ridiculous. Of course not. She’s not even over there right now!” Bucky scoffed.
Steve rolled his eyes, letting out a curt mhmm. Bucky knew he didn’t believe him. He was no stranger to Steve’s ‘I know best and you know nothing’ look. But he was telling the truth. Nothing was going on between him and Emily.
“Whatever. Believe me. Don’t believe me. I’m going to take a piss—” he propped his pool stick against the side of the table “—and if I come back and you’ve moved any of those balls, I’m coming for you punk. Don’t even try it! I’ve got that table memorized!” Bucky called out behind him and he headed towards the back of the bar where the restrooms were located.
Rounding the corner, he was stopped abruptly by the sight of Emily with some guy. Crowding her space, the man stood only a few inches above her looking frustrated. Emily’s posture was closed off, her arms crossed in front of her looking away from him and at the doors to the restrooms. He should have turned away. It was none of his business. But something kept him planted in the stop, moving forward a few inches to listen in.
“See, this is what I’m talking about Em! You won’t open up to me. You never would! I mean, I mess up once and now you won’t even talk to me.” Interesting.
“Mess up? Mess up? Clint, you did the one thing, the one thing, I explicitly told you not to do!”
“I know. I know. But I promise it will never happen again. Just give me a chance! Couples get past this sort of thing all the time,” Clint pleaded, placing a hand on her arm that Emily promptly shrugged off.
“I can’t Clint. I told you how important faithfulness and honesty were to me. I made that explicitly clear at the beginning of our relationship and you agreed. You agreed and you still slept with Sharon! I mean, how long has it been going on?”
The man was quiet. Bucky’s stomach dropped. He should walk away. He should really walk away.
“How long Clint?” Emily asked again, this time her voice a little weaker.
“A year and a half.” Bucky might not have been sure he had heard the answer correctly if it wasn’t for Emily’s boisterous reaction.
“A year and a half?! Are you kidding me Clint? Almost our entire relationship? God. I can’t even look at you.” Emily turned to walk away, but Clint caught her by her forearm, yanking her back and against the wall. “Ow!”
“Em don’t walk away. Listen to me! I can explain!”
“Let go of me Clint,” Emily said through gritted teeth.
“No, not until you listen to what I have to say,” Clint responded, desperation and anger evident in his voice.
Bucky, no longer able to watch the exchange, stepped forward, “Hey, back the fuck off man. She told you to let go.”
The coupled looked towards him as he stalked down the hallway, anger seething through him. Who the hell did this guy think he was?
“Listen buddy, this isn’t any of your business,” said Clint in annoyance.
“Like hell it is—” Bucky grabbed Clint by the shoulder and pulled him away from Emily, before turning to her “—are you okay Emily?”
“You really don’t have to do this,” Emily said to Bucky. But the way her posture relaxed, and her arms opened from around her body said differently. She was relieved he had stepped in.
“Do you know this guy Em?” Clint asked, stepping forward.
Bucky swept around, placing himself between Emily and Clint. He towered over the man, using both his height and size to intimidate. Though, he reckoned the flaming, red-hot rage in his eyes would be enough to send him running. He was seething. Every ounce of his self-control kept him from absolutely clobbering the douchebag.
“Just go Clint!” Emily called over Bucky’s shoulder.
Clint laughed, no humor found in his expression or tone, “Are you fucking this guy Em? Is that why you won’t talk to me? Already slutting around?”
Bucky wanted to punch him. Bucky almost punched him. But the soft touch of Emily’s hand on his bicep kept him in check. Turning his head, he caught the desperate plea in her eyes and knew that beating this guy to a pile of mush would be the wrong thing to do. So instead, he took slow and calculated steps towards him until Clint was pressed against the wall opposite them. Bucky watched as the cockiness quickly melted from his face and in its place, fear resided. Jabbing a large finger into his chest, Bucky spoke low and menacingly.
“If I ever see you lay another hand on her, I will personally make sure you regret it. I will not hesitate to kick the ever loving shit out of you. Do I make myself clear?”
Clint nodded frantically, eyes shifting from Bucky and the exit.
“Now, I never want to see you around her or this place ever again. Got it?”
“Yea man, I get it! Just let me go,” Clint pleaded.
“Everything alright here?” Steve’s voice sounded from the hallway entrance.
“Yea. Clint here was just leaving. Mind walking him to the door?”
Steve took a moment to assess the situation behind speaking in a casual tone, “Not at all. Come on Clint.”
Clint’s eyes seemed to go wide when he took in the even more massive man. Steve clasped a hand on Clint’s shoulder and guided him out of sight. Letting out a long breath, Bucky closed his eyes and counted to ten, calming himself before turning back to Emily.
“Are you okay?” Bucky asked, taking a moment to scan his eyes over her.
