Executive Decision: Bucky

Summary: Did Bucky make it out alive?
Word Count: 1,708
Warnings: Angst, blood, and violence
Author’s Note: I want to thank everyone for coming on this journey with me. It’s been amazing and I can’t wait to get started on the follow up! @captain-rogers-beard & @climbthatmooselikeatree you are two amazing besties and I couldn’t do this without you. Thank you. GIF credit.

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My work is not to be posted on any other sites (AO3, Wattpad, etc.) without my express written permission. Reblogs are fine.

Protecting Y/N had been Bucky’s job, his number one priority.

“Above all else, keep Y/N safe,” Steve had ordered. So how had Bucky not noticed the trip wire? If he had missed that, how many other things had he overlooked?

With his teeth grinding, he shoved the gun into his holster, ripped the phone from his pocket, and grabbed Y/N’s arm tight, hauling her down the stairs alongside him, probably hurting her, but he didn’t care. He would care later, when they were safe, when Y/N was safe.

The call connected two rings later. “I’m taking her to the backup location,” he grit out. “The place is rigged to blow.”

“Did Y/N go inside?” Steve demanded to know, his voice tight.

She was saying his name, begging him to slow down, but Bucky paid her no attention, shaking his head as he continued moving hurriedly down the stairs. “Negative, Steve. Y/N saw it before I did.”

“Are you fucking kidding me?” Steve roared, making Bucky pull the phone from his ear.

“Everything is fine, Steve,” Bucky promised. “We’re almost to the garage. As soon as we’re at the backup location, I’ll let you know.”

Without waiting for an answer, he handed the phone to Y/N, keeping himself focused on getting her out of there, keeping her safe. Level by level, they quickly descended to the parking garage. With the push of a button, lights flashed on the car that Bucky had unlocked, shoving her inside a moment later.

In their seats and both seat belts buckled, Y/N handed Bucky his phone. Less than a minute later the car was speeding out of the garage and onto the nearly-empty streets, Bucky expertly shifting through the gears of the expensive machine. He checked and double checked everything as he drove; watching for pedestrians and openings in the minimal traffic, shortcuts that he could take, making sure that no one was following the pair of them.

Despite what was happening, Bucky couldn’t help but notice the way Y/N’s hands had started to shake. With a huff of air out his nose, he covered her hands with one of his and gave them a squeeze.

“It’s going to be okay, Y/N,” he vowed. “We’re going to get that son of a bitch.”

“You keep saying that. What if -”

“No,” he interrupted, shaking his head, determination taking hold of him. “We will get him, and trust me, he’ll suffer.”

While Bucky focused on the road, Y/N had fallen asleep. He didn’t blame her, adrenaline can take quite a toll on the body. It also gave him a silent permission to not have his focus divided. That was when he noticed a car, sedan, dark, about a quarter mile back.

Son of a bitch.

The engine roared into overdrive when he stomped on the gas pedal. With one hand gripping the steering wheel and his eyes fixed on the rearview mirror, he called out for her, waking her up. He could see the fear radiating off of her as she registered the urgency in his voice. She whirled around in her seat just as the sedan started to change lanes.

“Lose him, Buck,” she begged.

“I’m tryin’, doll,” was his growl of an answer. His feet punched the pedals as he shifted once more, the speedometer flying well into triple digits, pulling away from the sedan slowly.

“Oh, thank God.”

By the time he realized what was happening, it was too late.

“Jesus,” Bucky hissed, his eyes going wide. “Hold on!”

Tires squealed against the asphalt as Bucky slammed on the brakes, turning at the waist to shield her as best as he could, his arms wrapping tight around her, doing his damndest to protect her from the car that was barrelling towards the luxury car.

Every inch of Bucky was in agony, but his legs, God, his legs, that was almost unbearable. It was the pain that woke him, pulled him from the pitch of unconsciousness. He didn’t know where he was or how long he had been there, and as much as part of himself wanted to panic, to cry out for help, he knew better. He just needed to keep his head long enough to find Y/N.

A gritty voice broke through the thick silence and, even though he knew that following the voice could lead him to something worse than two broken legs, he rolled over to his stomach. It was going to hurt like hell, but Bucky didn’t have a choice. He used his elbows to drag himself across the dirty concrete floor.

It felt like an eternity passed before he was close enough to decipher what was happening. When he saw Y/N, tied to a chair, bloodied and crying, the blood in his veins boiled.

“Straight to the point,” the man that had to be Brock laughed. “I like that about you, Steve. I’m sorry to disappoint you, but you don’t have anything that I want. Not anymore.”

The sharp slap of Brock’s hand on Y/N’s face echoed through the room, but her shriek cut through it, sending goosebumps down the back of Bucky’s neck.

A barking laugh left Brock, and it made Bucky’s stomach roll. “Fuck, you’re a smart one, ain’t ya? Alright, alright, you caught me. I want money, Steve, and a lot of it.”

Bucky searched around him for something, anything he could use as a weapon. The gun in his holster was gone, but not the blade he kept tucked to his belt.

“I’ll go away if you pay me to go away.”

He tried to catch Y/N’s eye, to let her know that she wasn’t alone, but she was crying too hard.

“God, you sound like you miss her or somethin’,” Brock laughed again.

Shit. There was nothing he could do but lay there and watch.

Brock sighed heavily into the phone. “Ten million, cash, in a suitcase, three hours. I’ll call you with a location.” The call was disconnected a moment later.

“Why, Brock?” she croaked, tears streaking through the dirt and blood on her face.

“You know the old cliche, doll,” he grinned salaciously. “If I can’t have you…” his gritty voice trailed off and he licked his lips hungrily.

“No,” Y/N argued, ripping her head from his grip. “I will never be with you.”

With a snarl, Brock tangled his hand in her hair and yanked you toward him, his lips brushing against hers when he said, “You’ve always been mine.” And then he was kissing her savagely, forcing his tongue into her mouth and moaning when she started struggling.

Bucky almost gave a triumphant shout when she bit his lip hard, drawing blood from it. He ripped away and swiped away the crimson drops with his thumb. “You’re gonna pay for that, you little bitch.” Brock slapped her again, much harder than the first time, drawing blood with the help of a ring he wore.

“Don’t… fucking… hurt her,” he managed to grind out pitifully, pulling himself further along the concrete.

Brock rolled his eyes as he whirled around. “What are you gonna do about it, Bucky?”

“I’m going to kick your ass,” he vowed, venom lacing his words.

“I’d love to see you try.” Brock strolled over, smirking as Bucky grabbed one of his ankles. He wrenched free from Bucky’s grip, using the momentum to kick Bucky in the face. The cartilage in his nose snapped at the impact, and he was unable to keep from falling into unconsciousness.

The next time he woke, it was because Brock was howling in pain. His eyes opened to see Brock with a gun under Y/N’s chin.

“Don’t fuckin’ move,” Brock sneered darkly.

“Easy, Brock.” It was Steve, trying desperately to diffuse the situation.

“Shut it, Rogers,” Brock ordered, the sound of the hammer cocking echoing loudly in the room.

Grunting in frustration, Bucky knew he had to do something. Despite the pain that surged through him, the blood that blurred his vision, he put everything he had into pulling himself closer to Brock, the blade between his teeth. It helped, biting down on the blade. It kept the pain at bay, just long enough to stab Brock behind his kneecap. With the last bit of strength he had, he yanked the blade free and glared at Brock as the man fell to the ground.

It was almost twelve weeks before Bucky was walking… limping around without his casts. Sure, he needed a cane and it took him almost twice as long to get anyplace, but he was alive. As was Y/N, thank God.

After multiple surgeries, weeks of recovery followed by physical therapy, Bucky was more than ready to get back to work. Even if it was something as mundane as watching the security feed. He prayed Steve wouldn’t do that to him.

Steve was waiting for him, front door of the newly-purchased home wide open, a cup of steaming coffee in his hands. “Hiya, Buck,” he greeted his friend, pulling him into a one-armed hug. “How ya doin’?”

Bucky chuckled, a genuine smile pulling at his lips for the first time in a long time. “Not bad.”

“You look good,” Steve said, standing to the side so Bucky could enter the house.

“I feel good.” Once inside, Bucky let out a low whistle. “Let me guess, Y/N did the decorating?”

“Why do you say that?”

Bucky looked at his friend with an arched brow. “Because if it had been you, it’d be shades of grey and blue, and technology everywhere. This,” he waved his hand at the warmly decorated interior, “is welcoming and rustic. It feels like a home.”

There was a screech of excitement coming from the next room. Y/N emerged a moment later and broke out into a wide smile as her eyes settled on the man that saved her life. “It’s so good to see you,” she sighed as she crossed the room and hugged Bucky tight.

“You, too,” he agreed, returning the hug with one arm, pressing a friendly kiss to her cheek. “Now, what’s a man gotta do to get a job around here?”

