Chapter One
New York is plagued by a war between the White Wolves and SHIELD. Your older brother comes up with a solution: Wed you to their leader, Bucky Barnes.
Chapter Two
When learning you’re being pawned of to marry Bucky Barnes, you demand to join the latest meeting.
Chapter Three
The stress of the new mafia coming into town leads you and Yelena to let your hair down at a local bar. A few drinks in and you come up with the idea to visit Barnes.
Chapter Four
A celebration comes with a few bloody interruptions.
Let me know if you would like to be added or removed from the taglist x
Pairing - Mafia!Bucky Barnes x Fem!Reader, slight Bestfriend!Steve Rodgers x Reader
Summary - A celebration comes with a few bloody interruptions.
Warnings - Violence, alcohol use
Words - 1.7K
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"And why exactly did you agree to this?" Steve had asked as the two of you drew over the stone driveway of the Barnes Manor where your future awaited inside.
You turned to face your best friend, a sigh at your lips. "Look, Tony's left me on the sidelines for years. I might not exactly like what this plan is, but it's the only way I see, I get actually to do some work." As Bucky had promised you. To your surprise, you hadn't doubted his promise. Something about that look in his eye. He was determined to make you a part of his team more than Tony ever had been. Though, you did consider if that was simply due to the fact he didn't care to lose you. "Not to mention, it is smart." You admitted.
Steve slowed as the two of you reached the front porch where the bodyguards awaited your entrance. "Can't believe you actually accepted it."
A shurg fell off your shoulders, "You were right."
"About what?"
"There's opportunity when you marry a Barnes."
The blonde-haired man watched as you gave nothing but a nod to the bodyguards and the front door was opened for you. You wandered through first, leaving Steve to be the one trailing behind for once. He couldn't help but wonder if he might soon regret them words. Steve seemed more worried about what might happen to you when you took Bucky's name than Tony did.
What awaited inside was something not to be expected. Rather than the two groups perched in the dark office, you spotted Tony outside by the pool area. The late spring sun casting against his glass of bourbon. Alongside him was Natasha, giggling at something he said. Not too far away were Barnes and Rumlow. Each of them too appointed with a glass of something strong. Something that, from the other side of the glass door, seemed rather inviting.
"There she is!" Called Natasha, her smile reached the side of her sunglasses. "Our bride-to-be!"
She rushed to your side and you couldn't help but feel embarrassed. Mainly due to the fact your wedding was going to be a complete hoax. "Not by choice." You whispered in her ear.
"Oh come on!" Natasha attempted to cheer you up, the smell of chardonnay falling from her tongue. "Me and Yelena can be bridesmaids."
"I've been a little too concerned over the tracksuit mafia to think about picking out bridesmaids." You pointed out. For some reason, this meeting seemed a lot more focused on the wedding than the very reason it was needed.
You watched as the red-head stuck out her bottom lip in protest. "So we aren't going to be bridesmaids?"
Her words forced your stern expression to fall; you could never let her down. "I guess so."
Her smile returned and she took a sip of her wine. Before she had a chance to greet her brother, a voice drew her attention, "Wine?" Bucky was stood behind the bar, awaiting your order.
"Bourbon, on the rocks, please." You requested.
The man dipped into the bar for a far too expensive bottle for why you were here. "Same," Steve added as he snaked round to your side, a little too close for comfort had he been anyone else.
Bucky gazed at him, his eyes narrow as he attempted to work out the atmosphere. "Sure," He agreed, grabbing an extra glass as he poured the whisky against the ice.
Everything moved so quick. You had barely taken a sip, barely looked in another direction before the doors to the pool burst open. Sam Wilson wandered out, dressed like the weather was a boiling temp despite the breeze still loitering the air. He held his eyes to his phone with a great big grin, "And we've gone live!" He practically cheered. He squeezed between yourself and Bucky, throwing an arm over each of you, "The world now welcomes the new Mrs Barnes into the city."
You stared towards his phone, a picture of yourself from your Social Media and another of Bucky. The more striking part was the title of the online tabloid: "CEO Bucky Barnes proposed to new girlfriend." It truly was all happening far too quick. It was as if you had given Barnes the green light and now everything was moving into motion.
Sam was already rushing over to show Tony and Natasha when you finally looked over at Bucky. "I thought you were keeping me in the loop." You spoke, a brow raised, ready for whatever excuse he was about to give.
"I was, wanted to, but I don't have your phone number." You bit your lip. You couldn't exactly argue against that. It wasn't as if exchanging phone numbers had passed your mind that late Friday night when you barged into his occupied bedroom.
You kept quiet, shifting in your pocket before pulling out your phone and handing it over to Bucky. When he finally gave your phone back, you took that as the opportunity to finally leave his space, heading back to where Steve was sipping at his drink. You felt the weight of a wedding you didn't want suddenly plague your shoulders. Even if you knew it was the right thing to do, it wasn't making things much easier.
"You sure you're gonna be okay about this?" Steve checked as he glanced over at you.
You shrugged, "It's not about me. It's not even about the wedding."
"I hate it." Steve finally said. His eyes not on yours, too avoident to the conversation he knew he needed to have.
You watched as a flicker of doubt passed through Steve. You doubted anyone wanted this for you, but it was the best solution. "It's just a name, Steve." You attempted to assure. "It's not real." At the end of the day, you would still be at Stark at heart.
"I just- I want to make sure you're safe, I can't help but wonder if this is the best way for it." You couldn't disagree. Living under the Barnes' roof, sleeping alongside him, it wasn't exactly your own version of safety. But at the same time, if it stopped the tracksuit mafia from making a violent appearance then so be it.
You reached out a hand, letting it gently soothe against Steve's forearm. "It'll all work out, Steve. I'm sure."
He nodded, certain words on the tip of his tongue that he couldn't verbalise. Ones of which soon got lost in the chaos. A rumble was heard from inside the house, enough to begin to alert people. And when a figure was seen rushing to the backyard, hands were itching for a weapon. You watched closely as the door swung open once again to reveal a very bloody Yelena.
"Oh my god," You exclaimed, the closest to her as you caught her limp body into your arms.
Her blood-soaked figure tainted your own clothes as you felt her weight push you down to your knees. Everyone moved far too quick. You were too focused on the wounded girl in your arms to keep attention to what was happening behind you. "Yelena? What- what-?" You couldn't get your words out, too stunned as you located the source of the blood: a bullet wound in the side of her stomach. "Oh, god." You mumbled.
In the midst of the havoc, you heard Bucky's voice, "Get an ambulance!" He demanded.
"But sir-" Rumlow attempted to point out the risk in bringing unknown people into the home.
But it became a warning which was ignored. "I said now, Rumlow!"
You felt Natasha's figure fall down beside you, her finger tips running through her sister's blonde hair. Yelena reached out slowly, her finger tips taking a grasp over your own. "He's here." She informed before her eyes settled onto the above.
"She's losing consciousness!" Natasha yelled to the rest of the group.
Sam must have been busy on the phone, a distant rant of, "No, no, she's not responding. Man, she's bleeding a fucking lot!"
Panic set in. You moved into imagining your friend slipping away in the comfort of your arms. So, rather sitting back and watching, you tore your belt from your jeans. "Nat, lift her up for me." The woman was silent as you tucked her palm under her sister's back, lifting her up gently as you swept the leather underneath. From there, you tightened it around the wound, preying it might stop the bleeding.
You kept your hands close to the wound. Any extra pressure you could muster, "Yelena," You called, watching as her eyes fluttered between life and death. "I need you to keep your eyes open for me," You soothed her through it, begging for the medics to get here. "Come on, Yelena."
"They're here." You heard Sam inform.
Before you even had the chance to look away from the blonde, EMTs were rushing through. Your spot on the wound was suddenly replaced by someone professional. "We've got a bullet wound," The woman spoke aloud as she examined the scene in front of her. "Female, early 20s."
You finally brought yourself to your feet, your legs shaking as you watched the scene play out like a movie. You felt your back hit a firm chest. One of which you didn't recognise until you felt the shiver of metallic fingers gently rubbing at your arm. You couldn't pay attention. Couldn't question it. Not when Yelena was getting carried out of the Barnes' Manor on a stretcher.
"We've got space for one." The medic informed.
Natasha was already walking beside the woman when she replied, "Yeah," And like that, the body was swiftly taken away.
"We'll be right behind you, Nat." Steve assured as the redhead rushed to get to the ambulance for her sister.
What was left was Bucky's blood-soaked cobblestone floor, half-drunken glasses and a hell of a silence. Everyone was taking it in. Not only the violence they had watched occur but the realisation as to what was coming: War.
"You did well," Bucky muttered.
Only then had you realised how close you had been standing to him. And only then had you made the conscious decision to take a step back. "I panicked."
"She'll be okay," He assured.
You instinctively looked back towards the dripping pile of blood. "She won't be the last of his victims, though, will she?" Bucky didn't need to answer, you already knew.
Taglist - @barnesxstan @sebastians-love @ghalouha @mrsnikstan @brckenmemories @greatenthusiasttidalwave
(Let me know if you would like to be added or removed) x
Pairing - Mafia!Bucky Barnes x Fem!Reader, slight Bestfriend!Steve Rodgers x Reader
Summary - The stress of the new mafia coming into town leads you and Yelena to let your hair down at a local bar. A few drinks in and you come up with the idea to visit Barnes.
Warnings - Mentions of violence, alcohol use, sexual implications
Words - 2.1K
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Masterlist
The information laid heavy on your heart. All of it seeming to consume you in that moment as you sat on one of Tony's leather sofas, sipping at a glass of bourbon. You should have known there was more to this than what they were telling you. When wasn't that your position they put you in?
The apartment was empty at this time. Steve and Natasha had returned to their own homes while Tony had taken Pepper to somewhere fancy. For a moment, you appreciated the silence until it made your thoughts too loud to ignore. The only thing that broke you out of such was the click of the front door opening. Instinct took over as you reached for your gun that laid over the glass coffee table.
You aimed it at the intruder, only to find Yelena Belova staring back at you with a laugh. Sighing, you placed the weapon back down and returned to your whisky. "I see the meeting with Barnes put you on edge." She observed, waltzing over towards the sofa as she threw herself down beside you.
"Tony's not here." You informed. Yelena only ever made an appearance when Tony needed some dirty work doing. She was good at her job, didn't ask questions, and got the job done every time. It was no surprise when you found out she was Natasha's sister; they shared their career motivation that was for sure.
Yelena shrugged and leaned further back into the pillows. "Guess I have the night off then." Her thick Russian accent hit your ears with a breath. A moment passed when you didn't say anything and the girl took it as an opportunity to take in your state. "I hear you found out, about the tracksuit mafia. Harsh way to get word that's for sure."
"Tony should have told me." You thought aloud. "So should have Steve," Your head turned to face the blonde at your next words, "And Natasha."
"Oh, don't start with me." Her hands threw up in defence, "I agree with you. But they like the idea of the little Stark being protected, safe from that side of things."
"I'm only a few years younger than Natasha!" You argued. "Hell, there's not much between us."
She could only shrug, "I'm not plagued with the Stark name."
You took another gulp of your drink until it was empty, "Lucky you." A huff fell from your lips as your back fell into the sofa so hard you thought it might swallow you hole. Your gaze fell to Yelena as an idea crossed your mind. "You wanna go out?"
She barely looked at you as she considered it, shrugged and said, "Sure."
So, with such a simple answer, the two of you threw on some different clothes and headed to one of the most bustling spots in the city. Roxy's was a bar in the midst of the downtown. The perfect spot, neutral ground, owned by an up-and-coming DJ rather than your brother or Barnes. Not to mention, the drinks were much cheaper.
You ordered a martini while Yelena stuck to the whisky. The two of you turned, facing the different crowd of drunken New Yorkers. Some groups conversing over booths, some others on the dance floor who were far too drunk for 10 pm and then the two of you leant against the front of the bar simply observing.