Emily nodded, biting her lower lip and leaning against the wall behind her.
“No, you’re not. Do you need me to wait for you to get off and walk you home?” Bucky asked, lifting her right arm up to look at it more closely. No bruises. Yet.
“I’m, uh, I’m actually already off. I was headed out of the bathroom when he cornered me,” Emily said, rubbing at her face.
“Okay, let’s get you home then. Come on.”
Bucky and Emily left Goody’s after he explained everything to Steve. His best friend didn’t seem upset about cutting their night short at all. Instead, he told them to make it home safely and that he also made sure Clint would not be coming around any time soon. They walked in silence, the only thing keeping the darkened street alight, the soft yellow lights of streetlamps and porchlights. The walk was very reminiscent of the last time they had found themselves walking the streets of Pocatello late in the evening. The only thing different this time was the lack of Trixie by their side and Bucky’s arm slung over her shoulders protectively. She needed someone to take care of her in that moment. He knew solely from the fact that instead of shying away from his touch, she leaned into it all the way to her apartment.
She hadn’t been lying when she’d said she lived close to him. Her complex was only about a half mile from his house. The manufactured building held no personality, the white siding and grey trim creating uniform replications of the same apartments. However, Emily knew exactly where she was going, leading him towards her apartment with a practiced ease. When she unlocked her front door, she walked right in, leaving the door open. Bucky took this as an invitation to follow her. When he stepped into her place, he found it to be surprisingly lacking in any sentimentality. In fact, it looked half empty. No pictures hung on the walls. No nick-knacks or keep sakes. Just furniture and the odd piece of decoration. It was messy, but not too messy. The small dining room table was clear, but the coffee table held notebooks, pens, and her laptop. A pile of blankets and pillows sat on the single couch in the living room.
As if sensing where his gaze was focused, Emily spoke over her shoulder as she disappeared into a back hall, “You can have a seat on the couch. Just shove the blankets out of the way. I’ll be right back.”
Bucky made his way to the couch, picking up the patchwork quilt. The fabric was soft in his hand, the cotton material aged in just the right way. The individual squares were neat and colorful and held a warmth that Bucky only felt as a child when he visited his grandparents’ house. The intimacy of the quilt overwhelmed him. It was too personal. The situation felt too personal. He shouldn’t be there.
Just as he made to drop the quilt and walk towards the door, Emily reemerged donning a pair of sweats and fuzzy socks.
“Hi,” Bucky said, his mouth dry. Something about seeing her like this, looking so small and vulnerable, felt both wrong and horribly right.
“Hi,” Emily responded, walking towards him and giving a quizzical look at the quilt and then him.
“Oh, I was just admiring it. It’s really beautiful, the quilt I mean.”
Emily pulled it from his hands, hugging it to her chest as she sat down on the couch, “Thanks. It was my grandma’s.”
There was a long pause, a heavy weight filling the space between them.
“Do you wanna’ talk about it?” he asked.
There was a long pause as Emily tried to decide whether she wanted to discuss the events that had occurred that night. Bucky waited with bated breath. Then, with a deep sigh, Emily began to talk.
“We met the summer before the second year of my PhD. Mutual acquaintances. Department barbeque. He seemed nice. We moved in together after a year. And then a year later, a month and half ago to be exact, I found him in our bed with his lab mate, Sharon.” Emily picked at the quilt in her lap and brought her feet up onto the couch, turning towards him. “I kicked him out the same day. Haven’t spoken to him till tonight.”
Bucky was quiet, opting to simply allow her to tuck her feet below his thigh and listen.
“At first, I was upset, but as time’s gone on, I’m realizing that I probably wasn’t upset for the right reason. I felt hurt. But not because I loved him. I should have loved him. I think. We were together for so long. We lived together. But…” She laughed. “I don’t know why I’m telling you all of this. I don’t usually…Nat says I like to bottle things up and make bad jokes at my own expense. I don’t—I don’t usually…”
Bucky found himself reaching out and placing a hand over hers. He had no idea why she felt comfortable enough to open up to him, but he was touched that she did.
“What a dick. Doesn’t matter if you loved him or not. Or if he loved you or not. You made an agreement and he broke that. It’s no one’s fault but his own. You deserve a lot better than that guy, trust me.” The words he spoke were true. She did deserve a lot better.
Emily turned her hand over, her fingertips brushing against the palm of his hands. The touch sent his pulse racing. A burning fire igniting beneath the surface of his skin everywhere her fingers brushed.
“Thank you, Dr. Barnes,” breathed Emily. Her eyes focused on the movement of her hand and Bucky’s in turn as he moved his hand in sync with hers. Fingertips to fingertips. A ghostly touch.
Bucky chuckled lightly, “Are you ever going to call me Bucky?”