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A Long Time Coming: Four

Summary: It feels like every other day you’re in Frank Adler’s garage while he looks under the hood of your beat-up vehicle, trying to diagnose the newest problem. He’s always been sweet about it; you coming in at the last second because you’re running late for work, always slashing the prices so you don’t go broke.
One day, on your way into work, your radiator overheats, leaving you stranded on the side of the road. Knowing he won’t let you down, you call Frank. Ever the gentleman, he gives you a ride, but when he drops you off at work, he discovers a secret you had worked so hard to keep.
You promised your boyfriend you’d never cheat, but now you’re not sure what you have could even be called love.
What happens when Frank finds himself falling for you? Will he be able to keep himself from intervening in the toxic and tumultuous relationship you and your boyfriend have?
Word Count: 1,753
Warnings: First and foremost, domestic violence; emotional, verbal, & physical. Language, heavy angst, insecure female reader, PTSD, no cheating, possibly more to come.
Author’s Note: A huge thank you to @captain-rogers-beard for allowing me to steal some of her thunder. Your unwavering support has left me speechless.

Series Master List

My work is not to be posted on any other sites (AO3, Wattpad, etc.) without my express written permission. Reblogs are fine.

You’d been at the diner for a handful of hours, cruising through the dinner rush, forcing a smile for the patrons, doing your best to ignore the pain in your lower back. It wasn’t from busting your ass, being on your feet for ten hours at a time or your frame protesting to the five pounds you had gained recently, though the bruises you were sporting were entirely your fault. That much you did know.

“You stupid, fat ass bitch,” James snarled, his hands on your shoulders, shoving you away from him.

The small of your back connected with the edge of the counter, biting into your spine, making stars burst in your vision. “I’m sorry. I just… I thought that -”

“You thought that I’d wanna fuck you?” he scoffed, disgust carved into his face. “You’re fucking disgusting, Y/N. How could you possibly think I’d wanna fuck you?”

Your heart squeezed at the vile tone of his voice. “No, I didn’t… I know, James.”

“You know, huh?” James asked, waving his hand in front of you. “If you know so goddamn well, then why are you strutting around wearing… that?”

That, consisted of a t-shirt that was tight across your breasts and a pair of shorts that stretched around your hips. While they were snug, they remained the most comfortable items of clothing you owned. Were they sexy? Not according to you. Then again, James was the one calling all the shots.

“I’ll change, okay?” you offered, moving away from the counter, your skin prickling and irritated.

“Yeah,” he snorted, rolling his eyes. “You do that.”

You scurried past him, hiding your face with the help of your hair, your hand over your mouth to suppress the sob that was climbing out of your throat. The door was barely latched, your hand on the handle, tears streaming down your face, when a bottle cracked against the door. You jumped back with a high-pitched yelp, tripping over the laundry basket full of clean clothes.

The door bounced off the wall after James kicked it open, slapping his hand against it as it came back at him. “You think that changing is going to fix things? God, you’re fucking stupid.”

“I’m sorry,” you sobbed, not caring that James hated it when you sounded pitiful, like a child. “Please, let me… let me make it up -”

“Make it up to me?” he laughed viciously. “There’s nothing you can do. Not now. Not looking like… that.”

You made your way off of the floor, using the bed for support as your legs were shaking uncontrollably. “What do you want me to do?”

His lip was curling back when he said, “Get your ass dressed and get to work. There’s nothing you can do for me.”

After the dinner rush had died down, Marge waved you over to the back corner of the diner, where no other patron was in sight. “How ya doin’, kid?”

“I’m alright,” you lied expertly, smiling at the older woman.

“And James?” she prodded, her brows pulled together tightly.

“We’re fine, Marge,” you snapped defensively, turning on your heel to storm away. “I’d appreciate it if you didn’t -”

“He hits you, doesn’t he?”

Before turning to face Frank, you squared your shoulders. “What happens between James and I is none of your damn business.” It took everything you had to keep from running to Frank and begging for him to help you escape from the hell you called your life.

Frank’s eyes were sad when he said, “I’ve seen the bruises, Y/N.”

You couldn’t stop your hand from flying up to the back of your neck. The deep purples had started to fade, green and yellow now ate at the edges of where James’ hand had been. “I uh, you didn’t… I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

Marge gave you a knowing smile. “We want to help you get away from him, Y/N. But, we can’t do that if you don’t help us.”

“Who said I needed help?” The words burst out of you loudly, drawing the attention of the cooking staff. After clearing your throat, you stared hard at Marge, because if you looked at Frank, you’d drown in his azure eyes. “I don’t need any help, boss. I’m fine. Now, if you’ll excuse me, I have tables to tend to.”

Frank’s hand on yours stopped you dead in your tracks. You didn’t pull it away, but you did flinch, and it was something that didn’t go unnoticed.

“We can’t force you to do anything you’re not ready for, Y/N. Just know, that whenever you need us, we’re here. I’m here.” His voice was low, heavy with heartache.

Tears had started streaming down your face the moment he touched you. It had been so long since another person hadn’t touched you out of anger that you had almost forgot what it felt like, and now that Frank reminded you, you never wanted it to stop.

James’ voice was in your ear, reminding you how fat you were, how unlovable and undeserving you were, how lucky you were that he kept a roof over your head and clothes on your back, that without him, you’d be alone and even more pathetic than you already were. The sad part was that he was right. After years of abuse, you believed every negative word he had to say about you, you believed that you deserved to be treated like garbage.

With Frank holding your hand, you had every intention of turning around and accepting their offer of help, but you couldn’t, not when James’ voice was quick to remind you how worthless you were, how bothersome you had become over the years. You were needy and helpless. The last thing these two people needed was someone like you.

You shook your head and pulled your hand from Frank’s, hating the way your heart clutched in your chest. “I’m not feeling well, Marge. I’m going home.”

Surprisingly, James wasn’t angry with you for coming home early. You lied, told him that the staff to customer ratio was off, that Marge had given you the night off. You thought that maybe the two of you could curl up and James could pick out a movie to watch on Netflix, but James had other ideas.

Football and whiskey, that was what his evening consisted of. Not that you really minded. When there was a game on, and his team was winning, James was in a great mood. It gave you time to clean up around the house without him looming over your every move, judging you.

Thankfully, by the time you were done with the chores, the game was over and James was asleep in his recliner. You left the television on, though you did lower the volume, and covered him with a blanket. You were headed into the bathroom to take a bath when a wave of exhaustion hit you like a tidal wave. Changing course, you turned off the lights and trudged to bed.

It was a handful of hours before your shift the following morning when James had an idea.

“Come on,” he urged, holding open the front door. “Let’s go for a walk.”

“A walk?” you scoffed. “It’s literally over a hundred degrees outside.”

James rolled his eyes as you tried his patience. “And you need to lose some weight. Let’s go.”

You knew better than to argue. “Okay,” you conceded, quickly putting on your sneakers. Thankfully, you hadn’t been in your uniform, otherwise, you’d put up more of a stink about it.

Fifteen minutes crept by, and you hadn’t been able to stop thinking about what Frank and Marge said. You had no idea if their offer was genuine or some kind of joke. You hoped it wasn’t a joke, because deep down, you were petrified of what was going to happen next.

What was James’ breaking point going to be? When was he going to come completely unhinged and not be able to stop himself from really hurting you?

Your mind was a whirlwind of thoughts and scenarios. The what ifs were deafening, you were drowning in regrets, but there was one question that broke through all of the noise.

Does James love me? You had absolutely no recollection of James professing his love, even in the beginning, when the relationship was amazing. You were so wrapped up in your own mind, in that one question, that you hadn’t realized you asked it out loud.

“The fuck…?” he wondered, turning to face you.

Swallowing thickly, you met his gaze. “I didn’t -”

“Don’t fuckin’ lie to me,” James ground out, towering over you. “You got somethin’ to say, you fuckin’ say it!” He wasn’t going to let it go, so you repeated the question clearly.

“Do you love me?” You had no idea what his response was going to be, but to see him bent at the waist, laughing heartily, made confusion and fear prickle along your skin.

He was wiping tears from his face as he stood. “Oh, Y/N. You’re funny.”

“I don’t see why you find that funny.” Your throat was thick and your stomach was tying itself into knots.

“Wait… you’re being serious right now?” James asked, quickly closing the distance between you. “Oh, my God, you are.”

You worked to keep your face void of any emotion that might betray you, but you must have stood there too long, staring at him, because the next thing you knew, James’ fist collided with your cheek. You would have fallen to the ground, but James’ hand was around your bicep, squeezing and twisting as he held you close. Black dots swam in your vision as you struggled to comprehend what was happening.

“You know, I’m the only one that will ever love your fat ass,” he snarled, his eyes deadly, his breath smelling like cheap whiskey.