"Do you ever wish you had that?" You queried, staring over at the group of girls on the dance floor who seemed to not have a care in the world. Waltzing around in short dresses, letting their drinks sway in their hands as they danced alongside prying men. Something you would have been shunned for doing, told you knew better than to be so stupid and reckless.
"What?" Yelena laughed as she glanced between the girls and yourself. "Embarrassing myself in front of a couple of jocks? No, not really."
Your head tilted at Yelena. "Not at all? You don't wish you had maybe gone to college, had some fun? Rather than spending your life obeying orders from my brother? Holding a gun everywhere you go? Always looking over your shoulder?"
Yelena practically sighed in her drink. "I've not had enough for this conversation."
"So you do?"
The girl thought for a moment, gazing back at what could have been. "I did the best with what I was given. This life," She gestured to where they were standing, and what they were drinking. "It's not so bad as what I've had in the past." You nodded at her words before feeling her shoulder nudge against your own. "Real question is, why didn't you? All that Stark money, surely it bought a one-way ticket to some Ivy League."
"You'd think so." You took another long sip from the alcohol. "Tony wanted me close. Maybe I was naive to think I could build a nice life while in the job."
"And now you don't think you'll have that life with Barnes." She realised.
You almost giggled at her words because the answer was so obvious. "Come on, it's Bucky Barnes we're talking about. What nice things can you say about him?"
"He does have a nice house." She offered.
"Yeah, I just have to live with him." The pros did not outweigh the cons that was for sure.
You watched as Yelena chugged the rest of her drink, sitting the empty glass firmly back on the bar stool. She spun back around, facing you as she extended her hand. "Come on then,"
With knitted brows, you asked, "What?"
"You want a taste of the college life, whatever bullshit you're yearning for, let's do it."
Your mind wanted to decline at first, but the careless expressions on the girls were all too enticing. You wanted that. Even if it was just for one night, you wanted to pretend there wasn't a worry taunting you. To forget of the marriage that awaited you, of the violent mafia which were on their way. It was calling you. So, without a second thought, you interlocked your fingers with Yelena as she pulled you onto the dance floor.
A chorus of cheers came from the group of girls who no longer danced alone. You painted a smile at your lips, attempting to not keep giving second glances to anyone you would normally label a risk. Instead, you kept your eyes on Yelena, sipping at your drink as the music blared through your ear drum.
You gulped on your drink until it was empty. Yelena going to buy the next round. Before you knew it, you were four rounds deep and truly, you didn't have so much of a care for what might go wrong. It hadn't even crossed your mind the idea that someone might be about to pull a gun out. For the moment, it was nice. Until a tipsy idea slipped through your thoughts. Something Steve had said yesterday. You might not have a choice in marrying Barnes, but you might be able to control what you could get out of it.
Your swaying slowed in the realisation. And you suddenly had the urge to go confront the man at that very moment - despite the fact it was reaching midnight. "Yelena," You called.
The girl flicked her hair around as to face you, her expression moulded into one of concern when she took in your stance. "What is it?"
Your gaze drew from the floor, "I'm gonna go talk to Barnes."
"You're gonna what-?" You were already turning to leave until Yelena's hand caught your own, "Y/n, what the hell are you thinking?"
"I'm just talking to him." You assured.
She looked at you as if you had gone insane. "It's midnight." She pointed out.
But, to her shock, you had simply shrugged, "I know." You continued walking, only gazing back at the girl as you spoke, "Get home safe." You had no doubt she would. Yelena Bolvova had made it evident she knew how to take care of herself.
So you called over a taxi, slipping into the back as you gave him Barnes' address. You followed the same route, exiting the bustling nightlife of New York. In its replacement, you were left with the Barnes Manor. You left the taxi, practically throwing money at him as you headed towards the bodyguards at the door. "Can we help you?" Asked one of them.
"I'm here to see Barnes, tell him little Stark's here." You knew that name would be enough to open the door for you.
The bodyguard nodded to her co-worker before the front door opened for you. Waiting inside was Rumlow, a gun already in hand. "You didn't call ahead." He spoke, without any greeting or smile.
"I'm here to talk to him, to agree to all of this," You offered up as a response. "Peacefully."
Rumlow wasn't certain to trust you. For that, you didn't blame him. "You smell like booze." He observed first. "He's in his room-" That's all you needed to hear until you took off for the stairway. "I wouldn't!" Rumlow warned you as he stayed stuck in place in the foyer.
You probably should have listened to what he had to say before exploring the second floor for Bucky's bedroom. It hadn't taken much deducing. There was one room with double doors; it had to be his. Only Bucky would be pretentious enough to have double doors leading to his bedroom. So, without any doubt or second thoughts, you pushed your way through into the room.
"What the fuck!" Came a screech.
You barely had time to understand what you had walked in on. A topless Bucky, an almost naked woman who had since jumped up from the bed, using Bucky's t-shirt to cover her bare skin. "Stark?" Bucky questioned as if he couldn't quite believe you would be here at this hour.
The unknown woman faced Bucky, "You know this bitch?" She snapped.
You weren't going to say anything until she called you a bitch. "Please, I'm his fiance."
That seemed to only add fuel to the fire. She threw on her clothes, staring daggers at the man who hadn't moved from his relaxed position on the bed. "Fiance? What the fuck, Buck! You didn't tell me that." He did nothing but shrug as she reached for her belongings, tears welling at her eyes. "Don't you ever call me again." She warned, shoving her way past you and out into the hallway where she made her escape.
Which left Bucky's eyes to trail over your body and the outfit you still hadn't changed out of since the club. You'd be a hypocrite to say anything, to pretend as if your eyes hadn't danced around his bare chest, cursing yourself for finding the sight attractive. This was Bucky Barnes you had to remind yourself. "Sorry about erm- interrupting." You finally broke the silence, watching the smirk that tugged at the man's lips.
"It's fine." He shrugged. "She wasn't all that pretty anyway." In your opinion, she had been. She had been the definition of conventionally attractive, but of course, that still wasn't enough for Bucky Barnes. "Why are you here is the real question."
"I wanted to talk." You suddenly became awkward, not moving from your spot in the doorway as Bucky sat at the edge of his bed.
"You came all this way at midnight...just to talk?"
You only had one reason for such, "I got drunk."
You had been lucky when Bucky laughed rather than yelled your way. "Of course you did." He drew from the bed, still without a shirt, as he wandered towards you, his height watching over you.
It was a difficult job to keep your heart from racing. A man so close. And in such a state, you weren't sure if you wanted to continue what you had walked in on or slap his face. "I thought about it and as much as I hate to say it, you're right. This isn't about us. But if we do this, get married, whatever, you have to involve me. Every meeting, every fight, whatever it is, I want to know."
Bucky held onto your every word, yet his smirk never faded. His next words were ones you had never been privileged enough to hear. Not from your brother or Natasha, hell, not even Steve. And you would question why the hell it was Bucky Barnes who was the one helping you get what you wanted. "I was always going to involve you."
Taglist - @barnesxstan @sebastians-love @ghalouha @mrsnikstan
(Let me know if you would like to be added or removed) x
Pairing - Mafia!Bucky Barnes x Fem!Reader, slight Bestfriend!Steve Rodgers x Reader
Summary - When learning you're being pawned of to marry Bucky Barnes, you demand to join the latest meeting.
Warnings - Mentions of violence, alcohol use
Words - 2.4K
A/n - If anyone would like to be added to a taglist for this series, I'm happy to make one, just let me know :)
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Masterlist
It hadn't taken you long for you to storm out of the office; what else had they expected from you? Your life had suddenly taken a 180. Before now, you were desperate to be a part of the real team, to fight alongside your two closest friends and brother. Instead of that, you got a marriage offer.
You wandered into Tony's living space for one thing only: his bar. One of which consisted of the most expensive aged whiskeys he could get his hands on. And while it may have only been lunch time, you found yourself severing an on the rocks rather than a sandwich. It went down much easier when you were faced with what your future could now hold.
You always liked coming to Tony's. It was spacious and modern. Despite it only made for him and Pepper, it must have had at least three other guest rooms, a party room with pool tables and a dart board. Expensive bottles of alcohol dotted in each room. The perfect place for his many extravagant parties.
"Should have known I'd find you here." A voice broke out. You spun around from the back of the bar, facing Steve as he wandered around the leather sofa to meet you. "I'm sorry you had to find out this way."
You shrugged, "Better than Barnes getting down on one knee." You were certain that would have ended in blood. Instead, you were forced to gaze upon the red mark which still littered Steve's cheek. "Sorry about slapping you."
He too shrugged before taking a seat at one of the barstools, "I deserved it. I should have told you what Tony was thinking." That you couldn't disagree with.
You reached for a clean glass, mixing together another whiskey for Steve. "You're my best friend. I trust you to tell me things my brother is too stupid to." You poured the drink in front of him, sliding it across the copper surface.
"Tony's not stupid," His blue pupils gazed up to your own. "He's protective."
To such, you scoffed. "Protective? Really? That's why he's pawning me off to Barnes like I'm some object."
"No, it's not like that-"
"Really?" You always admired the way Steve was able to keep the peace from within SHIELD. But, now it just seemed frustrating the way he wouldn't see your anger. "I've been begging for him to let me be involved. Instead of handing me a gun, he's handed me a ring and married me off without even asking. It feels like I'm stuck in some 1920s, sexist bullshit!" Quite frankly, you needed to get that out.
Steve practically sighed into his drink before taking a gulp. "If it's any consolation, I don't like the idea either." He offered. "But this is the way we have peace."
"Yeah, and I just have to give up my future." A price that no one else had to pay.
"Not necessarily." He hesitated with his next words, "It might open more opportunities for the job."
While that sounded enticing, you didn't believe it. "You think Barnes is gonna have me helping him out?" You may about to be his wife, but he wouldn't trust a Stark. No matter what legal name connected you.
"We can suggest it." Steve attempted to baragan. "We have a meeting later today at his manor downtown."
"Tony didn't mention that." You commented, taking another sip from your glass.
"Tony didn't want you there." Of course, he didn't. "I think you should be there."
You shook your head, "Tony doesn't want me at a meeting about how my own future." To them, this wasn't your future. It was the future of New York. It was about how they were finally going to bring peace to a city which had been at war with itself for years now. "I'll be there." You decided, chugging the rest of your drink and began to head for your own guest room.
"Y/n!" Steve yelled after you, not moving from the bar. "Don't make a scene."
You felt like if there were any time for scene, it was today.
--
Without another word to your brother or Steve, or even Natasha, you got ready for the meeting you hadn't been invited to. But was certainly one you were determined to pretend. You should have been used to it. No matter the severity of the situation, Tony never left the office door open for you to join during the most important meetings. It seemed your only way to get there was to force your foot in the door.
You exited the guest room, preparing for the argument you were sure to ignite simply by your presence. Instead, you seemed to walk right in on it. The distant sound of Steve and your brother battling against one another. "Tony, this is her future. She's right." You overheard Steve backing your corner.
You kept your figure hidden as your back pressed against the hallway wall which led out into the living area. "You saw her earlier. She's gonna waltz in there with no intention for peace. This entire solution is gonna be tarnished because she can't keep her head." Quite frankly, your definition of peace wasn't marrying Bucky Barnes.
"She deserves to be there." Steve attempted to reason.
"Not yet," You heard Tony reply, causing your eyes to roll. "Not until she's accepted this."
"You know that's never gonna happen."
You chose that as your cue to enter. The sound of your shoes hitting the wooden floors, prompting the men to gaze over at you, the words suddenly falling silent. "He's right." You finally spoke up to break their silence. "I'm not going to accept that the only reasonable solution to all of this was to pawn me off. But I want to be there."