“No,” Emily responded, a small smirk on her face.
“So just Dr. Barnes forever?”
She was quiet, a pensive look on her face as she ceased the dance of their hands and threaded her fingers through his.
“How about James?” she asked.
Bucky’s heart clenched. A hand wrapped around it tightly, squeezing and squeezing. The sound of his name, his given name, slipping past her lips and rolling off the tip of her tongue caused a visceral reaction within him. The front of his jeans tightened, and arousal shuddered through his body.
“Say it again,” he commanded, voice gravely with need.
He heard the sound of Emily’s breath catching in her throat before a soft “James” passed her lips. Hand still gripping hers tightly, he used it to pull her forward and onto his lap. Eyes wide with surprise, her chest heaved, and body trembled as she braced her hands on his shoulders.
“Again.”
“James.”
They leaned towards each other, noses touching and lips a whisper apart. The hot, heavy mix of their breaths shared between them. He should stop. He was no longer crossing a line of propriety in mind. He was crossing a real line. Everything told him to stop. The voice in the back of his head was a distant scream that shouted: ‘She’s your student’, ‘You’re her advisor’, ‘It’s inappropriate’, ‘It’s a liability to your position’, ‘What about Diane?’. But with the feel of her hips in his hands and her hair tickling his face as she leaned over him the voice moved farther and farther into the recesses of him mind.
“Again.”
“Ja—”
Emily was cut off by the shrill ring of a phone in the kitchen. They both jumped, pulling away from each other as if the phone itself caught them in the middle of a nefarious act. Bucky released her waist, his hands falling to his sides as Emily stood and ran to the kitchen.
“Hello? Nat, hey. What’s up?” Emily’s voice lilted from the kitchen, breathy with a small hint of panic. “Yea, I’m fine. I just got home a few minutes ago.”
Bucky stood, removing the quilt that had made its way onto his lap and folded it, before gently placing it back on the couch.
“Oh, Steve told you what happened?”
He sighed, looking around the living room and then back towards the kitchen before making his way towards the front door. Quietly, he exited the apartment, closing the door behind him. The chilly bite of the late night air sank through to his bones as he walked home, trying to make sense of what just happened. By the time he made it to his front door he still didn’t know if he should thank Natasha or advise Steve to break up with her. But one thing was definitely clear, he had crossed a line and there was no going back.
A/N: Chapter one, let’s go! a little intro, but this WILL get darker in the upcoming chapters. this isn’t a 100% soft fic. there will be more dub!con action, so if that’s not your thing, i do not suggest investing in this story. Otherwise, let’s hit it!
Chapter Warnings: soft!dark!bucky, mentions of stalking, mentions of animal neglect, language
Gifs are not mine!
SERIES MASTERLIST | MASTERLIST
PART ONE
Bucky brushes the crumbs from his dark blue cotton sweater, savoring the last of his croissant that, frankly, could have been out of the oven probably three days ago. It’s so stale. His tongue is dry, and as he swallows the last crumbs, he realizes he’s parched for a good glass of water.
He makes his way towards the back gate. He hates the front gate, the front lobby, the fucking elevators. His new condo complex is filled to the brink with fresh-faced graduates who think yoga in the lobby at six in the morning is cool, and young lawyers who care more about their style than the case they’re handling. Bucky has a few skills in... stalking, and he’s followed, on more than one occasion, a few of his fellow tenants. They are not as professional, immaculate, and put together as they portray. Most of them are late on their bills, don’t know how to cook for themselves (evidence enough in their garbage), and are not as vegan as they say they are.
The back gate to his new, government-issued condo leads to the short but quaint backyard that everyone can share. Let me rephrase. It is a fully furnished back yard, with an outdoor pool in the summer and a patio, for a condo complex of 100 units. It’s chaos.
But in the early hours of morning, there is only Savannah filming her morning yoga and Youssef on the jump rope. The hot summer rays are beginning to heat the outdoors as Bucky lounges the wall, desperate to not be spotted. He hates interacting with these people. They only talk about themselves.
“Meatball!”
The back door, which leads to the only staircase Bucky ever uses, flies open, and a girl comes running out, screaming. She slams brutally into Bucky, knocking the breath from his lungs, and by instinct, by the things put in him without his consent, he robotically wraps an arm around her shoulders and hauls her against him.
“Meatball!”
She struggles against him, messy hair getting into his face, and Bucky realizes she’s in a panic and releases her. She smells of clean soap and... flowers.
Bucky watches her tentatively. She’s wearing pajama shorts that cover barely anything at all, a loose camisole, and a short pink vest.
She stares at Bucky with big, wide eyes drinking in the first rays of morning sun. “Did you see a tiny little cat?” she asks, her voice roach, breathless. She’s probably been running.
Bucky shakes his head.
She’s beautiful, he realizes.