That was when you realized James had reached his breaking point, that it was now or never, that if you didn’t get away from him right then, you’d wind up in a body bag. Without a second thought, you kicked him between the legs as hard as you could, ripping your arm away as soon as his grip loosened. As you took off at a dead run, James was howling in pain, bent at the waist, hands covering his groin.

“You’re gonna pay for that,” he threatened, screaming in a way that made you wish you were already dead.

FIVE

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The Rage Clean

Summary: Who knew cleaning could be so dangerous?
Word Count: 797
Warnings: Anger fueled by anxiety, language, Bucky being a little shit
Author’s Note: This is for @bionic-buckyb 8K Angst Challenge. My prompt is: “Your legs bleeding.” “Oh really? I hadn’t noticed that half of my goddamned blood was flowing out of my leg, but thanks for letting me know.” GIF credit.

My work is not to be posted on any other sites (AO3, Wattpad, etc.) without my express written permission. Reblogs are fine.

You were charging around the common room, cleaning anything and everything you touched, anger coursing through you, driving you to clean faster, vigorously. Everyone around you called it rage cleaning, poked fun at you, in the friendliest ways possible.

Tony would leave dirty dishes on the counter and then start arguing with you about the dumbest things. Five minutes later, you’d be storming into the kitchen, a scowl on your brow, gently slamming the dishes into the sink, mumbling under your breath.

Then there was Thor. He would put his hammer in the most inconvenient places at the most inconvenient times. The other day, he put it on your purse, the one you had just been about to grab on your way to the store. It hadn’t been an emergency or anything like that, you just needed tampons. Okay, so it was an emergency. Growling, you stared at the god and demanded that he move it. Only after throwing his head back in a hearty, bellowing laugh, did he move it. Two hours later, you were finally on your way to the store.

But no one got you going like Bucky, the Winter Soldier, Steve Rogers’ best friend. He was like a child, never giving up, finding humor in the dumbest things possible; you hated it, and yet, you loved it. You loved his child-like innocence, how he found humor in the most mundane things, in the most inappropriate situations.

Like what happened twenty minutes ago.

“Are you serious right now?” you ground out between your teeth.

Bucky was laughing, and hard, his hand over his heart, head thrown back, his legs unfurling from underneath him. “Come on, doll,” he chortled. “It’s fucking funny.”

“It’s not,” you argued, doing your best to breathe, to not let your anger get the best of you.

It had been a particularly stressful week, and Bucky dousing you with water as a practical joke had been the straw that broke the camel’s back. You were shaking your head, your eyes rolling back. You’d had enough.

“I had a plan for this morning. I was going to make us a nice lunch, go out for a walk, maybe even to the beach,” you rasped. You were getting emotional and it wasn’t something you liked people to see.

“Awww, babe,” he crooned as he stood, his eyes still alight with humor. “I didn’t mean to-”

“Uh uh, don’t,” you warned, running a hand through your hair, wringing the water from it. “You want to act like a child, fine, have at it. Count me out.” Despite Bucky calling after you, you stormed out and headed right to the common room and got to work.

You were elbows deep in a sink full of soapy water and sharp utensils, your rage still boiling, muttering under your breath, stupid scenarios running through your mind. Your anxiety seemed to only fuel your anger. It was stupid, you felt stupid about it, letting an emotion get control of you so badly that it started to affect the relationships you were in; friends, lovers, family. You were so lost in your own thoughts that you didn’t hear someone coming up behind you until it was too late.

With a knife in your hand, you whirled around and plunged the blade deep into Bucky’s thigh. You acted on instinct and pulled the blade out quickly. Bucky’s eyes were wide and he stumbled back, blood dripping down his leg and pooling on the floor.

“Your leg’s bleeding,” you murmured, a small smile tugging on your lips.

“Oh really?” Bucky snapped, ripping a towel out of the drawer. “I hadn’t noticed that half of my goddamned blood was flowing out of my leg, but thanks for letting me know.”

It shouldn’t be funny, it really shouldn’t be, but there was laughter bubbling in your throat and you couldn’t stop it from bursting out of you. “I uh, I’m sorry.” You were bent at the waist, laughing like a hyena, unable to catch your breath.

Bucky huffed in amusement before joining you in unbridled happiness. “I suppose this makes us even,” he hoped, dropping the towel into the sink of water, his wound already healing.

“Clean slate,” you agreed, hands resting on his hips, thumbs tucking into the belt loops of his jeans.

With a smirk, Bucky dipped down and caught your lips in a lingering kiss, stealing the air from your lungs. “Clean slate it is.” And with that, Bucky smeared his damp hand over your face, turning quickly to run away before you could process what had happened.

You stood there for a moment, sputtering at the water on your lips. “James Buchanan Barnes,” you screamed, tearing out of the room after your boyfriend. “I’m gonna get you for that!”

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Wreak Havoc: One

Summary: Your lineage is a mystery and your powers can be downright scary. You had been on your own since you could remember; saving some lives, taking others, doing what needed to be done in order to survive. And then one day, a man with a metal arm saved your life. From that moment on, you worked with the Avengers, saving lives, not only on Earth, but in other galaxies as well.
Word Count: 1,384
Warnings: Heavy angst, language, violence, blood, gore, there could be some smut, possibly more to come.
Author’s Note: The main idea for this was inspired by this song by Skylar Grey. GIF Credit.

My work is not to be posted on any other sites (AO3, Wattpad, etc.) without my express written permission. Reblogs are fine.

Growing up alone, with no one like you to talk to, to relate to, to compare stories with, it can really change a person. It can mold them, turn them into something that they, not necessarily hated but, strongly disliked. There was blood on your hands, there was red in your ledger, you needed more cleansing than God himself could give. Which was what paved the path to your attempt at redemption.

You were screaming, rage thrumming through you, enhancing your abilities. There were families behind you, slaughtered, their blood still pouring from the wounds they suffered at the hands of the party your anger was aimed at.

The group of murderers didn’t stand a chance, but that didn’t deter them. They charged, their mouths open in a shout of solidarity and brotherhood, weapons raised. You released the power you had somehow miraculously kept bottled up, simmering under the surface, ready and waiting for someone to kill. The men fell to the ground, their bodies burning from the inside out, flames and embers spilling out of their noses and mouths before their lives were snuffed out.

Revenge, hot or cold, tasted amazing, but it did nothing to soothe the absolute heartbreak of what had just taken place. You had made a promise, a blood oath, to keep the people of the village safe from the men that now lay at your feet, and you had failed.

You’re a failure, a fraud. No one is going to trust you now.

“Shut up,” you sneered at the inner voice, desperate for it to stop talking.

They’re dead and it’s all your fault.

With your palm to your temple, you squeezed your eyes closed. “Stop it!”

“Hey doll,” someone said, their deeply masculine voice tight with worry. “You alright?”

“No, no,” you groaned. There were feet pounding the ground behind you, circling you, threatening you. You could feel their confusion and anger and frustration, it was smothering you. “I can’t take anymore.”

The man in front of you cursed under his breath. “Step back, guys. I think she’s an empath.”

You pulled in a shuddering breath as the oppressive weight at your back lightened. Just a little at first, as they struggled with the command they had been given.

“Please,” you begged, your power growing more unstable. It felt like it was ripping you apart from the inside out, tearing through your internal organs, pumping through your veins like lava. “I need you to leave.”

“Uh uh, doll,” whatever-his-name-was argued gently. “I ain’t goin’ anywhere.”

The caring tone of his voice was what made you open your eyes. You could still feel the wave of too many emotions at your back, but it was more tolerable than before. Your hands were clenched at your sides, your power humming around them, no doubt sparking angrily.

“Not even if I could kill you?”

He chuckled low in his throat. “Darlin’, you wouldn’t be the first to try.”

“But I bet I’d be the first to succeed.” It wasn’t you talking, not really. With your emotions at the wheel, your anxiety was spiraling, and fast.

“You don’t want to do that,” he warned, his hand held out, the sun reflecting off of it, catching your attention.

You stared at it with curiosity. “Wait… is that… are you… Bucky Barnes?”

His bright eyes flicked to his hand before landing back on yours. “You know me?”

“I know that arm,” you scoffed. “That means that those guys are the rest of the gang; the Avengers?”

“They are,” Bucky answered, his hand falling down to his side. “They’re also backing off. Ain’t that right, Stevie?”

If she so much as looks at you funny.

You chuckled, rolling your eyes as you turned around. “Along with being an empath, I can read minds. Don’t worry, I won’t hurt your boyfriend.”

“Funny,” Bucky huffed. “You a comedian, too?”

It was a mistake, turning around to sass the one and only Captain America. Because when you did, your eyes fell on the piles of bodies, burned to a crisp. Mothers, fathers, their children; everyone was dead.