Tony took a cautious step forward, "You can't-"
You cut him off, "No I can. You just just don't trust me to not make a scene." If you were honest, you wouldn't trust yourself either. "Look, I promise not to slap anyone." You gazed over at Steve with your words. "Even if they deserve it."
The two men glanced over at one another. A silent conversation relaying between them; one of which you still weren't a part of. "Wel,l I believe her." Came another voice from the doorway: Natasha. "We don't have time for a debate, Barnes is expecting us."
You smiled towards Natasha; at least she wanted you there. However, it still left the two men who had yet to speak. Tony finally let out a sigh and you knew you had won. He took a step forward, a finger pointed right at you. "Don't make a scene." He warned before leading the way out of his penthouse.
You were left smirking to yourself before Steve offered out his arm for you. "Happy now?" You linked your arm with his own, following Tony out with nothing but a smirk planted on your lips.
The four of you headed into the car, ready for the 30-minute drive to a place you had never been: The Barnes Manor. You'd heard about it from Natasha. Something big and fancy to fill Bucky's ego while still being close to the city - despite the fact he had several properties in the city. You watched as the metropolis skylines swiftly started to change into gated communities and suburban homes. It didn't take you long to spot Barnes' house.
At the end of the street, the biggest house there. A gate which soon opened, revealing the two henchmen stood outside the front door. A garage big enough for at least five cars with a vintage, black chevy parked out front. It was everything you expected it to be: luxury, modern, pristine.
You followed Steve out of the back seat of the car as your head gazed up at the three stories the house contained. You tried your best to act natural, to pretend this was normal to you and your rustic apartment back in the city. The truth was, you'd die for a house this big. To have the ability to have such a luxury.
Tony faced the henchmen first. He nodded and awaited the door to open. Instead, they began patting him down, searching for weapons. They pulled a gun from his inner blazer pocket, "Seriously?" Tony complained.
The henchman straighten his back, "No weapons today."
Natasha and Steve stared and looked before the woman responded. "Will Barnes and his men be following the same rules?"
Their reply was silent. You leaned over to Steve, "We're not really going in unarmed, are we?" You had to check.
Steve simply grasped his own gun and handed it over with a smile. When Natasha did the same, Steve took that as an opportunity to respond, "Just make them think we are." He answered.
So you pulled out your gun from the hem of your jeans and you too handed it over while leaving your dagger safely tucked under your sock. But the man didn't take it. Instead, he turned to look at Tony. "Who is she?"
You could have laughed; even Barnes' men hadn't expected you to be there. "I might be your boss's future wife." You answered ever so sternly before Tony had the chance.
At that, the man took the gun, gazing you up and down. He gave a nod to the other man who opened the door to the house. You barely had a chance to take in the marble floors and the floor-to-ceiling windows before Rumlow was facing you all. "This way," He started before his eyes found your own. "She's here."
You truly were getting tired of how surprised people were at your entrance. "She is." You replied.
"Not a problem is it?" Tony questioned.
Rumlow waited a moment as his gaze lingered. "Not today."
With that, the group of you followed behind Rumlow, passing the grand stairs towards the back of the house. You caught a glimpse of the outside where there was a pool situated, sunbeds and even a bar. This was a level of rich even you hadn't seen. The closest you came to it was Tony's penthouse.
When you entered the meeting room, you spotted Bucky waiting at the head chair, Sam Wilson beside him. Inside this room was different. A slick wooden table and matching chairs. Classic paintings dotted around that you wouldn't be too shocked to know were the authentic. "What took you so long?" Was the first thing you heard Barnes say as he stood from his chair.
He got his answer when his stare finally locked on to you. He had changed a little since you last saw him. His hair was longer, coming down to his neck. His face was now painted with a clean-shaved beard and a scar on his forehead that never fully healed. "Y/n," He stated as he moved closer, offering his hand for you to shake.
You stared between such an offer and Tony's expression. He was silently reminding you to be nice. So you took it, feeling his firm grip grasp your skin once again. "Barnes," You greeted.
When his touch left your own he returned to his seat, "Sit. Let's get to business."
Of course, Tony took the opposite seat to Bucky. Steve and Natasha at either side and you next to Steve. All while Rumlow slipped into the right side of Bucky. "While the details of the wedding can be sorted out at a later date, we should begin to plan engagement dates, press releases etc-"
"Who said I agreed?" Your words cut through his like a knife. There was silence. Even from Bucky. He wasn't used to people cutting him off so ruthlessly. "I get that you all think it's the best idea, but no one's stopped to tell me what I'm gonna get out of this...partnership." You hated the word marriage. Especially when it was attached to the Barnes name.
Bucky leaned back in his chair, holding his fountain pen between his two fingers. "Look around you, little Stark. Properties, money, travel. What more do you want from this?" The nickname made you tense. It was a common one that had spread around the mobs. And God you hated it.
"Funnily enough, money isn't everything to me."
You felt Steve's knee hit yours at that. A warning for you to choose your next words wisely otherwise either Bucky or Tony might just flip; you weren't sure which was worse. "For once, this isn't about you. This isn't about us. It's about safety." Bucky snapped. "If money isn't enough for you, I should hope your life is. Because if we don't do this, you won't keep that either." He threatened and it should have scared you, but you had the Stark name. That made you untouchable at times.
His words should have stopped you from arguing, "Can't the two of you just sit here, put your egos aside and decide to have peace? Why do we have to have a wedding?"
You heard Sam laughed to himself at such. The room was quiet for a moment. All you could was watch Tony's eyes as they avoided your own, stuck facing the table. "You haven't told her, have you?" Barnes realised. "You're too protective of her, Stark." He commented.
"Told me what?" You pushed.
You felt Steve's hand fall onto your own, "Y/n-"
You snatched away from his touch, leaning your elbows against the wood of the table as you stared across at Bucky. "What?" Your tone was stern, demanding to know what your brother had hidden from you.
"We're not getting married for peace, we're getting married so we look united." He explained.
However, it did little to fill in the gaps. "What-?" You looked between Natasha and Tony who had yet to speak a word. "One of you tell me what's going on!"
Tony sighed before finally daring to meet your pupils. His next words put a shiver through your spine like nothing else ever had. "Tracksuit Mafia are back in town."
And that could only mean, "Kingpin?"
Steve nodded, "Nothing's been confirmed but we'd be stupid to assume he isn't right behind them."
The boss who slayed through cities like a sword. Taking down anything, anyone until he gained the power, leaving nothing but destruction and death. The same man who had taken the life of your parents like it was nothing. And he was on his way. Suddenly, you found that Bucky was right; this wasn't about you anymore. It was about the safety of everyone you had ever cared for.
Pairing - Mafia!Bucky Barnes x Fem!Reader, slight Bestfriend!Steve Rodgers x Reader
Summary - New York is plagued by a war between the White Wolves and SHIELD. Your older brother comes up with a solution: Wed you to their leader, Bucky Barnes.
Warnings - Violence, arranged marriage
Words - 2K
Masterlist
The first time you met James Buchanan Barnes, it was tainted in blood. It was a plan, to gather information without the man having any idea what he was doing, nor who he was talking to. Steve Rodgers and your older brother, Tony, had hatched the plan when you just turned twenty-one. For you to waltz in there, flirt enough and get him drunk enough that his tongue would slip. It should have been easy. In and out without the need for violence. Something so sparse in your line of work.
Natasha had picked out a dress for you. One that matched the formality of your old prom dress. Silk and tight, with barely any room for you to breathe. Tucked underneath, in case of emergency, were your weapons: A pistol, and a couple of knives. "Just in case." Natasha had assured as she strapped the last switchblade around your ankle.
And like that, you slipped out from the van where Steve and Natasha would be monitoring you. Flashing some fake confidence as you wandered towards a cocktail bar you had never stepped foot in before. It was for the rich kids of New York. The trust fund babies, the future lawyers and, most importantly, Bucky Barnes' favourite spot after a long week of causing havoc.
You ignored the rest of the crowd, heading towards the marble bar where you ordered a martini for the nerves. You cared little for what you were doing, your intention more than anything was to impress your brother in hopes of gaining more involvement with the job. If that meant looking pretty and flirting aimlessly with Bucky Barnes then so be it.
The moment your lips hit the drink, your eyes finally scanned the room. You gazed across the drunken Ivy League types who were trying to impress people with their knowledge of the stock market. It didn't take long to find the man who didn't fit with the rest of the crowd: nestled in the corner, in a leather booth seated the leader of the White Wolves. He wore a clean shirt and blazer, ensuring you could still see his bulging biceps through the material.
Within seconds, his eyes finally caught your obvious flirty gaze. It was a silent invitation for him to come over and join you. He was desperate, hungry from the get-go. He whispered something in his right man's ear before standing and waltzing over to you like he owned the place - which he probably actually did. "What are you drinking?" He questioned, smoothly.
You forced a smirk to your lips, "Why?" Your head tilted. "You buying?"
"Only if you say please." Had he been any other man, had this not been the job, you might have smacked him there and then.
Instead, you kept your expression stable and said, "I'll have a martini, please."
He nodded and returned his attention to the bartender, "An old fashioned and a martini." He requested. When the bartender had his back turned, Bucky gazed back at the pretty thing of interest. "I've never seen you here before."
"I'm meeting a friend." You lied before staring down at your watch. "At least I'm meant to be, they're late."
"Well, if you don't mind, I can keep you company." He didn't wait for your answer before slipping into the bar stool beside you.
"Of course, I don't."
Two drinks landed in front of you. Bucky thanked the man and tipped him ten times the amount any normal person would. But Bucky Barnes wasn't just anyone. He was rich with dirty money and had half of New York at his beck and call. "Cheers," He raised his glass, clinking it with your own.
Your brother always taught you to be careful around your drinks. He showed you how easy the enemies of the job could slip something in, to take advantage. And that worry laid heavy on your mind as you watched Bucky take his first sip. You barely let your lips touch the glass before placing it back on the bar. "So what do I call you?"
Another thing Tony had taught you was to never give your real name. "Natalie." Was the first thing you thought of; the same alias Natasha used. "And you?"
Bucky wasn't quite as smart. Or maybe he was just egotistical and liked the idea of the pretty girl calling his name. "Bucky." He nodded.
Your eyes flickered back over to his men who were still situated in the booth, throwing back neat whisky like it went down the same as water. They wouldn't be able to do much in that state. "You sure your friends don't mind you spending your time over here with me?" You queried.
Bucky smiled at the thought, "Please, they're too busy fighting over what gun has the best range." You doubted that was a lie. Maybe most other girls would have thought so, some maybe even laughed, but not you. "We can always join them if you'd like."
At that, you jumped, your hand practically crawling at his forearm for him to stay. "No," You spoke, almost too stern. "I like being here." You plastered that smirk back onto your face.
Bucky sank into his seat, not hiding the way his eyes followed your nails toward your body in that dress. "Good," He whispered.
You slowly let your hand slide away from his skin, "So what is that you do? Other than argue over other weapons?" You let the conversation change to something you might be able to get information on.
"Business."
"A bit vague, isn't it?" You jabbed for him to speak more. But, the best way to do that, was to put him at ease. For him to be far more interested in something else other than what he was saying. So your hand returned to his forearm, gently caressing against his skin. "I mean, you look like you must do something important." You smiled his way, not letting your eyes drop from his body.
"Importing." He finally answered and you realised you were getting somewhere.
So you let your hand slowly drag down his biceps which, while any other girl might have found hot, you were already calculating how hard his punch would hit against your face. "Hm, and what is it you import?" You questioned.
To your expectation, he was watching your movement carefully, a smirk plastered at his lips. "You ask a lot of questions."
You shrugged, moving your hand further and further down till it reached his finger tips, grazing across them. "You seem like an interesting man." You muttered.