“He’s tiny!” she sobs, looking around. By now, she’s garnered the attention of jump-rope-man and yoga-girl. “Have you two seen a tiny little brown kitten?” she calls to them. They both shake their heads, exchanging a concerned look.
“Oh, God,” the girl mumbles, looking around. Her eyes are red from crying, her lips bitten raw.
Bucky feels the beginnings of pity and empathy build between his ribs. It’s numb, as it always is, because HYDRA took his ability to feel, and as his therapist said, it is up to him to harbor any emotion in order to feel better.
He takes a breath, biting the inside of his cheek. “Where did you see him last?” Bucky asks.
The girl turns to him, as if unaware of him even if, seconds ago, she was pressed up against him, albeit briefly. She frowns, raking a hand in her messy hair.
“Uh, in my condo,” she sniffs. “I left the door slightly open to get to the chute, and when I came back, he was gone.”
“And he’s a kitten?” Bucky asks.
She nods. “Yeah, he’s two months.”
Bucky gestures towards the stairs. “Then he wouldn’t have taken the stairs.” The girl nods, completely trusting him, and Bucky finds that he likes that, that he likes her dependency on him. “He’s too small. He’s probably in the hallway. Or hiding.”
She bolts for the stairs, Bucky behind her. “I’m on floor eleven,” she says, and Bucky groans. She couldn’t have been on an even higher floor?
By floor five, the girl is panting, slowing, sweat evident on her brow. Bucky watches in silence, begging his mind not to take him there, to where his eyes want to go. To where his mind is titillating towards. He’s careening, holding onto the imaginary railing in his mind.
She smells so good, and in the confined space of the stairwell, he can smell her everywhere. His heightened senses beg him to turn, to touch her, to taste those red lips, feel her skin that now glows from her exertion.
“I’m Elora,” she breathes, ripping him from his reverie.
He stares down, back at her, where she slowly follows behind him. “Bucky,” he says. “Or James.”
“You have two names?” she asks, her voice between sarcasm and true curiosity.
“Your cat’s name is Meatball,” he deadpans.
She snorts. It’s cute.
She’s evidently out of breath and physically drained by floor ten, and Bucky gives slight encouragements for her to continue. Her hair, loose and messy, has begun to stick to her cheeks, but she is more adorable now. Her face glows from the exertion, and Bucky watches her neck as she strains up the last stairs.
“I didn’t think about coming back up when I came running down,” she breathes as she reaches for the door to her floor.
Bucky grimaces. “We should have taken the elevator.” But he hates elevators. The space is so small, confined, and he can’t feel the air in his lungs nor on his skin. It’s like being buried alive. But he doesn’t tell her that.
She chuckles breathlessly as they emerge into the hallway. The rug is dark brown, just like on his floor. The walls are pristine, lights on the walls, on the ceiling. If Meatball was here, they’d find him.
Elora takes a second to catch her breath, leaning against the wall. Bucky lingers by, not even out of breath.
“Are some sort of marathon runner?” she asks between gulps of oxygen.
Bucky snorts. “No.” He puts his hands in his pockets, trying not to watch her chest heave up and down with every labored breath she takes. “Just fit, I guess.”
She rolls her eyes.
“Why Meatball?” Bucky asks, curious, unable to keep himself from asking her questions.
Elora swallows hard, finally starting to even out her breathing. “Well, you know that apartment block on the other side of the street?” she asks, jutting her chin. Bucky nods. “On the basement ground, there’s an apartment with, like, a whole zoo in there. I’ve never seen the owners. But I’ve seen all the animals. Sometimes I…” she trails off, laughing, pushing herself from the wall.
She starts to walk past him, towards her apartment, and Bucky follows. “Sometimes you what?” he insists, following a few steps behind, head down as if to appear uninterested but he’s shimmering with curiosity. What does this girl do on her free time?
She laughs again. “Well, you don’t work for the police, do you?”
Bucky raises a brow. “Are you murdering innocent people, animals?”
She stops, turns, looks up at him with a frown. She’s so close, he can smell her so much, see every detail of her skin, her eyes, her lips. “No,” she says. “I just go and… rescue those animals. You should see the living conditions.” She resumes walking. Bucky follows.
“So,” he begins, “if I got this straight. You break and enter into an apartment and steal their pets?”
She waves him off.
And just as they turn the corner of the hallway, Elora exclaims, “Meatball!”
She rushes towards a small, tiny little speck of brown fur curled up in front of door 1116. Elora picks up the kitten, cradling it to her chest, cooing and kissing it.
Bucky sighs. “He is very cute,” he acknowledges, eyeing the tiny creature with a small smile. Elora makes a noise of agreement. “So you stole Meatball from the apartment over?”
She rolls her eyes again, a behavior Bucky finds endearing.