Choking on a sob, you dropped to your hands and knees, your fingers sinking deep into the dirt. “It’s my fault. It’s all my fault they’re dead.”

Bucky was in front of you, his hands covering yours, his cerulean eyes drilling into yours. “Hey, you can’t do that to yourself. Their blood is not on your hands.”

“It is,” you cried, the dam inside you breaking, your powers surging out of control. “I swore I’d keep them safe, and I didn’t.”

The man before you let out a light hiss as your skin started to heat up, the emerald green hue of your power shining bright. “It ain’t your fault, doll. You did the best you could getting here in time.”

That got your attention. “Wha- what do you mean?”

“We were on our way,” he started, never taking his eyes off yours, his fingers moving in slow circles on your hand, your wrists, any skin he could reach. “Got a tip that a group of power-hungry mercs were headed this way, but we got the intel too late. Does that mean that their blood is on our hands, too?”

The power pulsing through you started to slow down. “I mean, I guess not. But, you didn’t swear to protect them. I did.”

“And we swore to protect the lives of every innocent life on the planet,” Bucky insisted. His thumbs were now on the pulse of your wrist, sweeping back and forth hypnotically. “The lives of these people, it’s not on any of our hands. If anyone is responsible, it’s those assholes. Not Steve or Tony, not me, and certainly not you.”

With the crushing weight of your anxiety easing back, it was getting easier to breathe. Your eyes fell to your hands, to Bucky’s hands. One metal, the other flesh, both of them cool and comforting. The knots in your muscles started to uncoil, and you knew it had more to do with the energy that was radiating off of Bucky in waves.

“You gotta listen to me, doll,” he pleaded, his hands travelling to your wrists and up your arms, tugging you off of the ground, forcing you to your knees.

Your chin was quivering as tears broke free. “I can’t,” you tried to argue, but Bucky’s hands were on your face, his thumbs sweeping through your tears.

“Darlin’, you can,” he assured you, sapphire swirling through his eyes. “Breathe, okay? You can do this.” Bucky grabbed your hand and pressed it to his chest.

Swallowing around the knot in your throat, you did as he asked. You closed your eyes and focused on his breathing, the way his chest rose and fell rhythmically, the ba-dum, ba-dum of his heart against your palm. Then there was his hand on your wrist, the way his fingers flexed, the buttery leather of his fingerless gloves, the seam of string that held the fabric together, all of it moving smoothly against your skin.

Before you knew it, Bucky’s hand was on your face again, tucking the hair behind your ear. “There you go, doll.”

You let out a huff, your hand falling from his chest, your vision coming back to you slowly. “Thank you.”

“No sweat,” he said, blushing lightly. “Where are you headed next?”

With a subtle shrug, you answered with a question of your own. “You guys need a hand with anything?”

Hell yes, we do. Especially another woman.

Your head tipped to the side a bit as you heard a young woman, her accent subtle, her voice soft, and it made you chuckle. “Never mind, I already got my answer.”

All eyes were on you as you marched past Bucky and strode purposefully over to the quinjet, boarding it a moment later. You ignored the way they stared at you as you sat down next to the only female on board, held out your hand, and gave her a wink.

I’m Y/N, and it’s a pleasure to meet you.

The young woman gave a bright smile and wrapped her hand in yours, the red-hued indication of her powers flaring to life at the brush your skin.

I’m Wanda.

This is going to be so much fun.

TWO

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Wreak Havoc: @dewy-biitch @kornerstone234 @lilypalmer1987 @encounterthepast @xtina2191 @wecanburntogether @learisa @2s0uls

Slayer: Seven

Summary: James “Bucky” Barnes comes from a highly esteemed lineage of vampire hunters. Being the newest generation’s hunter, he’s responsible for keeping the supernatural world a secret and ensuring the survival of humanity. After losing his arm in a hunt gone wrong, Bucky wants nothing to do with his preordained destiny.
Fighting alongside Bucky is his best friend and confidant, Steven Rogers, a priest with a direct line to the Vatican, and Bucky’s only saving grace. Can Steve talk some sense into his friend, convince him that the world needs him?
You’re damned, destined to spend the rest of your life sulking in the shadows, wallowing in your own self pity. Everything changes one night when you come face-to-face with Bucky Barnes. Will he save you or put you out of your misery?
Word Count: 1,151
Warnings for the series: Alternate universe, blood, gore, violence, language, possible smut, PTSD, nightmares, more to come as series continues
Author’s Note: The idea stemmed from this post by @itsstillnotwhatyouthink I hope I do it justice. Want a tag? Let me know. A huge shoutout to @captain-rogers-beard & @climbthatmooselikeatree for all of your invaluable help. I love you. GIF credit.

Series Master List

My work is not to be posted on any other sites (AO3, Wattpad, etc.) without my express written permission. Reblogs are fine.

Archbishop Strange was shaking his head in disbelief, bent over, hands spread out on his desk, his jaw clenched. “Tell me what happened one more time,” was his instruction to Bucky.

“I don’t know how, but Ronan knew we were coming,” the slayer sighed wearily, hands in his lap, eyes unmoving, taking in the sight of Steve’s blood on his skin, dried into the tactical gear he was still wearing. “It wasn’t me he was after, it was Steve.”

“How did that happen?”

Bucky rolled his eyes and raised his head to stare at the man across from him. “You tell me.”

Stephen’s head snapped up. “What did you just say?”

“You tell me,” Bucky repeated himself. “Steve and I came here to help you find a killer, all because the Pope supposedly smeared my name on the wall with his blood.”

“Are you implying -”

“I know that you’re lying about something, Stephen,” Bucky said with a sneer, pushing out of the chair. “I just don’t know what it is yet.”

Strange recoiled at Bucky’s casual use of his first name, squared his shoulders, and smoothed the front of his shirt. After taking a moment to collect himself, he calmly stated, “Your objective hasn’t changed, Barnes. Find Ronan and kill him.”

“What about Steve?”

“If he’s alive, save him,” Strange instructed him calmly.

Bucky scoffed loud enough that his throat hurt. “If he’s alive? What the fuck is that supposed to mean?”

“Watch your language, young man,” the Archbishop ground out, his eyes flashing.

He had had enough. “Fuck you,” Bucky snapped, spinning on his heel and marching out of the room, slamming the thick door as hard as he could. He couldn’t help but smirk when he heard the crack of wood.

Natasha was waiting for Bucky in the debriefing room. “What’d he say?”

“Bunch’a bullshit,” was his grumble of an answer.

“Tell me what he said, Buck,” she demanded, brow arched, painted nail pointed at his chest.

“Find Ronan and kill him,” Bucky answered through gritted teeth.

Something dark and murderous flashed in her eyes. “And Steve?”

“That’s the bullshit part, Nat.” Bucky pushed passed his ex and strode over to the kitchenette. Inside one of the cupboards was a bottle of whiskey and two glasses. After setting them on the table, he filled them both, and signaled for Nat to sit down.

She went to argue, but a glare from Bucky was all it took to keep her quiet. When she sat down, Bucky told her exactly what the Archbishop had said regarding Steve.

“He said what, now?” She was seething, her fist slamming onto the table, smoke theoretically pouring from her ears and nose. “That son of a bitch.”

“I’m saying,” Bucky snorted. He sucked down the rest of his whiskey in the next breath. “I swear, there’s something more going on that he’s not telling us.”

With a wicked smirk, Nat’s eyes flashed. “So, let’s find out.”

Steve’s head hurt, he was hungry and thirsty, his throat was raw, and everything around him smelled like death. He wanted to vomit, rid himself of the bile that was rising in his throat, but it wouldn’t do any good. His stomach was too empty, his body was too weak, his mind was too jumbled, too much information was rattling around, conflicting information, memories that felt phony.

He had cried after Y/N had bared the official mark of the Pope to him. After the initial tears came the anger, white-hot and all-consuming. Everything he knew, everything he had been taught, it was all a lie. He had given his entire life to the church, handed it over without a second thought, and now he wanted nothing more than to watch it burn to the ground.

“Why me?” he croaked, eyes trained on the vampire in the far corner. “Why did Ronan take me?”

She shrugged one shoulder. “You’d have to ask him.”

“I’m asking you,” Steve spat, his hands balling into fists.

Y/N raked a hand through her greasy hair and sighed. “I don’t know.”

“You’re lying, Y/N,” he groaned, raking a hand over his face.

“I’m not,” she tried to argue. The only problem with her argument was that Steve had known her for years, practically his whole childhood. If there was one thing he knew about her, it was when she was lying.

Steve laughed, the sound of it raw and gritty. “You still got that fucking tic, Y/N.”

“Padre,” she admonished. “Such language.”

“No, you don’t get to call me that.” He was gritting his teeth so hard he was sure they would crack. “Just tell me.”