"Maybe I want to know about you." He returned, leaning forward enough to put a hand to your thigh. But rather than finding your skin, his fingers hit something hard and metallic. The very weapon you had there, just in case. Your hand fell from his entirely, feeling his body tense at the touch of betrayal. You didn't move. "You should have known better than to come into my bar, in my city, with a silly little weapon like that."
He was still. The man made no move for his own weapon that you were certain he was hiding under his blazer jacket. So, instead, you moved first. Your hand reached out, gripping at his brunette locks before forcing his head onto the marble bar side. A clash sounded at the impact. Enough to alert the rest of the customers who started screeching for help.
You rushed backwards, hand gripping at the gun that had outed you. Bucky stood from the bar stool, his hand wiping away at the blood which dripped from his forehead. Anger seethed in his pupils. Enough to make you search for cover as you caught the way his hand reached into his jacket pocket as you expected. "Move!" You ordered a group of college students.
Bullets whipped passed your head as you watched the rest of Bucky's men join in. Luckily, all the neat whiskeys had made their aim lazy. In the nick of time, you threw a table over onto its side and you covered your body against it, feeling every bullet which hit the wooden surface. The only thing protecting you from life and death.
Your hand pressed against the earpiece Natasha had given you, "Hey, you guys hearing this?"
"What the hell did you do?" The woman chimed in first as you leaned slightly over the top of the table to get a shot. One of which you assumed you missed as the bullets continued.
"Are you okay?" Asked Steve.
"Just one of you get in here please!" You begged.
You didn't understand the reply, but you liked to assume one of your friends were on their way. By now, most of the other customers had rushed out from the bar, the staff hidden in the back as the firing continued until the men started to run out of bullets. Despite their array of weapons, they weren't prepared for one girl to ruin their Friday night drinks. So without any extra ammo, they were left with one option: hand-to-hand combat.
When the firing stopped, your head looked above the wood once again, watching as Rumlow handed Barnes one of his daggers. You stood, kicking the table back in the way of Barnes. You raised your gun, an easy shot if you dared to take it. "You, silly little girl." Bucky spat.
Your head tilted at him and the rest of the men who had no way of hurting her anymore. Not when she was the only one with any ammo left. "Really? Looks to me that I'm the one with the upper hand." You pointed out.
The front door to the bar swung open. Out of instinct, they each held up their guns, without the ability to shoot at the red-headed Russian. "Let's go!" She ordered.
You gave Bucky one last victory glance before running back over to Natasha and exiting the bar unscathed. It had certainly been one way to welcome you to the job.
---
"This has got to be a fucking joke?"
The stern expressions that faced you suggested they were all in fact serious. After years of war and bloodshed, this was their only solution for peace. "You want me- me to marry Barnes? That's-" You laughed at the idea of a domestic life alongside Bucky Barnes. It was such a stupid idea, you seriously couldn't imagine it. "That's obscene."
"It's tactical." Natasha offered.
To which, you gazed over at her as she stood beside the desk where Tony sat. His office was always filled by henchmen and paperwork. "Why aren't you the one marrying him then? Why do I get the short straw?"
"Because I'm not a Stark." She made a good point; a Stark marrying a Barnes would be more of a statement. The two names which battled over New York coming together through a marriage.
"It's the only way to keep everyone safe." Tony reasoned, making your eyes roll.
You scoffed, "Safe? Are you kidding me?" You couldn't image anything more dangerous than sleeping beside Bucky Barnes. "I would rather have that man stab me through the heart than put a flashy ring on his finger and call him mine!"
Steve, who had been quiet ever since the news dropped, finally met your eyes. "You don't have a choice."
Your breath fell hot when it left your tongue. These people, your family, your closest friends, suddenly taking control of your life for the sake of business. With no thought on how you would take it. Even now, despite your obvious distaste for the idea, they were pushing it. So it should have been expected when you faced the blonde man only to raise your hand, letting a slap fall firm against his cheek.
You hated the sting on your palm as you faced Steve's huff as he settled in the pain. But maybe it was deserved. To have been used for years to do nothing but the small jobs, arranging staff, but never being at the forefront of the job. Suddenly, they were throwing you in the deep end. The worse of the worse: to marry Bucky Barnes. You left them with one thought, "I won't do it."
Pairing - Bodyguard!Bucky Barnes x Fem!Reader
Summary - In search for the past of the Winter Solider, you take a visit to your father.
Warnings - Mentions of violence
Words - 2.2k
Read Chapter Two Here
Masterlist
That night, you found sleep all too difficult. Your mind simply didn't seem to be able to slip away from the image of your bodyguard holding Ryan's life in his hands. He was far too capable of killing. You questioned if he would have stopped had you not yelled, whether the night could have taken a much different route.
It must have hit past four when you dragged yourself away from the comfort of your bedsheets, wandering downstairs where a light was still flickering. Maybe it was the sudden worry of what the Winter Soldier might be doing which drew you back to your living room. What you hadn't expected was to see the man terribly tending to his wound as he attempted to stitch up a cut that he had gained from the continuous punches.
You didn't announce yourself as you drew over to the sofa. Instead, you silently took the medical supplies from his grip. "You'd think after all you've done, you would know how to stitch yourself back up."
He stared at you, almost confused when you knelt down in front of him. Your hand reached out for his wounded one. Before you could touch his skin, he retracted it back, as if acting on instinct. "I just want to help." You explained.
The man swallowed. Something in your eyes must have offered trust as he provided his wound into your touch. You stared at his wonky stitching that you assumed probably would have made the wound worse. So, to begin with, you began taking that out from his skin. A sense of deja vu taking over. Only a couple nights ago when you were forced to tend to the own cut you had gained when the soldier wanted to help, only for you to practically spit in his face.
"I don't think Ryan is the type of person my dad wants you to go after." You spoke after a moment, grasping at the wipes to first clean the cut. The reason your dad was so hell-bent on keeping you safe was something along the lines of his task force having enemies. You didn't ask questions, you had little care for your dad's business.
"He hurt you." The man finally said.
You glanced away from the blood, to lock eyes on the man for a second. When you looked away, you continued speaking, "I was handling it." Maybe he did need a punch. Just many not that many.
"He made you uncomfortable from the second you saw him. And it wasn't his first time pulling something like that." You seemed almost shocked at his words. Not one of your previous bodyguards had taken such intense notice of you, more than any of your friends.
"How did you know?" You found yourself asking.
"I heard you talking." Of course, he had done. You should have known he wasn't just standing around aimlessly that night.
You nodded and began stitching up the wound. "Thank you." Your words came out in a mutter. "But, unless someone is trying to kill me, you don't need to almost kill them. Ryan was in the wrong, that's for sure, but all he needed was a punch." Hell, you had been seconds away from doing that himself.
The soldier nodded sternly, watching with such intensity as he held onto your words. All he had known was to kill, to torture, to obey his orders. You gave him something different to obey. "I understand."
For a brief moment, your eyes flickered towards his own before you continued to tend to his wound. A silence settled. One of which you couldn't help but break with the sudden intimacy you were stuck in. "You know, I was thinking, one of my friends asked for your name. And I don't even know it."
You felt him tense in your touch. Maybe you had crossed the line. But it seemed such a simple question. To anyone else, it should have been an easy answer. But as your eyes met with his, you only faced an abyss. "I don't know."
You should have known. A man could not perform such vicious acts for so long without something else at play. Years stuck in a lab where your father and other scientists perfected him. "They took it away from you." You realised.
The soldier nodded. "More than just my name."
You didn't want to ask, you didn't want to push him any further. There was pain in his voice. A certain tone you had never caught onto before. He was a man once until he was moulded into nothing but the perfect soldier. So you leaned back, wiping his wound once last time. "All done."
He smiled your way. Possibly the first time you had seen him break into an expression which wasn't anger. "Thank you."
You stood, cleaning away the supplies, "I could help, you know." He stared up at you. "I know where my dad keeps all his files."
"You don't have to do that."
At his reply, you shrugged. "You deserve to know who you are."
So the next morning, you arranged a car and texted your father. Maybe you would lose a day of your time, forced to be within close proximity with your father, but it was worth it for one man to understand who he was. Not to mention, you liked the thought of actually having a bodyguard on your side for once. But, more than anything, the man you once saw as nothing but a pet of your father's, was a man who had everything taken from him. It seemed like the least you could.
You had put on more respectable clothing that morning, slipping into the back of the car as the driver was silent on the drive out of the city. Beside you, the soldier watched as you passed by city skylines and the crowds of New Yorkers. Suppose he wasn't used to being in the back seat. "Thank you." He muttered.
You glanced over at him and nodded, "Of course." Facing your father was the least you could do.
It was a decent drive. Watching as the skyscrapers slipped into suburban homes with picket fences and gated communities. Your family here in particular was situated at the end of the road, right in the cold-e-sac. Shut gates started back at you, soon opened by the telecom when the driver announced your arrival. The gates clicked open, showcasing the home that some people may describe as a mansion.
A large garage, a stone path leading up the front door. All were painted in stone, with windows looking out across the small town they lived in. "Thanks," You said to the driver before exiting with the soldier following closely behind.
Your knuckles knocked against the door. Not having to wait long before your father welcomed you back home. "Finally, I thought I was going to have to call to check you were still coming." He took you in a stern hug that made your body always feel awkward. When he let you go, he gave a nod to the bodyguard without a smile. "You going to tell me why you're here? Ran out of money already?"
You and the soldier followed your father's lead through the marble floors which lead to the kitchen. Passing by the eccentric living area and the dining room fit for a party of twenty. He didn't ask before pouring you a tall glass of wine and sliding it your way. "Can you believe I just wanted to see you?" Even you wouldn't believe yourself.
"Well, whatever it is, it's good to have you home every now and again." He sent a sly smile which had you reaching for your glass of wine. "How's the new bodyguard treating you?"
Instinctively, your eyes fluttered over the solider who stood by the doorway. "Fine." You nodded, not wanting to let on too much, worried he might see through what had really led you back to your family home.
"You just let me if anything happens-"
A figure peeked out from the doorway, "Sir," A figure you had been used to seeing: Rumlow. Scars littered his face, a strong build, the perfect right-hand man for your father. "We need your approval."
He nodded before turning to look over you, "I'll not be a moment." And like that, he slipped away with Rumlow at his side.
You waited a moment, listening to the front door open and then close once again. That was your sign to do what you were here for. Your hand slipped into your pocket to retrieve the key you had stolen from the second you walked into the house. Your father was smart but oblivious to your ways. "What is that?" Questioned the soldier.
"The key to his office." You glanced up at him, a confused expression still littering his features. "Please, I learnt that trick when I was fourteen." Whenever your father went in for a hug, you simply slipped your hand into his pocket without him feeling a thing. "Stay here, I'll not be long."
You went to slip away, and head upstairs while you still had time. But before you could even take a step, a firm grip found its way to your first. You froze as to face the soldier, "Will you be okay?" Dare you say it, but there seemed to be a hint of worry in his tone.
You took a breath, taking in this expression you had never seen before on the man. "Like I said, I've been doing this since I was fourteen. Trust me." With that and an assuring smile, he let you go as you rushed up the marble stairway.
You checked the hallway as if it wouldn't be empty. Your father never had guests round. Co-workers? Always. But by the seems of things, they were all too focused on whatever had taken your father out of the kitchen. So it was easy enough to get into his office undetected. The key hit the door and it clicked open, giving you access to the many secrets you had once denied to know.
The second you stepped into the room, you went searching. The file cabinet was large. Many files with the title: HYDRA. A word you had seen far too many times, though had little to do with it. You never had much to do with your dad's work. That was until you fit a certain file. It was chunky, filled with several pieces of paper and reports. It had the same HYDRA written across it, followed by: The Winter Solider Programme.