“He was starving in there,” Elora mumbles. “I’d been in the apartment a few times. Giving the animals food. But this little guy here, I found nibbling on a rotting meatball. I just… took him home.” She looks up at Bucky with a daring expression, as if challenging her to say anything else about the wrongs of breaking and entering.
Bucky just shrugs, intent on knowing how exactly this girl breaks into homes to free dying cats from their neglectful owners.
“Hence the name,” Bucky mumbles.
She chuckles, nodding, and moves towards her door. “Well, mister James or Bucky… or whatever,” she says with a bright smile, stealing something in Bucky that makes him want to barge through that door with her. “I’ll see you around.” She gives a shrug of her right shoulder, tossing Meatball around in her arms, and turns to enter her condo. Bucky glimpses a soft, grey couch and the smell of vanilla.
“Yeah,” he breathes, steeling his gaze, hearing the soft click of her door closing.
He walks down the hall, back to the stairwell, the empty, grey, echoing stairwell, and shuffles his way down.
On floor five, he takes out his phone and dials Sam.
Ever since Sam took on the mantle of Captain America, the man has been busy, to say the least. But he always picks up when Bucky calls, and Bucky is counting on it.
“Wilson!”
“God, that’s arrogant,” Bucky replies in a low, mocking tone.
“Mister Barnes,” Sam sing-songs, chuckling. “What a pleasure. What you been up to, man?”
“Nothing.” Lie. “I’m going to need some gear.”
There’s a silence, a very concerned, friendly silence. “For what?”
Bucky hesitates. “Surveillance.”
“For who?”
“You’re going to laugh.”
Sam chuckles. “Damn right, I am,” he answers. “Tell me who’s it for.”
“There’s an apartment building on the other side of my new place that is neglecting their animals.”
“Oh,” Sam says. “Well, anything for you, Mister Animal Savior.” Sam chuckles but Bucky can hear the concern, the fear of being lied to, in his voice.
“I prefer Sir Pet Rescue,” Bucky retorts, but there’s barely any humor in his tone.
Because he’s lying. He has no intention whatsoever to surveil that apartment.
A/N: alright here we go! i love where this is headed, how bucky slowly transforms into the soft!dark!
Chapter Warnings: soft!dark!bucky, mentions of stalking, mentions of animal neglect, depictions of animal neglect, language
Gifs are not mine!
SERIES MASTERLIST | MASTERLIST
PART TWO
The equipment Bucky ordered comes in a shiny metal box that reminds him of the time the Wakandans offered him a new arm, a new war. But this time, Bucky isn’t fighting a war. He’s not even fighting. He’s observing. He’s setting up the binoculars near the window. He’s fine-tuning the microphones to an earpiece and a recording device. He’s making sure the motion sensors properly record movement and register in his computer.
It's oddly reminiscent of some jobs he used to do for HYDRA. Although he wishes he could erase that part of his life, the time he spent observing and collecting data prove useful to him now.
The day outside is gloomy. The clouds seem to mock him, closing him into a space he’s been forced into anyway.
Bucky clucks his tongue.
“Has there been any dreams again?”
He turns to face his psychologist. She sits with a frown nettling her face, leg bent over the other, the tip of her shiny black boot white and apotropaic for Bucky.
“No,” he answers. Not since her. Not since Meatball.
“Are you having any sort of dream?” she asks, eyes briefly falling to her notepad duteously spread on her knee.
Bucky bites the inside of his cheek. Yes, he wants to say. So many. Of her and her big eyes and the way her smell seems to linger in the hall even after she’s left. Dreams of following her down a long, empty hallway, of pining her against a wall and watching the way her skin flushes, glows, under his stare.
“Not really,” he opts for, determining that confessing dreams of stalking a neighbor would not earn him points with both his psychologist and the government.
“Sam told me you ordered surveillance equipment?” she continues, chin in her palm.
Of course, Sam would not completely believe Bucky.
“There’s this neighbor,” Bucky starts, hands on his knees. “I don’t know who lives there. Honestly, all I’ve seen is their animals. And they’re being neglected. Left for days unattended. I sometimes see through the living room door that there’s no food.”
The doctor nods, writes, hums.
“Do you feel like that’s a good hobby to have, Mr. Barnes?” God, he hates when she calls him that.
“Animal rescue?” he tries, tone faking innocence.
She snorts. She sees right through his ruse. “Stalking.”
Bucky jerks ever the slightest. “It’s not that,” he groans. “It’s mostly… I feel useful, and I feel like I’m partaking in something good for once,” he sighs.
“Rescuing animals,” she says, writing something down in that little stupid fucking notepad.
“Yes,” he grits between his teeth. “I’m not waiting to kill someone,” he retorts, and immediately regrets it.
“Is that what you think I think of you?”