“Why not ask me yourself,” Ronan purred, emerging from the shadows, staff in hand.

To his credit, Steve didn’t jump. He craned his neck, wincing at the stab of pain at the base of his skull. “Look who decided to join the party,” he chuckled.

“My apologies,” he murmured, holding a hand over his heart and tipping his head. “I’ve been busy. Have you two gotten to know each other?”

With a pain-filled grunt, Steve stood, using the bars for leverage. “Y/N and I go way back, Ronan.”

“Is that so?” He didn’t sound the least bit surprised. “Care to elaborate?”

“Don’t act like you don’t know,” Steve huffed. “You’re a mass murderer, not a professional liar.”

Ronan chuckled, deep and dark, predatory. “You’re right about that, Steven. Now, why don’t we get you out of that cage and away from the monster.”

Y/N snarled angrily. “Don’t talk about me like that, Ronan.” Her eyes flashed electric blue as his name rolled off her tongue.

“Hurt your feelings, love?” he chuckled, his fingers drumming against one of the bars.

“I don’t have feelings, remember?” she cooed, standing tall, her shoulders straight, hands held behind her back. “You told me that.”

Ronan leveled the woman with a cool glare. “Oh, mother,” he sighed wearily. “I’ve told you many things over the years, but to say that you are anything but empathetic would be an outright lie.”

“Mo- mother?” Steve stuttered, staring hard at Y/N, his eyes going wide a moment later as clarity crashed upon his shoulders.

“Damn,” Ronan ground out. “I was hoping to save that bit of information for later.”

“Still doesn’t explain why I’m here,” the priest rasped, unwilling to take his eyes off of Ronan. Steve’s mind was running rampant, there was too much new information, too many truths had been revealed in such a small amount of time. He wasn’t sure how much longer he was going to last.

Ronan chuckled low and dark. “Straight to the point, I like that. Oh, alright, I suppose there is no point in dragging this out any longer than it already has.”

Y/N stalked across the cell, the chain dragging behind her. “He wants you to turn me back, Steve.”

EIGHT

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A Long Time Coming: Three

Summary: It feels like every other day you’re in Frank Adler’s garage while he looks under the hood of your beat-up vehicle, trying to diagnose the newest problem. He’s always been sweet about it; you coming in at the last second because you’re running late for work, always slashing the prices so you don’t go broke.
One day, on your way into work, your radiator overheats, leaving you stranded on the side of the road. Knowing he won’t let you down, you call Frank. Ever the gentleman, he gives you a ride, but when he drops you off at work, he discovers a secret you had worked so hard to keep.
You promised your boyfriend you’d never cheat, but now you’re not sure what you have could even be called love.
What happens when Frank finds himself falling for you? Will he be able to keep himself from intervening in the toxic and tumultuous relationship you and your boyfriend have?
Word Count: 1,483
Warnings: First and foremost, domestic violence; emotional, verbal, & physical. Language, heavy angst, insecure female reader, PTSD, no cheating, possibly more to come.
Author’s Note: A huge thank you to @captain-rogers-beard for allowing me to steal some of her thunder. Your unwavering support has left me speechless.
GIF credit.

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My work is not to be posted on any other sites (AO3, Wattpad, etc.) without my express written permission. Reblogs are fine.

After fixing Y/N’s car, Frank dropped it off, just as he promised. He wanted to go in and hand over the keys, if only for selfish reasons, just to see her made his heart flutter in a way it shouldn’t.

The bruising on the back of her neck made him see red. He had never felt such rage before, boiling right below the surface, threatening to rip him apart from the inside out, and it kind of scared him. When she bolted, he called after her, desperation filling him, chasing away the absolute hatred for the man Y/N said she loved. She was inside the diner before he was halfway across the parking lot, his heart pounding in his chest, his palms slick with sweat.

In the parking lot, he stood there, his eyes locked on Y/N as she damn near worked circles around the other waitresses, a genuine smile on her face, one that lit up her face, made her eyes sparkle. There went the fluttering in his chest again.

God, she’s stunning.

Small town or not, the diner was a busy place; residents of said small town, tourists, and people just driving through, their destination further down the coast, to bigger beaches, to catch bigger fish. Y/N made sure to make each patron feel at home, never far away when their drink needed to be topped off, to make sure everything was okay with their meal, to chat with familiar faces. Now, if only they tipped well.

Making up his mind, Frank tucked the keys into the visor, hopped into his truck, and headed back to the garage. He needed to keep himself busy, to keep his mind occupied, to keep from thinking about Y/N. So, he buried himself in his work; the Abernathy account. It was a lot of money in his pockets if he could pull it off. God knew he needed it.

It was well after the sun had set when Frank closed up shop. He was exhausted, mentally and physically. No matter how hard he tried, Y/N was on his mind, those goddamn bruises were a stark contrast the skin they colored. Then there was the desperation in her voice when she had called. He wasn’t blind, Y/N only called him because he was the last person she should even be thinking about calling.

Even the guys at the shop had been giving him a hard time as of late. Frank’s specialty was boats, fixing them, restoring them, remodeling them. It sure as hell wasn’t cars, but that didn’t mean Frank turned his back when someone needed it, and Y/N needed it. He just didn’t know how much.

Frank had called, left a message with Marge, letting you know your car was done and where he had stashed your keys. So, after another grueling ten hour shift, you sat behind the wheel and let your head fall back, your eyes closed, a pained sigh leaving you. You ached deep into your bones, the kind that would take more than a long soak.

Home was the last place on earth you wanted to go, but you had no other choice, no one else wanted you. You were fat, dumb, clumsy, always saying the wrong thing, couldn’t do anything right. James had been… kind in taking you in and loving you. Was it what others considered a normal, healthy relationship? No, but you didn’t deserve that.

Sighing heavily, you turned the key and headed home. Hopefully, James would be in a good mood. You prayed he was, you didn’t think you could handle another fight. The other night had been bad enough, getting knocked out that resulted in a concussion. You had to give him credit, he was nice after that, those two days following, bringing you meals in bed, pain relievers, ice packs. It was the first time in a long time that you enjoyed his company.

Fifteen minutes later, you walked through the front door, hung up your jacket and purse on the hook, and slid out of your tight sneakers. The house was almost dark, just a sliver of light from the bedroom, James’ snores drifting through.

Thank God.

Moving quietly, you darted into the bathroom, shut the door, and ran yourself a steaming hot bath with lavender epsom salt. Stepping into the steaming water was like Heaven. With a folded up towel behind your head and the knots in your body slowly starting to unravel. It would have been easy to lose track of time, had you been in what most considered a ‘normal’ relationship.

The water went tepid quickly, making goosebumps appear on your exposed skin. You let out the water and emerged slowly, making sure not to slip or trip. After drying off, you brushed your teeth and walked naked through the living room to the bedroom you shared with James.

He was snoring loudly, mouth open, sprawled out on the bed. Not wanting to wake him, you had learned your lesson after the last time that happened, you pulled on your pajamas, grabbed your pillow, and headed out to sleep on the couch. It wasn’t the first time it had happened, and you didn’t doubt it would be the last. Grabbing the blanket that was draped over the armrest, you snuggled deep into the cushions, diving deep into the pitch of sleep.

Frank was at the docks, the sun high in the sky, sweat shining on his forehead and the back of his neck, his muscles weary and overworked. He had worked forty-eight hours straight to get the Abernathy boat close to being completed, and he hoped that today would be the day he could call Mr. Abernathy and tell him the job was done.

No matter how hard he tried to focus, he kept thinking about the bruises on Y/N, how she bolted from the car, how the tone of her voice argued with the words she had said, that nothing was wrong. There was something wrong, and it was killing him not to know everything. He had his suspicions, that the rumors floating around town weren’t rumors at all, that James was an abuser.

Marge had said that she wished Y/N had met Frank first. He had a small idea of what she had meant, but he needed to know more. He would head over there as soon as he had a chance. He didn’t have to wait very long, just a few hours later and he was placing a call.

Mr. Abernathy was all smiles and firm handshakes, a check for a large sum of money handed over moments later. Frank hadn’t expected to see so many zeroes, but he felt like he did a good job of hiding his shock. After handing over the keys to the boat, Frank hopped into his truck and headed to the diner.

“I need to talk to you,” he said to Marge as soon as he was inside.

Marge went to argue, but the look in Frank’s eye made her stop. She motioned for him to follow her through the kitchen and out the back door where she pulled out a pack of cigarettes, notched one between her lips, and lit it quickly.

“This about Y/N?” she asked, her eyes sad.

Frank’s hands were on his hips. “What you said the other night, tell me what you meant.”

“It’s not my place to -”

“Marge,” Frank ground out, a hand swiping over his face. “I haven’t slept in two days, I don’t want to hear excuses. Tell me what you know.”