You only had to flick through the pages for the horror to set in. Pictures of your bodyguard from when he was just a man fighting in the war. You snapped pictures at everything you could - even the horrible parts. The reports of several scientists picked his brain apart and moulded it back together to create the perfect soldier. You only stopped when you heard the front door open once again, the distant mumblings of Rumlow and your father not far away.
So you placed the file back in its place as if it had never been touched. You slipped back out, locking the door behind you and headed for the stairs as if nothing had ever happened. "Miss," Called a voice.
Your head snapped up to stare at Rumlow who nodded your way. For a moment, you thought you had been caught. "Rumlow," You greeted in response before walking right passed him to where you had left the solider.
Your eyes stared to the soldier first. Your expression read like a book: it was done. The bland small talk was just that now. There was no need to play pretend. So you gulped down your wine as your father went on about some project you had little interest for. Instead, your mind couldn't stop running around the images of the man who had been tortured. All at the hand of your father. You hated to admit it, but maybe it wasn't all that surprising at all. There was a reason you were naive to his work.
That night, you requested the driver drop you off at a quaint bar downtown. Only five minutes away from your apartment. A couple of tipsy groups sat at the bar, ordering shots and loudly conversing with one another. But you took your bodyguard towards the back of the bar, a quiet table where no wandering eyes could stare.
From there, you took out your phone and shared everything that you had learnt. "Your name is James Buckan Barnes. You were born on March 10th, 1917. You grew up as the eldest son with three siblings. You had a best friend who you fought with alongside during the war in 1943. With him, you helped take down an enemy of the state named Red Skull." You took a breath at the next words, feeling the impact your explanation was about to have. "During this, you fell from a train, dropping hundreds of feet into the snow. A Nazi project named HYDRA took advantage of this and began experimenting on you until they successfully created the first Winter Solider."
Pairing - Bodyguard!Bucky Barnes x Fem!reader
Summary - Your bodyguard takes things a little too far when you're threatened at a party.
Warnings - Reader experiences sexual assault, violence, drinking
Words - 2.4K
Read Part One Here
Masterlist
It was a strange norm to get used to. Coming down to the solider cooking, reading, living a life in your own room - without any invitation. You barely spoke. Odd bickering moments when you begged for privacy, but he always won such with the threat of your father.
But of course, the time came when you were once again invited out for drinks with your friend group. A time when you would usually let loose, leave any kind of security and escape into a free city. Alas, you highly doubt the winter soldier was going to let you go so easy. You did as you always did. Getting ready without even mentioning the fact you were leaving. Maybe then he would let you slip away, maybe.
Though, it hadn't taken him long to realise what was going on when you wandered downstairs with your hair in rollers and your glamour makeup glistening. "You're going out." The soldier observed, taking in your frame for just a moment before he stood from the sofa.
You pulled your handbag over your shoulder as you faced the man, "Is that a problem?" His head shook. He stayed silent; how predictable. "And, let me guess, you're coming with." Another silent nod of recognition that he had heard you.
A sigh fell from your lips as you headed for the door, the soldier trailing behind you. "If you've got to join, will you at least drive me?" You turned to him, uncertain of his response.
He gave no nod or shake of his head. He took a moment, and thought on it, before speaking, "Sure."
The soldier slipped into the front seat, slowly revealing his metallic hand that was once hidden beneath the safety of his leather glove. You watched him carefully, placing your bag at your feet in the passenger's side. "Where to?" He requested, switching on the engine, barely glancing at you.
"Roxie's." Your eyes followed him cautiously like he couldn't be trusted. The truth was, none of your bodyguards had ever driven you anywhere. Most of them didn't care to do so, some of them too incompetent. "It's downtown area, near the east quater-"
He cut you off, "I know where it is." He answered ever so bluntly.
So you kept your lips shut as he drove, taking all the back roads and shortcuts. You pretended as if you weren't wondering about how the Winter Solider knew where everything was, how he knew the bar you and your friends attended religiously every weekend. Each thought you had seemed tainted with blood. That seemed your only answer as to why the Winter Solider would ever attend anywhere you had been. He didn't have his freedom, he didn't have weekends, he didn't have nights off, he just had orders. Orders to kill. Or, in your position, to protect.
Even to your surprise, he was able to grasp a spot right outside the front doors of the bar. You didn't move until the engine was switched off. From there, you threw open your door, heel grazing the concrete pavement as you grazed over the neon light which seemed ever so inviting at this time of night. You took one step to the right as to join the queue which waited behind a red rope.
And then a firm grip took a hold of your forearm, forcing you to a stop. "No." He stated and guided you towards the front door.
He ignored your resistance. "What are you doing? You can't fight your way in." Your words were hushed but angered nonetheless. "It's fine, I don't-"
Your words became silenced as you faced the security of the bar. "What can we do for you?" One of them asked, obviously irritated at the pair who had stopped her from doing her job of letting in the crowd of customers.
You could only watch as the soldier placed his metallic hand on the woman's shoulder. It wasn't so much of a threat, it was an introduction: he was the Winter Solider. She quickly sucked in a breath and nodded, "Just through this door." She pointed behind her before stepping out of the way for yourself and the Soldier to walk through.
The two of you slipped into the sea of flashing lights and booming house music. One of which should have helped you ease. Alas, you found yourself in the mix of drunken youth, glaring back at the man. "What the hell was that?" You snapped at him, fury building up within your pupils.
"You wanted to party," He said, nonchalantly. "You're welcome."
You bit your tongue as to not let more anger fall from your lips. You didn't know what might happen if you were to fight back against the Winter Soldier. For now, you were happy not knowing, not testing the limits.
"Y/n!" Came a booming voice from behind the two. You turned, facing your friend once again, she smiled your way until her lips snuck into a smirk at the sight of the bodyguard once again. She gazed him up and down like she about to bite her bottom lip. If she wasn't your friend, you might rolled your eyes. "See you've brought your bodyguard, once again. What's your name, pretty boy?"
The soldier didn't reponce, barely seemed to even have it in him to look down at the girl. "Where are we sat?" You interjected, sensing the irritation that your bodyguard suddenly extruded. Though, it did have you wandering what the Winter Soldier name truly was, if he even true, if he even cared to remember a past memory.
At such question, your friend interlocked your arm with her own. "This way." She pointed to a back booth where old money kids and inspiring lawyers mingled. Also known as your only group of friends. "Oh, and you should know," Her voice became hushed before she continued, "Ryan's here."
The soldier must have sensed the way your chest tensed at the name drop, before you knew it, he was right at your side. You swallowed, "What-? What do you mean? I thought we all agreed to stop inviting him." You protested against the thought of such a touchy man slivering his way back into your life.
"He sort of just invited himself." She shrugged before tugging you along. "Come on,"
The two of you, with the Solider right behind, wandered up to the booth. It was already littered in empty shot glasses, glitter and vapes. Your friends all invited you in, even Ryan passed you a smile which you didn't return. One of the boys, one which came from a famously wealthy family, smirked at he gazed at the bodyguard. "Whose this? New boyfriend?" The soldier didn't move an itch but you still caught the way Ryan seemed to grit his teeth.
"New bodyguard." You answered, taking the glass of champye which was offered.
One of your other friends scoffed between her red lips, "Thought you were ditching all that?"
You gulped at your drink, "Can't upset Daddy dearest anymore, think he'll throw me in a cell if I run away from any more bodyguards." You explained, intending to leave out the part where said bodyguard was in fact a nortious assian for the taskforce your father ran.
Ryan drew forward towards the soldier, a firm hand landing on his shoulder. A movement of which was returned with a harsh glare. "Well, I hope you no how to have fun." He was silent. You watched carefully, wandering if he was about to snap. A moment passed. Ryan let his hand drop from the shoulder and grazed past your figure. "What great company you've brought us, Pierce." He laughed to himself. "Why don't you entertain me on the dance floor?"
There was a sick tone in his voice that made you want to throw up. "Never happening." You snapped back.
"Really?" Ryan smirked to himself. "I recall you having quite the night last night we danced together."
The memory flooded your brain in blurs. It was still disconnected after the month which had passed, still parts missing, yet the thought of what you did remember made your skin shiver. "I was drunk." You seemed to have to remind him - not that he seemed to care.
"Sure," He replied before returning to seats in the corner of the booth.
What you hadn't realised was that the expressionless soldier, had been listening to every word. He was smart like that. Trained to be an eavesdropping, trained to gather information. He watched as you tugged at your friend's arm, dragging her away from the wanna-be lawyer. "Hey, can we go somewhere else?" You begged.
"Bar?" With your nod, the two of you practically rushed away from your group, towards the back of the bar where you placed an order.
For a second, the solider lingered, his eyes trained on Ryan and then way he seemed to be flirting with every girl sat at the table. When he had enough of watching such, he returned to your side. "I want to punch him." He heard you say.
"I know." Replied the friend before offering you a shot of something alcholic. "Here."
You sucked in a breath, chugging the substance as it burned your throat. "I still want to punch him."
And so, another drink was handed your way. This time, with mixer. "It's a double, don't worry." Your friend assured.
Sipping at your drink, you leant your back against the bar, staring across at the crowded booth. "I can't go back up there."
"Okay, so don't." Your brow raised at her comment. "Come here." She extended a hand out for you to take. When you did, even with reluctance, she dragged you towards the sea of flashing lights and intoxicated customers.
From there, the two of you sipped at your drinks while letting yourself sway to the music. Smiles gracing at your lips, focused on nothing but each other. A while back, the two of you would have been on the hunt for someone to make your night worth wild. Alas, for this night, all you needed was one another. And the solider that still watched from afar, not seeming to dare let his eyes from your body.
But such bliss was short-lived. The booming chatter of voices your recongised soon came into earshot. Your entire group had moved from the booth onto the dance floor, Ryan included. Your eyes glanced to your friend, worry written in your pupils. You preyed he kept his distance. But that wasn't ever in Ryan's nature. For the first couple of songs, he kept his distance. For a second, you even relaxed. Maybe he wasn't about to try anything.
"I'm gonna get another drink!" Your friend yelled over the far to loud music.
Even when you shouted back, "What?" She didn't hear. Before you knew it, she was walking away, leaving you seemingly unprotected.
It didn't take him long. He clocked on to your vulnerability the moment your friend left. And like that, he swooped along side you. "You don't seem to want my company tonight?" Ryan observed, his words whispered against your ear.
"No, I don't." You thought you had made it abundetly clear. Maybe he was just dim-witted, or maybe he thought you we're playing a long game of hard to get. Knowing the size of his ego, you were betting on the latter.
"That's just too bad." He continued to speak into your ear. As his words left his lips, you suddenly felt the presence of his hand on your hand. You wanted nothing more than to swat it away, but your body seemed to bretay you; you froze in the same way you did whenever you thought of your last night out with the boy.
Your breath hitched. "What are you doing?" Seemed to be the only question you could muster, despite the desperation to yell at him to get his sticky fingers away from your body.
"Nothing." His smirk returned, as did your sudden want to throw up.
Such only worsened when his hand slipped further down. And it kept going. "Ryan don't-"
"What?" He acted smug, like he wasn't making your whole body crumble from the inside out.
When you felt his hand on your arse, you forced yourself to snap out of it. "Ryan." His name said with a stern snap. He didn't stop, we you felt him pinch, you shoved him away from you. "Ryan!"
Even with your words, he wasn't giving in. His smug expression never left his eyes. "What? Come on, I'm just having fun." You wanted to scream, and you wanted to punch him now more than ever. But God forbid a woman make a scene.
You put a firm hand at his chest, pushing him away with enough force that his hands finally let your skin. "Yeah, well I'm not." You snapped back at him.
You barely had a chance to take another breath before Ryan was suddenly bleeding. A harsh punch to his chin, enough to cause a brusie in the morning. Everyone stopped, staring at the soldier and his metallic hand, now tainted in spots on red. No one had time to do anything before Ryan was thrown onto the floor, alerting the fellow dancers of the scene. Several punches in and more blood casted against Ryan's sickly pale skin.