Bucky rolls his eyes. “Sometimes.”
She smiles slowly. “I am only here to help you.” She readjusts in her seat. “And if you are constantly thinking that I’m here to undermine you, then this relationship won’t work. We won’t be able to move forward.”
He nods, biting back some remarks he should really keep to himself.
She stares at him for a few moments, then down at her watch. “Our hour is over, Mr. Barnes.” She settles back in her seat, scribbling some notes down. “Until next week.”
Bucky all but storms out of her office, past the receptionist who wishes him well, and out into the gloomy New York air. The office is a few blocks away from his condo, and he uses the time walking to keep his mind from conjuring images of strangling that woman to death.
When he gets to the back door of the complex, he notices a familiar figure coming his way. He schools his features into something more homely, warm, and magnetic. He tries to conjure the womanizer he was in the forties, but something about this girl, Elora, doesn’t make him want to be that: a jerk. He wants to be good to her. He knows he can be good to her.
“Hey,” he says.
She squints as she approaches him, and when she recognizes him, her face lights up. “Oh, hey!” She smiles and Bucky swears she’s the most beautiful creature on Earth. “James! Or Bucky.” She has a backpack on, the color of rust.
“It’s just Bucky,” he says, smiling, leaning a shoulder against the wall. She watches his nonchalance, and Bucky thinks he spies a moment of attraction flitting across her face. “Where you headed? Lost Meatball again?”
She chuckles, pushing hair behind her ears. Adorable. “No,” she says with a shy smile, crossing her arms across her chest. “Sorry about that. Or, I guess, thank you.”
Bucky nods with a faint smile.
“I’m just headed to that… apartment I told you about?” She’s acting cold, restrained now, as if she’s either afraid of him or afraid of what he’s going to say about her little jaunts next door.
“Still on that animal rescue mission?” he asks humorously.
That seems to dispel the tension in her shoulders, and she laughs. “Yeah, I’m going to feed them actually.”
Bucky nods, pushing from the wall. He can see the sparkle in her eyes as she assesses him. He knows she finds him attractive. He’s seen himself in the mirror a few times.
“Mind if I join?”
Her mouth parts and it’s the most adorable view Bucky has ever had.
“Really?” she asks.
“Yeah,” he answers, lifting a shoulder. “Always wanted to be the good guy.”
She laughs, unaware of the way Bucky stares at her with both hunger and longing.
“Alright, cowboy, let’s go!”
They walk across the street, and Bucky notices how Elora walks with her head high, not cowering and nervous. She’s done this before. She walks up to the basement sliding door of the aforementioned apartment and waits for Bucky to step beside her. From under the canopy of the upstairs balcony, her face is shadowed, cool, and she lifts a daring eyebrow to Bucky.
“So, what, do you know where the key is?” he asks, looking over his shoulder at the busy boulevard. “Or a barrette?”
She scoffs. Then she puts a finger to the knob and pushes, the door sliding open. Bucky smiles, holding laughter, and gives her an impressed raise of his brows.
“A woman with many talents,” Elora mumbles as she climbs in.
Once inside, Bucky closes the sliding door, and puts a hand to his mouth. It smells like excretion and rotting food. Or corpses. He wishes beyond anything that there are no dead animals here.
Elora behaves as if she lives here, bending down and retrieving food from her backpack. When she opens the bag, a few little kittens come stumbling into the messy, dirty living room. Bucky stands there, watching Elora crouched on the stained yellow carpet as she takes out cans of wet cat food.
“The dogs are in cages in the back room,” she says, jerking her chin towards the back of the apartment, and Bucky understands that as his cue to move. She hands him a bag of dog food, and when he takes it out of her hand, his finger brushes hers and fire licks up his palm. He tries not to fidget, or flinch away, but he’s wearing gloves, as always, to keep others from ogling his metal arm, and now he wishes more than anything that his flesh could have touched hers.
She doesn’t say anything about the touch. The gloves. She just shoves the bag into his hands and motions him to action.
He takes the dog food bag across the apartment, noticing the dirt stains on the kitchen floor, the mountain of rotting, dirty dishes in the sink, and that the walls are decaying.
The dogs, three pitbulls, are indeed in cages in what should have been the guestroom. Bucky holds back a gag. Some of the dogs have been left in their filth, and it stinks up the room. His heart squeezes at the sight of the animals laying down in tiny cages, their big bodies constrained to such a small enclosure. The dogs are looking at him, but none move. It as if they’re used to this: someone, anyone, not a master or friend, coming in and just feeding them.
“Heartless, right?”
Bucky turns and Elora stands in the doorway with a grey cat nestled in her arms.
“We should call someone,” Bucky says, opening the dog food bag, the dogs’ heads snapping up to attention.