She pulled in a long drag before giving Frank what he wanted. “James was a troubled child, and his daddy was a cruel man.”

“He beat him,” Frank sighed heavily. “The rumors about James abusing Y/N, they’re true then.”

“Nobody has seen him do it,” she muttered, taking another drag, her hand shaking. “But that’s the way they operate, isn’t it?”

Both hands were on Frank’s face as rage boiled inside of him. He had never been a violent man, but men who beat up women brought out the worst in him, made him want to rip the men apart limb from limb. He shook his head in an effort to push away the violent thoughts.

“What do I do?” he asked the older woman.

Marge flicked her cigarette into the designated receptacle. “Be there for her, become her friend. She’ll open up. Until then, I don’t know that there is anything you can do.”

“You have experience with… men like James?” God, his name tasted vile on Frank’s tongue.

“More than you know,” she admitted shakily. “But, that was a long time ago.”

“Will you help me save her?” Frank implored, his hand gripping hers and squeezing.

Marge gave a warm smile, her eyes damp with unshed tears. “Absolutely.”

FOUR

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A Long Time Coming: Two

Summary: It feels like every other day you’re in Frank Adler’s garage while he looks under the hood of your beat-up vehicle, trying to diagnose the newest problem. He’s always been sweet about it; you coming in at the last second because you’re running late for work, always slashing the prices so you don’t go broke.
One day, on your way into work, your radiator overheats, leaving you stranded on the side of the road. Knowing he won’t let you down, you call Frank. Ever the gentleman, he gives you a ride, but when he drops you off at work, he discovers a secret you had worked so hard to keep.
You promised your boyfriend you’d never cheat, but now you’re not sure what you have could even be called love.
What happens when Frank finds himself falling for you? Will he be able to keep himself from intervening in the toxic and tumultuous relationship you and your boyfriend have?
Word Count: 2,001
Warnings: First and foremost, domestic violence; emotional, verbal, & physical. Language, heavy angst, insecure female reader, PTSD, no cheating, possibly more to come.
Author’s Note: A huge thank you to @captain-rogers-beard for allowing me to steal some of her thunder. Your unwavering support has left me speechless.

Series Master List

My work is not to be posted on any other sites (AO3, Wattpad, etc.) without my express written permission. Reblogs are fine.

After another long day of working on Mr. Abernathy’s large boat, Frank stopped at the diner. He sat in his usual spot, back corner, booth, facing the front door. It also happened to be Y/N’s section. To Frank’s dismay, she wasn’t the one that came to take his order. It was Marge, and she didn’t look too happy.

“Your usual?” she asked, her voice thin, annoyed, concerned.

Frank nodded, turning in his seat to notch his elbow on the bench. “Where’s Y/N?”

“Out sick. Poor thing called in two days in a row,” was Marge’s answer before turning away and handing Frank’s order to the chef.

She didn’t look sick the other day.

He was worried about her, which wasn’t a good sign. They weren’t together, they were barely even friends, just two people in a small town that saw each other several times a week. Barely any conversation flowed between them, nothing personal, always having to do with that piece of shit car she owned. Come to think of it, Frank knew more about her car than he had ever known about anyone.

Not that he hadn’t wanted to get to know Y/N, know more about her. God, how he had wanted to. He had wanted to ask her to go out with him, to dinner and a movie, maybe go out dancing, a picnic on the beach, maybe some moonlit swimming, but she put a stop to that straight away.

“My boyfriend, James…” Three words that made his heart drop in disappointment.

Frank hadn’t met the man, but there were rumblings, rumors, harsh words that lit a fire under several of the older women in town. They said he was, “A drunk, just like his daddy. Cruel, heartless…”

Marge slid a plate of food in front of him. “Things goin’ alright, Frank?”

“I’m with the most beautiful woman in town,” he beamed up at her, shooting her a wink. “What could possibly be wrong?”

The check, and a glass of sweet tea, were dropped to the table next. “Dunno,” Marge shrugged. “You looked like you were thinkin’ ‘bout somethin’.”

“That’s what people do sometimes,” he teased, chuckling when the older woman slapped his shoulder.

“You know what I mean, Frank,” she pushed, dropping into the seat across from him. “You were think’ ‘bout her, weren’t ya?”

With a mouthful of food, Frank shrugged. “Dunno who you mean.”

Marge rolled her eyes. “Can’t bullshit a bullshitter. You know damn well I’m talkin’ ‘bout Y/N. And before you try weaslin’ out of it, I’ve seen how you look at her.”

“Yeah, alright,” Frank sighed, dropping his sandwich to the plate. “You caught me. I like her.”

“But she’s -”

“With James.” Another sigh, this one heavier than the last. “Don’t worry, Marge. I’m not going to act on anything. I’m not the kind of man to go storming into someone else’s relationship.”

The manager of the diner gave a warm smile and reached out to grip Frank’s hand. “I do wish she had met you first.”

“What’s that supposed to mean?” he wondered, brows drawn together, concern washing over him.

Marge didn’t answer, just gave a tight-lipped smile and went back to work. He called after her, repeating the question, but the only answer he received was from Bill Wilder.

“You wanna holler like that,” the old man called out, glaring at Frank, “you git outside!”

“Alright, Bill,” Frank conceded, a hand in the air, his stomach rolling under the weight of Marge’s words.

What in the fuck did she mean?

Three days, it was the longest your car had survived without you needing to bring it into the garage, to have Frank add more water to the radiator, only to have it run empty the following morning. To be fair, you hadn’t left the house for two of those days.

“I’m sick,” was what you’d told your manager, when the truth was much darker.

James hitting you had been your fault, you knew that, you shouldn’t have sassed him, not when he’d been drinking, especially when he’d been drinking.

“What’s this?” he interrogated you, shoving a receipt into your face. It was from the pharmacy, a prescription your OBGYN had sent over, three months of birth control pills. Nothing out of the ordinary, right?

“Pills, James,” you gasped, pain at the base of your skull making you wince. James’ hand was buried in your hair, tugging harshly on the strands.

“I can see that. Why are you getting birth control pills?” James spat out, his breath hot on your face.

You raised one of your hands and covered James’ hand with it. “Be- because our insurance wo- won’t cover the sho- shot.”

“Liar,” he snarled, yanking your head back, making the muscles in your neck scream in agony.

“I… I’m not.”

“You’re fuckin’ that Frank guy, ain’t ya?”

Your eyes went wide at that. “No, James. I’d ne- never cheat on you.”

“So you say.” He threw you away from him, sending you stumbling back into the counter, making you yelp in pain.

“I wouldn’t,” you insisted, tears clouding your vision.

“You’re all talk,” he grumbled, reaching for the bottle of jack on the table.

When he took a large drink, his head back, his eyes closed, four words left you in a huff. “You’re not any better.” If you thought he hadn’t heard you, you were mistaken.

James marched over and grabbed the back of your neck, his grip like a vice. “What’d you say to me, fat ass?”

“No- nothing,” you whined, lying through your teeth, looking into his dark eyes, praying that he would believe you.

With a snarl, he hauled you away from the counter where your hands had been gripping the edge so tight your knuckles ached.

“You still haven’t learned, have you?” His voice was eerily calm, steady, the calm before the storm.

“I’m sorry,” you choked out. God, he hated hearing you snivel and whine.

James released you slowly, smirking when you flinched. “Guess you need to learn your lesson.”

In the blink of an eye, his fist, the one that had been on the back of your neck mere moments before, came down hard on the back of your head, driving you to the floor and into the pitch of unconsciousness.

There was smoke pouring from out of the radiator, making you cough and gag. You waved your hand through the smoke, hoping you could get it to clear just enough to get the cap off and add some more water.

“Please, please,” you begged, tears threatening to spill. “Come on.” The radiator hissed loudly, scaring you, making you jump back, a screech in the back of your throat.

“Fuck you,” you shouted, kicking the bumper.

You stomped over to the wide open driver’s side door and dropped down, thrusting your hand into your purse to fish out your phone. Looking at the time, you groaned, your head falling back, disappointment flooding through you. You were going to be epically late for work.

Why can’t I do anything right?

Opening your phone with a swipe of your thumb, you scrolled through your contacts, your finger hovering over James’ name. No, he’d scream and berate you, call you worthless and dumb. The friend you hadn’t talked to since moving in with James wasn’t an option. The last time you two spoke, she begged you not to go, but you turned your back on her. A tow truck? No, that would cost an arm and a leg, both of which were aching from the other night.

You were about to give up, grab your purse, and walk the remaining three miles to the diner when you saw the one name you knew you could rely on; Frank. Without another thought, you hit the call button.

“This is Frank,” he announced after four rings.

“Hi,” you squeaked. “It’s me, I mean, this is… it’s Y/N.” God, you sounded like an idiot.