It wasn't long before a sea of the bar's security crew rushed in. But either their attempts to prey the soldier off were futile. So you found yourself stepping forward, "Stop!" Your hands gripped at his arm, yelling once again, "Stop."
When the soldier raised his hand for the next punch, he slowed. His furious eyes turning to yourself. They seemed to ease. "I'm going." You tugged at him further, a silence instruction that he needed to follow, because they were his orders, not to continue punching some egotistical dick. "Leave him." Suddenly, you felt a rush of power. Oneof which always made you feel sick. Having a human at your will, for whatever you needed, to obey anything you requested. A role you dad had seemed to take on effortlessly in the past.
And so, with the winter solider at your side, you slipped away from the scene. Your body still shaking. Though, you weren't sure if that was at the fault of Ryan's behaviour or watching how easily the Winter Solider could have broken the man in two for you. You wondered what else he had done to men. How easily he seemed to let his hands turn red, dripping with blood. You wondered how you would sleep at night knowing that was the man who now lived alongside you for every breathing moment.
Pairing - Bodyguard!Bucky Barnes x Fem!Reader
Summary - When Alexander Piece's daughter begins to rebel, he assigns The Winter Solider as her personal bodyguard.
Warnings - Mentions of violence and death
A/n - I haven't uploaded to tumblr for a long while, but I hope you still enjoy this, I'm likely to make a part two as well! Also happy new year all!
Masterlist
It had become a game. One of which you were known to win far too often. Slipping away from the security detail when they were too busy smoking a cigarette outside, running across the bustling streets of nighttime Brooklyn as you and your friends headed to some niche bar they wouldn't find you. Maybe you had been stupid to think you could continue to get away with it without your father finding out.
It almost should have been expected that night. The early morning sun cast across your rustic, downtown apartment as your intoxicated self stumbled with the key. When you pushed the door open, dark figures stared back at you. Only personalised when you switched at the light and found your father sitting with a class of neat whisky at the breakfast bar. Stood behind him was a broad-shouldered man. One of which you had to assume was another bodyguard. Until your gaze flickered down to the metallic shine of his left arm: The Winter Solider.
Your focus turned to your father first. "Dad?" His name left your tongue with uncertainty as you drew closer into your own home. "What is this?"
He was slow, unusually calm considering the situation. You had been through this enough to know that meant he was truly mad. A part of you wondered if he was about to let his pet loose on you, teach you a lesson you wouldn't forget. "You we're out, all night, no bodyguards, doing god knows what with who knows. I come to learn this is-" He takes a sharp inhale as to calm his furious tone. "This is happening every single weekend. How stupid are you, little girl?"
You kept quiet as he stepped from his seat, downing the rest of the whisky from the expensive glass. "You can't be trusted, do you understand?"
"Look, Dad, I just wanted-"
A harsh throw. Then a clash. Glass flying left, right and center. Your breath caught in your throat before you could even feel the blood dripping from your cheek. But you weren't worried about your torn skin, but rather the thousand-pound glass he had let shatter without a second thought.
"You are in no position to speak back, right now." You kept your lips sealed and your eyes dry despite the tears which fought to escape. "It's become evident to me you have no desire for your own safety. You are naive enough to flaunt around this city in your short little skirts with no concern for our enemies. If you weren't family, you would be dead." Such a phrase echoed across your mind, sure to keep you awake.
"So, now, you have him." He wandered around to where the Winter Solider had yet to move from, his eyes dark and brooding. "24/7, ensure you don't do anything stupid again."
You rushed up, panic in your eyes. 24/7. No more nights that swept into the morning. No more privacy. Nothing. "Please, I'll stop, I'll be more careful. I'll stop ditching the security detail. But I don't need your science project to look after me."
He stared down. For a moment you thought he might throw something else at the wall. Luckily, he wasn't holding onto anything anymore. "It's too late for that." His gaze turned to the man. "Clean it up."
In an instant, the soldier was moving. Gathering the glass in his bare hands from the floor. A hand fell on your bleeding cheek, forcing you to face your father. "I do this because I love you." Though, you found such hard to believe.
A breath of relief fell from your lips which his touch left your skin. Your eyes not moving to the floor as you listened to the door open and then shut, leaving you under the protection of the Winter Solider. It was in that moment, your body gave in. Tears flooded from your eyes, your knees shook and you forced your body onto the sofa. The distant sound of glass in the background not stopping your hands from meeting your face.
You hadn't been sure how long had passed. Only that when you uncovered your face from your hands, the soldier was facing you with a first aid kit. You watched him carefully as he took out a wipe and some stitches. The wipe hit your wound with a sting that lingered. Enough to cause your hand to grip his wrist, forcing him to a stop. "I've got it." You grumbled, taking the supplies for yourself.
He was still silent. A nod of recognition before he continued to clean the floor. You were left to your tears, cleaning the wound and forcing your body through the pain. You had no care for the man, barely such, that you left in your kitchen that night. From the stories you had heard, you should have been more concerned about the monster cleaning up broken glass. Yet, he now served to protect you - as much as it pissed you off.
You somehow found yourself soundly sleeping off the argument, the intoxication and the pain. No worries for the man, no hospitality. You hadn't even wandered where he slept. However, you had questioned whether he did need sleep. The Winter Solider seemed almost robotic. He obeyed orders from the highest command. Even if that meant being stuck in Alexander Pierce's eldest daughter's apartment, ensuring she wasn't going to sneak out.
It confused your senses when you awoke to the smell of food. The distant sound of the cooker crackling. It pulled you out of bed, in nothing but an oversized t-shirt to find the soldier cooking breakfast rather than pulling men in half. "What- erm" You wiped your tired eyes. "What are you doing?"
He didn't even look away when he answered, "Orders."
"And they are?"
He severed up the simple plate of scrambled eggs on toast before turning to you, plate in hand. "Care for you, ensure your safety, whatever means necessary."
With a furrowed brow, you took the plate. You couldn't deny the smell was inviting. "And that includes cooking me breakfast?"
"A night of intoxication. Carbs help." He informed.
Despite your confusion, you sat at the breakfast bar and began eating, trying to ignore the murderer who stood across from you. Only a moment passed before he spoke up, "Where is the bathroom?"
You pointed up, "First door on the left." And you watched, even more confused as the man's back turned to you, disappearing up the stairs. It only took a minute before the sound of the shower could be heard; guess your father wasn't lying about the 24/7 bodyguard.
It had yet to hit you how much your life truly was about to change until later on. As was usual, you were ready to head into town. Not for a bar-hopping trip, or a late-night date, just coffee with a friend. Something simple, something that your father once deemed safe. Yet as you headed for your front door, walking right passed the soldier, he stood. His voice forcing you to look from your phone screen, "Where are you going?"
You had been so close to slipping away. "Out." Your words were followed with a shrug. "I'll not be long."
In between the time of responding to the message and looking back again, the winter solider had acquired a leather jacket and a pair of gloves. "You don't have to come with me. I'm just meeting a friend." You almost laughed at the thought of needing a bodyguard for coffee.
"It's orders." He repeated.
You should have expected this from my dad. "Really? I'll be safe, alright?"
"If you want to request me to not join, you're going to have to call pierc- your father."
You dreaded nothing more in that moment. You knew what his answer would be. Some long, metaphoric lecture, and you'd still be faced with the answer of no. "Fine, just erm-" You looked him over. "Be subtle, please."
He nodded before trailing behind you as you headed out onto the streets of Brooklyn. A few eyes followed you and the brooding man who didn't leave your side, didn't speak, yet seemed like he was awaiting something. Ready to pounce at any sign of danger. He wasn't like any of your past bodyguards. He wasn't scrolling through hinge in the meantime, nor was he yearning for a cigarette. He was here for a job and it seemed as if nothing was going to stop him.
By the time you reached the quaint coffee shop, you spotted your friend already sipping a brewing drink in the window. A smile grazed your lips as you looked back at the soldier. "You're not coming in are you?"
The expression you faced suggested you had no choice, "It's-"
"Order. Yeah, I get it." You finished for the man before a sigh fell from your lips as you pulled at the door. "Just, maybe sit a few tables away from us, please?" You begged and such was responded with nothing but a silent nod.
"Finally!" Called your friend as she stood from the wooden table, her eyes still lingering over the muscular man at your side. "And who is this?" She was seconds away from laying her hands around his biceps.
"New security detail." You answered with nothing but a stern expression.
Her brow raised, "To watch over you while we get coffee and talk shit?" Even she seemed to find it laughable. She was used to joining their nights out with unknown men looking out for you. But this was different, it was a whole lot more intense. And, quite frankly, getting on your nerves.
"Let's just say my dad got tired of me ditching my bodyguards, he's trying to teach me a lesson, it won't last long." Or so you liked to tell yourself. Your head snapped back round to the soldier as you continued, "But he's not going to sit with us." It was as if he needed a reminder.
The soldier stared only at yourself. A stern nod before he wandered towards a distant table, still with a good view of yourself. However, it was good enough for you as you followed your friend towards the spot she had been keeping warm. "He seems...quiet." Your friend put politely.
You looked over your shoulder, already meeting his gaze as if it was glued to your figure. It faulted your smile as you gazed back to your friend, "He's one of my dad's projects." And projects was putting it nicely. You didn't know everything, but you knew enough. The man who was sworn to protect you, was a killer, blood red hands, and a list of victims to follow.
"Not one you can ditch then?" There was a hit of mischief in her eyes. It seemed to have become a tradition that any club nights had to have the thrill of running away. Now, it seemed less as a thrill and more of a danger.
"No, not really." You answered with a sigh to her disappointment.
And so as the conversation swiftly returned to the mundane gossip, you couldn't help but feel the need to look over your shoulder. You thought with the presence of a bodyguard that need would dissipate. Instead, you couldn't help but worry about what your new bodyguard was truly capable of. And how much you were going to see while he was assigned to your safety.
Pairing - Fem!Reader x Loki
Summary - After the attack on New York, Fury sends Agent Y/l/n to Asguard to conduct a psychiatric evaluation on Loki
Warnings - Mentions of violence and death, alcohol consumption
Words - 2K
A/n - Hi! Sorry I've been a bit inactive for a month, I've been horribly ill! Anyway, here the first chapter to a new mini series I've been working on :)
Masterlist
Post the attack on New York and the forming of the Avengers, S.H.I.E.L.D was overrun with work. Safeguarding, new protocol, victim response. Everything was stacked onto each agent's desks. And in the midst of that chaos, was Agent Y/L/N. One of Fury's favourites. Which was exactly why it was she who found the strictly classified case file on her desk that morning.
She only took a peak. That was all she needed. Her head tipped up, looking across the sea of desks, computers and attentive agents. There wasn't a second thought. One glance at that case file, of what it was asking her, and she was stood, striding right up to Fury's office.
He was expecting her nonetheless. "The fuck is this, Fury?" She demanded, taking a stern step into the room. Anger seethed from her tongue. She understood the mission, sure, but why her? Of all the agents, of the heroes Fury had at his disposal now, why was this case assigned to her?
The file was thrown right in front of the man. Not that he was shocked by her temper, this was exactly what he expected: backlash. "Come right it, why don't you." He murmured, slowly gazing up at her.
"What happened to me coordinating victim response?" Y/n seemed to have to remind her boss. "This-" She pointed to the file, "This has nothing to do with me."
"You do recall the part where I'm your superior, I chose what has nothing to do with you and what does." As much as she wanted to argue, she normally liked her job. "You're one of the few agents I do trust and I trust you to be the best to get this job done. You have a history in psychological, criminal psychology nonetheless."