“I’ve called animal health, rescue centers, even the police,” she adds. Then she shrugs. “They’ve all claimed insubstantial evidence. If I send pictures, they’re going to arrest me for B&E.”
Bucky nods, carefully opening the cage of the first dog.
“They don’t bite,” Elora says. “So, yeah, I come here sometimes and rescue some and send them to centers for neglected animals. Every time I come back, though, there’s more.”
Bucky groans, his heart burning, his head imagining scenarios of beating whoever puts these animals into such dire situations. Heartless fucker.
Bucky fills the first bowl and leaves the cage open. “We should take this one,” he says. “At least today. And tomorrow, we can come get the other one.”
Elora walks out and comes back in as Bucky is feeding the second dog. She hands Bucky a leash. “Feel free. She’s a female, by the way. I named her Claudia.”
Bucky snorts, closing the second cage on the other dog, heart wrenching as he sees the way the animal gobbles down food. How long have they been without food?
They feed the third dog, noticing burn marks on its haunches, and then leash up Claudia. She has difficulty walking, limping, her front paw badly injured from God knows what. Bucky follows Elora through the apartment, where she shows him the entire, disgusting situation. Bunnies in a cage with barely anything to do but sleep in their defecation. Birds in a cage left covered by a black, heavy cloak. More and more and endless kittens and adult cats. Bucky lets a few of the adult ones out of the back door, maybe to freedom or better homes, who knows.
As they walk across the street, Bucky helping Claudia along, the man can’t help but feel proud of Elora. His Elora. This incredible girl that risks her neck every time she walks into that apartment.
“Don’t ever go in there alone, ever again,” Bucky says as they near the parking of their complex.
She turns and frowns up at this man that she barely knows but appreciates. “Why?”
Bucky shakes his head, shakes the feeling from his bones, this feeling that wants to protect her from the world. He needs to bide his time. “Who knows when the owner can come back,” he answers. “They could be dangerous.”
She smiles, rolls her eyes, a behavior he will have to correct. “I can handle myself.”
Bucky’s shoulders tense. “I mean it,” he says, forcing himself not to grit his teeth. “You have me now. Use that.”
She smiles again, all teeth and cheeks and giddy innocence. “Sure,” she pipes up. “Now let’s get to my car and get these babies to a rescue.”
A/N: OKAY SO AFTER THIS CHAPTER, IT GETS VERY SERIOUSLY DUB!CON, so if that’s not your thing, this story is about to get very triggering!
Chapter Warnings: soft!dark!bucky, mentions of stalking, language, mentions of violence
Gifs are not mine!
SERIES MASTERLIST | MASTERLIST
PART THREE
Bucky hates lying. He hates sitting in her car and pretending that the surveillance equipment is not for her. He hates it when he laughs and pretends to be a good man, a man with humane intentions, and promises to check up on Claudia when they leave the refuge. He hates lying to her, but when Elora brings them back and her perfume invades the cabin of the car, Bucky can’t help but continue his lies.
At her door, he’s already holding a small motion sensor in his palm, pretending to be a gallant young man and walking her home, even if they live in the same building. He hates it. He can’t help it. When she wishes him a good day and tells him that she’s happy he came along today, Bucky smiles and nods and tells her it was his pleasure. Then when the door closes, he sticks the tiny motion sensor at the bottom of her door frame and leaves.
He checks his phone, makes sure the device is connected to the sensor, and pockets it. Next time someone comes in or out of that apartment, he’ll be notified.
Bucky doesn’t want to be the bad guy; he doesn’t want to do this, not really, but the need deep inside, to know everything about this girl, to take care of her, is invading his entire being.
When she leaves her apartment the next morning, probably for work – Bucky will find out – he sneaks upstairs and easily breaks into her condo. He’s impressed by what he finds. Colors spring at him, and it’s a stark contrast to the dull grey and white of his place. Pink refrigerator. Forest green walls. Yellow accessories. The foyer and the living room are cozy. He finds a sock under the dark blue couch. He scrolls through her Netflix and finds she’s been binging The Office.
In the kitchen, he finds last night’s meal in the fridge in a plastic Tupperware. Spaghetti. He rummages through her cabinets. She’s into fine, delicate cutlery. He sticks a microphone, the size of his fingernail, under a cabinet beside the oven.
He walks slowly down the hallway, careful not to leave a trace. His feet are silent on the carpet. When he enters her room, he’s assaulted by the smell of her. It invades him. It reaches into every nook and cranny of his mind and fogs him.
His left hand, the metal one, the one he hates and he loves, balls into a fist.
Her bed, a queen size with a dark grey thick duvet, is perfectly made up. Her slippers are neatly by the foot of the bed. There’s a pajama shirt loosely thrown on the side of her vanity chair. She’s got bottles of skin care lingering on her vanity. A few hair ties. And Meatball.