“Well, I’ll be damned,” he chuckled. “Thought you skipped town.”

“What? Why would you think that?” you laughed nervously, your gut churning.

“Hadn’t seen you at the garage for a few days. That, and Marge said you were sick.” You could hear the worry in his voice.

The breath you were holding came out in a rush. “Oh, yeah. I’m fine, Frank. I mean, I’m feeling better.”

“That’s good. So, what can I do for ya?”

Here goes nothing.

“I was driving to work, and out of nowhere, the radiator started smoking again. So, I pulled over to the side of the road and opened the hood. The smoke is so thick and it’s hissing really loud,” you blurted out.

Frank was chuckling again, and you didn’t exactly hate the way it sounded. “Calm down,” he instructed. “Tell me where you are, and I’ll be there in a few minutes.

He hadn’t been lying. Five minutes later he was there, driving the tow truck, and smiling gently. Frank backed the truck up so that the chains were facing the engine. Stepping out, he gave a small wave.

“Hop on in,” he said, holding his hands out for the keys. “I’ll get her hooked up and drop you off at work.”

“You sure?” you inquired, handing over the keys. “I don’t want to put you out.”

“I’m not put out in the least,” Frank assured you.

With an unsure smile, you got into the truck, your purse in your lap, and craned your neck as he went about getting your car hooked up. It didn’t take long, a handful of minutes, but you found yourself watching his every move, appreciating how snug his dirty shirt was, showcasing his wide shoulders and flexing biceps.

Frank must have felt your gaze on him, because he looked up and gave you a smile that made your knees feel like jelly. And then, the guilt slammed into you like a ton of bricks.

You turned around and chastised yourself. You were in a relationship with a man that loved you. At least, that was what he said. And you loved him, right? You wouldn’t have stayed with him if you hadn’t loved him. That was what you told yourself.

Frank took his place behind the wheel, the slamming door pulling you from your thoughts. “Alright, let’s get you to work.”

You could feel him stealing glances at you from the corner of his eye, but you didn’t acknowledge it. You couldn’t, not with your inner voice screaming at you, calling you the very names you hated when James uttered them. Slut, whore, fat ass, worthless. You deserved to be called all of those names and more for the way you had been admiring Frank’s physique several minutes back. You loved James. You’d never cheat on him, even emotionally.

He put the truck into park after coasting to a stop at the outer edge of the parking lot. “I should have it fixed and brought back in a couple of hours.”

“Oh, yeah, okay,” you murmured, working your hair into a bun on the top of your head, wincing at the bite of pain at the back of your neck, at the way your hair moved against the knot James’ fist had left.

Frank must have noticed, because the next thing you knew, he had reached over and moved the collar of your shirt. “Shit, Y/N, he gasped. “What the hell happened?”

Shit, fuck, shit. You should have been more careful.

“Nothing,” you said a little too quickly as you opened the door. After securing your purse, you all but launched yourself out of the truck and gave him a tight-lipped smile. “Thank you for the lift.”

You slammed the door and quite literally ran into the diner, apologizing profusely to Marge for your tardiness. Putting what had just happened to the back of your mind, you shoved your belongings into your locker, affixed the black apron around your wide hips, and dove into the fray.

THREE

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A Long Time Coming: One

Summary: It feels like every other day you’re in Frank Adler’s garage while he looks under the hood of your beat-up vehicle, trying to diagnose the newest problem. He’s always been sweet about it; you coming in at the last second because you’re running late for work, always slashing the prices so you don’t go broke.
One day, on your way into work, your radiator overheats, leaving you stranded on the side of the road. Knowing he won’t let you down, you call Frank. Ever the gentleman, he gives you a ride, but when he drops you off at work, he discovers a secret you had worked so hard to keep.
You promised your boyfriend you’d never cheat, but now you’re not sure what you have could even be called love.
What happens when Frank finds himself falling for you? Will he be able to keep himself from intervening in the toxic and tumultuous relationship you and your boyfriend have?
Word Count: 1,197
Warnings: First and foremost, domestic violence; emotional, verbal, & physical. Language, heavy angst, insecure female reader, PTSD, no cheating, possibly more to come.
Author’s Note: A huge thank you to @captain-rogers-beard for allowing me to steal some of her thunder. Your unwavering support has left me speechless.

Series Master List

My work is not to be posted on any other sites (AO3, Wattpad, etc.) without my express written permission. Reblogs are fine.

Pulling up to the auto shop, you were apologizing before you even stepped out of the problematic car. “I know, I know,” you mumbled, cringing at the looks you were getting from one of the other men that worked alongside Frank. “I just… I put water in it like you showed me.”

Squinting in the sun, Frank gave you a warm smile. “Open her up,” he instructed with a chuckle. “Let me see what’s wrong with her today.”

It was a long-running joke that you were almost single handedly keeping the place in business. At least, you had no doubt you would be doing as such if Frank didn’t give you every discount he could think of. Then again, if he hadn’t been doing that, you would have gone flat broke months ago. Being a waitress, you basically lived off of your tips, and living in a small town didn’t help matters. Between that and your boyfriend being in charge of the finances, you barely had two pennies to scrape together.

After popping the hood, you stood there, bouncing on the balls of your feet, alternating between obsessively checking your watch and chewing on your nails.

“Running late again?” Frank inquired, his grease-covered hands checking every nook and cranny of the old engine.

“You know me,” you chuckled in irritation.

You hated being late for work, especially when you had left with plenty of time to spare. Or so you had thought. The problem of the week was the radiator. No matter how much water was added, no matter how many times Frank looked at it and ensured that nothing was actually wrong with it, the son of a bitch kept overheating.

Frank opened the radiator cap and carefully peered inside. “Looks like she’s running low.”

“Again?” you groaned, hands thrown up in irritation. “I just filled it last night.”

“I’ll get some water, Y/N,” he said warmly before turning away, a dark red rag working between his hands.

As if on cue, your cell phone rang. It was James, your boyfriend of for the last year, and you knew better than to let it ring more than three times.

“The fuck you at?” he snarled into the phone.

God, you hated it when he was drunk. “The radiator started overheating,” you explained. “Stopped in to the shop to have it looked at.”

“You ain’t a mechanic,” James noted sarcastically. “How the fuck you know it’s the radiator?”

“Frank said -” You knew what was going to happen before the Frank’s name slipped out of your mouth.

“I told you, Y/N,” he ground out through his teeth. “I don’t want you near that asshole. Get in the car and leave. You’re going to be late for work.”

You swallowed around the knot of anxiety in your throat. “I… I told you,” you stammered. “The ra- radiator overhe- overheated.”

James let out a barking laugh. “You’re so fuckin’ dumb, believin’ everythin’ that prick tells you. He’s just tryin’ to get in yer pants. And I won’t have that.”

Blinking rapidly, you tried to make your tears disappear at the sight of Frank emerging from the garage with a jug of water. “That’s not ho- how it is, and you kn- know it.”

He started mocking your stutter, the one that only came out when you were talking to him. “He’s a man, Y/N. All we do is think with our dicks. Now get yer ass to work or so help me…” he let your imagination summon up a horrific scenario as his voice trailed off, a deep chuckle rubbing against your eardrum as he disconnected the call.

“Y/N, you alright?” Frank asked, concern heavy on his brow, his hand reaching out for your shaking one.

You couldn’t let him touch you. James would find out. He always had a way of finding out what you had done when he wasn’t there.

Jerking your hand away, you shoved the phone into your pocket and forced a smile. “I’m fine, thank you. Is… is it good to go?”

“Yeah,” he muttered as he closed the hood. “You sure you’re okay?”

God, you wanted to tell him everything, right then and there. But, the last thing you wanted, was for James to have another reason to be pissed at you.

“I’m sure,” you insisted, hoping that your smile was warmer than the last. “How much?”

Frank was shaking his head. “No charge. All I did was pour some water.”

“Frank, come on,” you urged, reaching into your purse and grabbing the wallet you knew damn well held less than $20.

He shook head again. “No charge,” he repeated, his tone not rising in the slightest. “I’ll call the diner, let Marge know you’re on your way.”

“Thank you,” you sighed, relief washing over you, damn near driving you to tears. You ducked into the car and held your breath as you turned the key. When you saw the temperature reading on the gage on your dash, you rolled down your window and gave him a bright smile.

Frank waved as you backed out, the serpentine belt squealing shrilly, drawing more than a few glares from the people that were wandering around town.

Twelve hours later, thirteen dollars in tips, and two very sore feet later, you were finally home. Stepping out of your shoes, your back started screaming. All you wanted to do was draw up a hot bath, light some candles, drink a glass of wine, and soak the pain away. You never got the chance.

James’ hand was bruisingly tight on your upper arm as he hauled you close and yelled in your face. “Where you been, you fuckin’ slut!”