Y/n simply scoffed, "Nick, Loki isn't a criminal, he's a supervillain." She corrected. "And I'm no more than human, I'm no avenger, I'm an agent, that's it. I can't do this." A fact of which the girl had assumed was obvious.
"You won't be in danger, okay? I assure you." Nick promised. "It's one psychiatric evaluation."
"Yeah, on another planet!" Y/n just had to make the point.
The man huffed, he knew he was asking a lot, but he truly only had one option. And that was her. "You'll not be there long, okay? The government just want to feel assured that he has no intention of coming back here."
Y/n thought about it. Maybe if she forgot the other planet and the God aspect of the case, maybe it wasn't so bad. Maybe it was just a psychiatric evaluation. Something of which she had done hundreds of times. "You promise me I'll be safe?" Her tone finally calmed as her pupils softened.
"I wouldn't send you there if it wasn't." Nick valued her. More than just an Agent, but as a friend. Something he didn't have many of. "The King of Asgard, Odin and Thor have both vowed to look out for you, to check in."
Gods, looking after her. Was she hearing this right? So much for a normal day at the office. "Oh great, that's just-" She huffed just at the thought.
Fury stood as his expression softened. "I'll check in with you every day. And, honestly, you shouldn't be there long." When Y/n stared back with nothing but fear written in her pupils, Fury offered something else, "Look, if you get there and you want out, fine."
An escape route. A safety net to catch her if she fell. "When do I leave?"
"This afternoon." Guess there was no time to waste when a universal war criminal was waiting.
So as Y/n returned to her apartment, packing clothes she was sure she would look stupid in while at Asgard, she just prayed she would make it back in one piece. This was no normal trip. Even after she stood alongside Hill and Fury during the attack on New York, this was something different. This was something on another planet. Just when she thought she had seen it all.
Thor had been waiting for the girl outside S.H.I.E.L.D headquarters, magical hammer in hand and cape swaying in the wind. "Agent Y/l/n?" He grinned as she wandered up, bag slung over one shoulder.
Y/n nodded her head, "God man." She greeted.
He chuckled, "You ready?"
"I'd rather not answer that." Her words caused a chuckle from the man as he took a hold of her; humans weren't the best at their Asgardian travel.
Before she realised it, a flash of light beamed throughout her vision. No longer was she staring at headquarters, no New York, not even America, just empty space. This was no tech. This was no train or jet, this was magic and it scared the shit out of her.
So much so, that when her feet finally hit solid ground, she was gasping for air. Her grip on the God not enough to steady her as she wobbled, slowly able to establish her footing. Y/n's struggle only caused another chuckle from Thor, "Oh, Humans." He spoke as if this was a funny pastime or some inside joke she wasn't a part of.
Before Y/n could reply, the bag from her shoulder was gripped from her. A shimmering guard taking hold of it, "Erm- what? That's-"
"They're taking it to your quarters in the castle," Thor informed.
"Right, of course." She certainly wasn't used to servants, or guards, or gold, or any of this.
With a moment of breath, she stared around their landing zone. "Thank you, Hemdel." Thor spoke as he led the way onto the Bifrost, Y/n following loosely behind. "Come on, Human!"
What awaited them outside the golden entrance was a long, shimmering rainbow road. Along with more guards and horses. She was a long way from New York that was sure. Across the road, Y/n could already spot the blinding sandy glow from the Asgardian town. A place she would call home for a few days. "You know how to ride?" Thor questioned, bringing her attention back to the very reason this was her temporary home.
Y/n scoffed, "Motorbike? yeah. Car? sure. Even jets. But a horse?" She raised her brow at Thor as if his question was a stupid one. "Can't say we've ever needed one of them in New York."
Thor adjusted the straps of the yellow horse as he glanced back at the agent, "Well then, you can ride with me."
She huffed, though what else was she to expect in such a Kingdom? She followed Thor's instructions, cautiously placing her foot onto the saddle of the horse before jumping onto the back. Within moments, the animal was moving. The blinding glimmer of Asgard came closer and closer as they entered the tall gates of the Kingdom.
Faces of Asgardian townspeople stared up. First at the God and then to the human who certainly didn't fit in with the rest of them. Suddenly, Y/n was overly aware of herself. This wasn't a place she belonged.
Thor rode all the way into the castle's stables, the two guards following his every move. And when the wooden gates slowed, he stepped off first, offering his hand for Y/n to take as she slid from the animal. Once again, she was following after him like a lost puppy as he guided her through the long, confusing corridors of the castle. "A long trip deserves a drink, yes?"
Y/n had to quicken her speed to keep up with his pace, "Of course, yes." She nodded.
He turned; she followed. "You like ale? Wine?"
"We may not have horses in New York, but we certainly have options of alcoholic beverages."
"I'll take that as a yes then."
Before she realised it, Thor had led them towards the closest tavern. With the sun setting on Asguards, several of its people had taken to the pub, chatting loudly as they gulped down their drinks. "Horgan!" Thor grinned as he shook the hand of the barman.
"I see you have the midgardian." The bearded man glanced over at Y/n.
She offered an awkward smile at him, "Hi." And then a small, weak wave.
"Ale for me and-" Thor turned to the girl.
"Wine, please." Another awkward smile.
With drinks in hand, Thor swerved through the crowds, towards a shadowy back corner where the chuckles of drunken Asgardians weren't so loud. Y/n took a seat in the wooden chair, sipping carefully at her sparkling beverage. "Thank you for coming." Thor broke the silence again.
She shrugged, "I'm here on orders." If it were up to her, she wouldn't be here at all. However, the girl thought it best not to tell the God of thunder such.
"Of course, Fury, I understand." The blonde nodded. "Just, I know he attacked your city, but when it comes to the evaluation tomorrow, please be open-minded."
"Part of the job is being open-minded." Even if this certain patient was a God.
"He's not so bad." Thor tried to reason.
Y/n swallowed the scoff which had been waiting at the tip of her tongue, "He's a war criminal."
Thor broke into a weak smile; he couldn't deny his brother's recent actions, nor would he dare to justify them. "His actions were terribly wrong and trust me, he deserves to be in that cell." The man took a breath, leaning back in the chair. "But truly, my brother is simply a troubled man."
Y/n had faced many troubled men in her job. None quite as troubled as Loki however. "Well, I intend to find out why." She sent him a smile before taking another sip of her wine.
Whether Loki was troubled or not, he was a threat. Though, whether the man was still a threat to Earth was another question. The very reason she was here. Men like him, criminals, they didn't tend to give in easily. Even if they were locked in a cell, condemned for their devious actions.
When it came morning and Y/n was escorted from the golden palace down to the cells, she grew nervous. No thoughts could calm the anxiety which bubbled through her skin. And no matter how many times she told herself this was just another criminal, it would be over in a few days, nothing could have prepared her for coming face to face with the man who attacked New York.
Her feet clicked along the stone floor of the long dungeon. While she attempted to keep her eyes set forward, look like she wasn't bothered, passing the several different homicidal creatures was hard to ignore. And right at the end of the hallway was the creature she feared the most: the God of Mischief.
She slowed and turned to face his cell. Different to the rest. Not empty, but more like a makeshift dorm. Bed, books, sofa. Comfort.
It was like he had been waiting for her. Seated on the velvet sofa, staring at the girl protected between two guards. A moment of silence. Her heart bounded. Her hands shivering despite the warmth of the castle. All she needed to do was get this over with.
"I did wonder who they might send." His head tilted, eyes narrow as if he could read her thoughts like flicking through pages of a book.
Y/n swallowed the lump in her throat, stern in her expression. If she could just pretend she was fearless for a moment maybe he wouldn't see right through her. But facing this God of mischief, the killer of hundreds, it wasn't so easy. She couldn't just pretend he was anyone. He wasn't just another troubled man. He was a God and it terrified her.
Pairing - Professor!Spencer Reid x Fem!Reader
Summary - Spencer takes Y/n in, doing anything in his power to offer her comfort while she seeks safety in his apartment.
Warnings - Mentions of toxic relationship, i think that's it x
Words - 2.1K
Masterlist
Spencer Reid's apartment was exactly what Y/n expected but also not at the same time. Of course, his living room/kitchen area was lined with bookshelves, literature ranging from philosophy to quantum physics. All of the spines broken in. He had a leather couch, exactly like the one in his office only bigger and filled with a couple of plush cushions. He had spots filled with plants which were dying for some water but no other sign of life.
Y/n didn't know much about her professor's personal life. Only the information he spoke about in lectures - which barely ever exceeded his past workings alongside the BAU. However, she expected something more to him than well, himself. She first imagined him with at least a girlfriend, wife maybe. But, whenever she had been in his office, all that sat at his desk was a frame pictured of his team and another of him and, who she assumed was, his mother.
He wasn't a recluse, but he certainly seemed introverted. At the very least, Y/n had almost expected a dog or some small pet coming up and greeting her. But, within one glance, she came to realise the only other living thing in this apartment was the withering plants.
"I hope you don't mind the mess," Y/n gazed back around the room; on her terms, this was tidy. "I didn't realise I'd have company."
Y/n shrugged, still shaken from the events of the day, "Dont worry about it." Maybe she needed to clean her own flat if this was what the man considered a mess.
Suddenly, Spencer became very aware of himself. His hands fidgeted at the top of his trousers as he spoke, "Do you want anything? Food? Drink? I have erm-" He was already moving towards the wooden cupboard above the stove, "I have this tea," He graspped a small, unopened box of British tea that the girl didn't recognise. "One of my co-worker likes to try all of them, they're not really my thing." He rambled.
Y/n only shrugged once more, "Sure, I'll try it."
Spencer grabbed two cups, brewing himself a pot of coffee and attempting to make the tea which Penelope had given him. Within five minutes, he wandered over to the sofa and passed the girl her drink. "One of my team members worked in London for a little while, so," He offered an awkward smile.
"Is she the one for gave you the tea?" Y/n questioned as her knees found her chest and she blew against the boiling drink.
The boy laughed in a whisper, "No, no. Our technical analyst visited her once and demanded we all try the different types of teas from over there." He explained.
"I'm guessing you didn't like it then?" She asked.
He shook his head, "Not my thing." And Y/n looked back to the tea, letting it's scent fill her nose; surely it wasn't so bad. She sipped at it, the warmth of the tea filling through her lungs. It wasn't as bad as Spencer made it out to be. A similar taste as coffee: acquired. And, in her current state, she didn't care what she was drinking. All Y/n cared for was whether she was safe or not. When she glanced over at Spencer she felt safe, she felt comforted. Two things which had been rare for her in the past year.
"Could I ask you something?" Y/n speaks up after a moment of quiet, the only sound being the news channel which was lulling in the background of both of their thoughts. Spencer had looked over and nodded instantly, feeling a pull towards her, towards whatever it was which was swirling around in that marvellous mind of hers. "Do you think I could make it? In the BAU I mean. I like to think I'd be able to, but sometimes you talk about cases and all I can compare it to is horror stories."
It was a worry of which lots of students possessed. And it was true for some students, the very smell of a corpse had made several students whom believed they were ready, hurled over and vomiting. There was lots to it. And even now, after all the cases Spencer and his team had gone through, some hit hard. That was always going to be the case - it was just whether you could compartmentalise it or not.
"You're an excellent student, Y/n." Spencer commented, "Being in the field is different but you get used to it and you'll soon learn to draw a line between what happens in the field and what happens at home." The boy continued to explain.
She nodded along and glanced back at her tea, "Is that why you went back to teaching instead?" The girl wasn't certain as to whether she was overstepping. There was line. They had to maintain the relationship of student and teacher. Yet, she was here in his apartment, drinking his tea, sat on his couch. Maybe that line had already been crossed.
Spencer had shrugged, "Partly, I suppose." He answered, giving the girl a small smile.