The tiny little kitten raises its head from where he is lying down, rolled into a little ball on Elora’s vanity, the sun from the window drenching him in warmth. Bucky smiles at the kitten and proceeds to her wardrobe. He puts his hand on the knob and stops.
He is not a man who goes through women’s things. He doesn’t want to want it, but he does. He wants to see the clothes he’s never seen her in. Her underwear. Her bras. The things she wears to bed. The things she keeps for naughty, nighttime endeavors.
Bucky’s metal hand forms a fist again. He doesn’t want her to have nighttime endeavors. He doesn’t want her to have someone lying down next to her in that bed and touching her. He wants that person to be him, only him.
Bucky forgets the wardrobe. Another time, he tells himself. Breaking into Elora’s apartment was a treat. The only thing he had planned for this visit was to plant the microphones and the motion sensors. So he sticks a microphone under her vanity and pats Meatball on the head, careful not to disrupt any of the million serums on the desk.
After making sure nothing is out of place, Bucky heads out and carefully locks back the door with his pins. He feels satisfied as he walks down the hall, checking his phone to see if the microphones and sensor are connected, and just as he’s about to pass by the elevator, it dings and opens.
“Bucky!”
He looks up, startled, and immediately registers the stutter in his chest when he spots Elora, standing in straight blue jeans and a big brown sweater. She lights up like a Christmas tree when she sees him, her mouth splitting in a toothy grin. She’s holding a purse and waves at him with her free hand. As she steps out, Bucky notices a man stepping out with her. A man who stands a little too close to her.
“Elora,” Bucky says, smiling tightly.
Then she frowns, cocking her head. “What are you doing on my floor?” she asks.
Bucky laughs, tucking his phone back in his pocket as the elevator dings shut. The man Elora is with just stands there, staring at Bucky.
“I came by to tell you I got a call from the refuge today,” Bucky answers eloquently. “Claudia is doing fine. They plan on putting her up for adopting next week.”
Elora’s mouth falls open in both shock and happiness, and she turns to look up at the man beside her, and Bucky feels the anger rise in him like a tidal wave. Oh, how he wishes he was the man Elora would look at like that.
“That’s the guy I was telling you about,” she tells the man. “Bucky, this is Casper, my… friend.”
The hesitation before the word friend let’s Bucky understand that this Casper guy is maybe, just maybe, a little bit more than a friend. Or a potential boyfriend.
Casper puts his hand out to shake, a tight, unruly smile on his lips. Bucky shakes his hand, but he’d rather be choking that idiot to death.
“That’s such good news,” Elora says as the two men finish shaking hands. “We should celebrate!”
Bucky nods. He can’t help but measure the distance between him and her, between her and Casper. He smells her perfume, and he wants to reach forward and touch her skin.
“Maybe another time,” Casper says, and Bucky can’t help but notice how he answered for her.
“Maybe we should let her decide,” he answers, and it’s harsh. It’s blunt. It’s a punch to Casper’s face.
The man jerks backward as if clocked. “Excuse me?” he asks, tone low, menacing.
Bucky wants to snort. Elora’s face drops into a concerned frown. “Okay,” she says, elongating the word. “Maybe we should… maybe we should reconnect, soon, Bucky, okay?”
Bucky wants to tell her to kick Casper out, not him. He wants to take her purse and push Casper out of the way and walk her to her door. He wants to stuff a knife between Casper’s ribs until he’s taken his last breath in her presence.
“Sure,” Bucky says instead, giving Casper a tight, grueling smile. Then he nods at Elora. “You know my floor. Have yourselves a good night.”
He steps aside and down the hall. He hears their receding steps. His phone beeps, and sure enough, a notification of movement in Elora’s door was registered. When Bucky turns around, he sees the door close shut, and he can’t help but think, I’m going to get rid of him.
A/N: Here we go for another series that i will hopefully finish and not go on hiatus for a whole year! PRAY YALL. This is just to summarize and give yall an avant gout of this story! I will have the masterlist to this series linked when i post the first chapter. Please let me know if you’d like to be added to the taglist.
Pairing: Bucky Barnes x OFC (i will not mention skin, hair, eye color. She is a self insert of you!)
Warnings: soft!dark!bucky is a warning in and of itself. Stalking, mentions and depictions of violence, smut, vulgar language, mentions of animal neglect, murder.
Summary: Bucky Barnes is government-gifted a new condo in an immense complex downtown New York. So long as he continues his therapy sessions, avoids police encounters, and picks up the phone when Sam calls, he won’t be bothered. Elora lives on the eleventh floor of the complex with her cat, Meatball. When all the things wrong in her life magically fix themselves overnight from her leaky faucet to her dangerous, violent ex boyfriend, she begins to suspect the new tenant.