After that, the girl became quiet. She sipped on her tea and mindlessly watched the brain-numbing tv show that had been playing in the background. Here felt safe. It felt better than had she dared go home, awaiting the sound of the buzzer, of the man she dreaded at her accommodation door. Or even in a motel, staring up at the ceiling, wishing she was somewhere she could call home - of even safe.
But here, here, was safe. He was safe - dare she come to admit such.
And when her eyes became heavy, she didn't stop herself. Not like she normally would. Sleep was scary when that certain ex-boyfriend was on her mind. Y/n's mind never felt safe enough to let her sleep. Not until she was sat across from her professor. In his locked apartment where no one could ever find her.
When Spencer glanced back at her, the girl lulled into her dreams, he slowly stood. He crouched before her, a gentle hand pressing at her shoulder, "Y/n-" He whispered.
The man was met with her jumping awake, a breath sucked right into her lungs like she had been drowning in her sleep. "Hey, hey," He rushed out, "You're okay, you fell asleep, it's okay." He soothed.
Spencer's hand had never left her shoulder and she was grateful for such. His touch was real. This was real - unlike what she thought. Without even thinking, her own hand moved up, grazing against his own, her eyes shutting as to give herself a moment. "Sorry, I didn't mean to jump." She muttered back before her eye fluttered back open.
His eyes explored her own. His hazel hues stared into her like he was reading her very thoughts. The girl wondered if he knew that she wanted him, that she was imagining his arms around her like a protective shield. When Y/n came to realise how inappropriate her own thoughts were, her hand fell. "How about you go to sleep?" Spencer suggested as he too pulled his touch away. "I'll get you some clothes, is that alright?"
Y/n nodded but the very thought of his material on her skin made her shiver. Still she waited in his spare room until he returned. It was like any guest room; bare of much personality. A bed that seemed to not have been slept in since it had been made. A dresser which was home to Spencer's Summer clothes he never wore and some books which weren't impressive enough to lay in his living area.
"Are these alright for you?" He questioned, passing over some joggers and a plain white t-shirt. "I don't know if they'll fit but you know-"
The girl glanced down at the clothes and simply shrugged, "They're perfect, thank you." She offered him a grin as a wave of awkward silence passed over the room; maybe she shouldn't have called his clothes perfect. They were just joggers and a top. Nothing special.
Spencer fidgeted and rolled on the balls of his feet, "Well then I'll erm- I'll let you get some rest." He spoke, already heading to escape what had become an awkward situation.
Once his back was turned, Y/n spoke up; a pathetic attempt to voice the true appreciation she felt for her professor, "Doctor Reid?" She called before the man slowly glanced back at her.
His face softened, his stiff shoulders relaxed, "Please, just call me Spencer."
Y/n's face bobbed down as her smile fought to the surface, "I erm- thank you, again, I mean it. I don't know what I would have done without you." The girl truly meant her words. It was rare she had anyone step in the way Spencer had done, offering her anything and everything. All to ensure her very safety.
"I'm here for you, Y/n." The man assured, "I'm not just your professor, I want to make sure you're okay." He said such so easily. Like he hadn't just maybe said something he shouldn't have done.
Spencer was just her professor. The professor who was looking out for his student's wellbeing. Nothing more - nothing less. Or at least that's what he would be telling himself.
For that night, the two slept in different beds, in different rooms. Yet they were barely meters apart. The comfort of safety made the bed feel like clouds as Y/n finally had the rest she was in such desperate need of. But when morning came, the daunting idea of going into the police station suddenly suffocated her.
She wandered out of the guest bedroom, dressed in nothing but Spencer's t-shirt and her own pants. The man was already there, dressed in bed-head and lazy pyjamas as he leaned over the kitchen stove. It was the scent which met Y/n's senses first; the crisp, burning smell of what she assumed was bacon. "Jesus, what are you cooking?" She winced at the smell, daring to move further into the kitchen.
Spencer glanced back, spatula in hand, "Bacon and eggs." He was gazing back with a harsh shrug, "I don't normally have guests so I'm erm- I'm-"
"Struggling?" Y/n finished his sentence for him. When he nodded, the girl slipped into view of the food. She chucked away the charred bacon pieces, slipped some more oil over the pan and placed fresh rations into the pan. "You had it on too high," She informed as she turned the fire on the stove down, "Hopefully it's better now."
When Y/n looked back to Spencer, she found his eyes already on her, like he was staring into her soul, seeing something in her that he hadn't before. Maybe it was this feeling of a domestic atmosphere. Making breakfast in their pjs, not caring for the fact they weren't ready, the care, the urge to have her here every morning. That was something of which Spencer couldn't shake.
"Right, of course." He mumbled before returning to stare at the meat.
An hour of so later and the two had something which wasn't burnt for breakfast. They were dressed and ready. Or as ready as Y/n could be for something like this. Talking about her ex-boyfriend, even thinking about her, caused her a wave of nerves she couldn't quite escape. And when Spencer's hand reached the door nob of his apartment, he came to realise the girl wasn't following after him.
With it open a jar, he glanced back, "Everything okay?" She simply swallowed the lump which had grown in her throat and Spencer knew. He took a few steps closer to her, "I know this is scary, but it will be worth it. An hour of anxiety, is worth being free of it forever."
The man then extended his hand for her to take, an offer of support. And when Y/n interlocked her fingers with his, she felt more ready than ever. "Yeah, yeah." She nodded before the two exited his home.
She preyed this was the start of the end. No more fighting in the beer gardening, no more panic attacks, no more sleepovers at her professor's apartment....no more security. Maybe it was wrong for her to yearn for this to continue. Not the stalker ex, but these nights, these mornings. Maybe it was wrong for her to long for something so inappropriate. Yet she couldn't seem to help herself and neither could he.
--
Taglist: - @tonystankhere @ilikw @abbiesxox
Let me know if you'd liked to be added!
Hello!! I just wanted to say I love your writing so muhc hgskgbdbsdb especially "a rekindled kind of love"!!
Other than the fact that Spencer would've definitely been 12 before he left for college, it was super cute!!
thank you!! yeah i realised that when i was proof reading oops - still glad you enjoyed it <3
Hi. I am sorry if that this is not your thing, so you can just ignore it.
I love some pervert Spencer Reid (I am so sorry, it is a guilty pleasure). Things like very inappropriate daydreams about his female friend and some admiration for her lingerie (maybe even stolen a few and feeling guilty about that, but at the same time, it turns him on).
If he got a peek of her nud form or just seeing a few spice pictures of her... idk
What's the Harm? / S.R.
Pairing - Spencer Reid x BAU!Reader
Summary - When Spencer accidentally walks in on Y/n getting changed, he can't seem to think about anything else.
Warnings - Perv Spence, like soft smut, nothing in depth x
Words - 1.2K
A/n - This is probably the closest I'll come to writing smut but I hope you enjoyed it anyway? <3
Masterlist
Spencer had always thought of Y/n as pretty, nice...lovely. But his thoughts have never delved any deeper. He was never one to dare let his mind go deep enough to wander about sensual thoughts - never mind such thoughts being about her. He was too himself, the idea of a woman even kissing him made the boy nervous.
And then something snapped in him.
He knew the culprit. It was something so innocent. In his logical mind, Spencer knew the girl hadn't done it on purpose, but gosh a part of him yearned that it had been. That she had just so happened to be left in her bra in the changing room for him to walk in on. That she had been waiting for the very moment he wandered in to grab his FBI vest too.
Y/n had her shirt and FBI vest laid out in front of her as she adjusted her bra straps. The boy was practically drooling. "Oh...uh...erm..." Were the only words he could muster as he walked in.
The girl jumped, grasping her shirt close to her chest before sending him an easy smile as she realised it was only Spencer who had walked in on her. "Oh, it's just you." She breathed out a sigh, worrisome one of the cops or god forbid Hotch had been the one to walk in. But it was just Spencer - what harm could he have done in taking in such a sight?
That day Spencer had muttered a, "Sorry, I'll erm-" And proceeded to leave without another word. But his mind was left marked as if the girl had just carved that very image of her in a lacy yet practical bra into the forefront of her mind.
It started on the jet ride back. Spencer was in the seat facing her, a book laid across her chest as her forehead nuzzled into the seat further, like she was sinking into the comfort of her own dreams. But as Spencer gazed over at her, his eyes wandered. At first, to her book then to the edge of her neckline where the shirt was pulled down ever so slightly Spencer could catch the top of her breasts. He thought to earlier that day. How soft they probably felt, how soft they would feel in his own harsh fingers, how it would taste to kiss them-
No. He couldn't be thinking this. He was her co-worker, a friend, a very close friend. She shouldn't be the subject of his sexual desires. Spencer hadn't even realised he had any sexual desires until that very moment.
He shook his head and followed her movements, leaning his head back against the jet seat, letting sleep engulf his mind. That was the best way to escape his thoughts. Or so he had thought. In fact, his subconscious mind had only done the very opposite, like it was taunting him.
The very thoughts of her naked and bare, cupped between his two hands, had clouded his entire dreams. Her rolling around between his sheets, giggling as the sunlight enhanced her nude figure. Her hand reached out, caressing his cheek ever so gently it made even his dream self shiver. What was he doing? Why was he here? Why was he only just thinking about this now?
A hand fell to his shoulder, jolting him awake. It just so happened that such hand belonged to the very girl who had infatuated his dreams, "We've landed," Y/n gave a sweet smile but all Spencer could focus on was what had since grown in his trousers.
His shoulders became stiff as he glanced between his lap and the girl, "I'll erm- I'll be right there." He murmured before the girl gave a tilt of her head. She thought about asking him if everything was okay but bypassed her concerns as she exited the jet.
It didn't stop there. It only got worse. His dreams were every night, getting more detailed, more handsy, the feel of her atop of him or the other way round, how easy it seemed for him to grasp her wrists and pin her down. And when he wandered into the office and glanced at Y/n, he could only picture her naked, he could only think about all the things he wanted to do to her.
The boy was at breaking point. The very thought of her...of her figure had consumed almost every waking thought. How was he meant to go on like this?
It only got worse when the team were invited around Y/n's apartment for end-of-week drinks. He was getting towards tispy and when he was directed into Y/n's room to find the adjacent toilet, he couldn't help himself. Of course, Spencer had been in her room before. He had been on her bed before. The flower sheets and little tv which faced the end of the bed where the two watched hours of crappy shows.
But this time around, things were different. The boy's fingers traced her bedsheets, just as soft as he imagined her bare breasts to be. When his eyes caught her side dresser, it was as if something else inside of him had taken over. All those thoughts of her, the desire which burned inside him was pushing him on. His hand reached out as he guessed the right draw on the first try. An array of pants stared back at him.
Some were practical and made for comfort, others were similar to what he had imagined her in. Silk, lace, ranging from black to red to bubblegum pink. His breath itched. But it was like he couldn't help himself. The same way an addict reached for a needle, he was reaching for one of her thongs, as if the very feel, the very lavender scent of her washing powder overwhelmed him with euphoria.
He was so distracted by the smell of the girl, that he hadn't dared to pay attention to the sound of steps growing louder. The boy jumped when the door rattled open. He had no choice. He slipped the thong into his inner blazer pocket and preyed in every way that he hadn't just gotten caught being so invasive by the very girl he adored.
"Spence?" Y/n's head tilted at him lingering at her bedside table. A tug of a smile as she questioned the boy, "You all good?"
He didn't dare speak, "Hmh." He was already moving past her towards the door, "I'm gonna- yeah." He muttered before leaving.
Y/n was left alone in her room as she scanned it. Her eyes found her underwear draw left ajar. When she wandered over and noticed her favourite red thong missing from her draw, she had an inkling about where it had gone. But she wasn't mad, no, if anything she was impressed to find Spencer had the confidence to do such a thing. And, strangely, she was flattered that the pretty boy of the BAU was thinking about her in the same way she had been thinking about him.