“Work, James,” you gasped, standing on the balls of your feet, your shoulder close to being pushed out of the joint. “Ma- Ma- Marge asked if I wanted to pi- pick up a couple of extra hours. Tho- thought it would be a good i- idea.”

With a sneer on his lips, James mocked your speech impediment again. “Oh, yo- yo- you did, di- di- did ya?”

Tears started to stream down your cheeks, but you knew how James hated to see you cry, so you swiped them away quickly. “I sho- should have ca- called. I’m sorry.”

His dark eyes roved over your face, whiskey-laden breath hit your face, almost making you gag. “Yeah, you should’a. I’m hungry, woman, make me somethin’ to eat.”

He released you so suddenly, that you dropped to the floor, landing painfully on your hip, your hands slapping against the hardwood flooring. You sniffled quietly as you pushed off the floor, knowing damn well that if you stayed there for too long, James would give you a reason to be on the floor.

“Steak or chicken?” you ask after clearing the emotion from your voice, a smile on your face.

James smiled wide and pressed a kiss to your forehead. “There’s my girl. Steak, and don’t overcook it this time.”

You pulled in a ragged breath when he turned away, strolling across the room to resume watching whatever football team he was rooting for that week.

I can do this.

TWO

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Clean & Sober: Three

Summary: After years of struggling to overcome his seemingly endless list of addictions, Steve Rogers has been clean & sober for one year. In an effort to remain clean, to prove to himself that he can overcome his demons, he takes on the responsibility of becoming a sponsor. It’s wrong for a sponsor to feel a personal attachment to the ones they are sponsoring, but apparently Steve didn’t get that memo.
Bucky Barnes’ downfall was cocaine, he couldn’t keep his nose clean if his life depended on it. After overdosing for the third time, a judge ordered him to ‘get clean, or go to jail.’ Narcotics Anonymous wasn’t really Bucky’s thing, that was until he saw the blonde haired, blue eyed God that was going to be his sponsor.
Will Steve be able to separate his feelings from the addiction? Can Bucky overcome his primal urges and keep things professional?
Word Count: 1,851
Warnings for series: Illicit & casual drug use, explicit language, alcohol abuse, explicit sexual language, male receiving anal sex, male receiving oral sex, explicit sexual content, heavy angst, masturbation, possibly more to come
Author’s Note: This is going to be strictly a Stucky fic. There will be no reader involved. I wouldn’t be writing this without the unwavering support of @captain-rogers-beard & @climbthatmooselikeatree I love you.

Series Master List

My work is not to be posted on any other sites (AO3, Wattpad, etc.) without my express written permission. Reblogs are fine.

God, it was stifling. Bucky felt like he was trapped in an oven, wrapped in tinfoil, bathed in grease, and he couldn’t draw in enough oxygen. He kicked off the heavy blankets that were sodden with his sweat, and gave a heavy moan of appreciation when cool air blasted against his skin. He wasn’t sure how long he stayed there, trying to sort through his jumbled memories of what happened, and what he dreamed had happened.

The last thing he really remembered was calling… someone. Steve, maybe? After all, he was his acting sponsor. After that, it was a blur, he didn’t even remember getting into bed, let alone covering himself in what felt like a hundred blankets.

Wiping the sweat from his face, he rolled over and pushed up from the bed, groaning when the sheets stuck to his ass. He trudged into the bathroom, brushed his teeth thoroughly since it felt like he licked the bottom of a well-used ashtray. After gargling with mouthwash, he turned on the shower, as hot as he could stand, and stepped under the stream of water.

It was after he had washed his hair, the suds sliding down his naked body, swirling around his feet, that the image of Steve’s perfectly plump pink lips wrapping around his cock burst through his mind. He gasped loudly, his cock twitching against his thigh, begging to be gripped tight, and stroked. Turning around, he hunched his shoulders, slapped a hand against the wall, and tried to get the image out of his head.

Not that he tried very hard, the blood in his veins was surging, lust sparking over every inch of his skin. He couldn’t fight it any longer. Snarling, he wrapped a hand around throbbing cock and let his mind go where it may.

Steve was on his knees, his hands digging into Bucky’s thighs, Bucky’s cock driving in and out of Steve’s mouth, choking him, cutting off his air supply, and what a fucking sight it was.

“That’s it,” Bucky ground out. “Take it all.” He buried his hands in Steve’s hair, watching his sponsor’s eyes roll back, drool dripping off his chin, grunts caught in the back of his throat. When Steve swallowed around Bucky’s cock, he could feel the familiar tightening in his gut.

Bucky was furiously fucking his fist, eyes screwed shut, his orgasm ramming into him like a freight train. With Steve’s name bursting out of him, he came hard, pulsing and twitching in his grip, spilling his cum into the drain. He stood there as his cock softened, breath tearing in and out of him, his heart racing, his mind grappling with what had just transpired.

He shouldn’t be feeling this way about Steve, the man was his sponsor, not some guy he met at a bar. Their relationship was supposed to be professional, or some shit like that. It wasn’t until the water ran cold that he turned it off and stepped out, grabbing a towel and drying himself off.

He wasn’t sure how long Bucky might sleep, so when Steve came in from smoking, he was quiet, shutting the door gently, keeping his footfalls light as he turned around. It took a moment for his eyes to adjust to the pitch, but when they did, he found the bed empty, and could hear the shower running.

That’s a good sign.

Steve moved to strip the bed, but then he heard something, something he knew the sound of all too well; a guttural grunt and the swipe of flesh on flesh. Bucky was jerking off, and it sent a thrill down Steve’s spine.

Before he knew what was happening, he found himself standing to the side of the open bathroom door. The sounds coming from the shower were downright sinful. His cock was throbbing painfully at the mental image of Bucky, his cock down Steve’s throat, choking him.

It didn’t feel right, nor did it feel wrong, listening in, palming his hard cock through his jeans. He was Bucky’s sponsor, he definitely wasn’t supposed to be unbuttoning his jeans to release some of the pressure. But, as soon as he did that, a fat bead of pre-cum oozed out. With his head against the wall, Steve slid his hand into his tight boxer briefs and swept it away, fully intending to remove his hand and go about cleaning up. The addict inside of him should have known better.

Steve hissed at the contact against the sensitive skin, and his cock, Jesus, he was so fucking hard it hurt. His hips surged forward as he gripped himself, giving into his carnal need to touch himself with Bucky’s grunts and groans fueling his darkest fantasy. To keep quiet, Steve gnawed on his bottom lip, the blood pounding in his ears, his cock sliding easily in his grip, and he was just about to cum when he heard Bucky grunt his name.

Wait, what? Steve stilled, his mind racing, his heart hammering, his chest aching. Had Bucky really said Steve’s name just then? Swallowing greedily at the thick air around him, Steve shook his head and tucked himself away. He was still rock solid and wanted nothing more than to jerk off to the sinful way his name sounded on Bucky’s lips, but a moment later, the water turned off. He darted over to the bed and started stripping the sheets, lifting his head and finding it difficult to keep from openly staring as Bucky stepped out of the bathroom.

“Oh, hey,” Bucky rasped, surprise flashing in his eyes. Good thing I didn’t come out stark naked.

Steve’s heart skipped a beat at the sight of Bucky, towel slung low around his hips, wet hair framing his face, drops of water on his broad shoulders, cascading down his chest and stomach. He had to swallow several times before he could say anything.

“Hiya, Buck. Good to see you up and around.”

“Sure as hell feels good.” He grabbed a shirt from his dresser and yanked it on before asking, “Have you been here the whole time?”

Standing tall, Steve shifted his hips, hoping to hide the fact that his cock was hard as a rock. “Mostly, yeah. Do you uh, do you remember calling me?”

With his brows close together, Bucky shook his head, sending drops of water to the floor. “I mean, not really.”

“You sounded like hell, man,” Steve admitted, rubbing a hand over the back of his neck, trying to keep his eyes from dropping to Bucky’s hips where the towel had loosened slightly. “Came over as fast as I could, got you into bed, and hung around.”

Bucky smirked in a way that made his eyes twinkle. “Did you… clean?”

“I got bored,” Steve answered, hoping the arousal in his voice wasn’t too thick.

Bucky smirked at the sight of Steve blushing, at the way he averted his gaze, the way he shifted on his feet. There was quite the bulge in Steve’s pants that Bucky caught sight of, and goddamn, if it didn’t make his mouth water.

“Thanks, Stevie,” Bucky said, his voice gritty.

The nickname made Steve smile and sent the blush further up his neck. “Part of my job as your sponsor.”

Ah, there it was, the one damn word that kept Bucky from striding over to Steve, pushing him against the wall, and kissing him. Whether Steve was straight, gay, or bisexual, Bucky had no idea, but at that point, he didn’t really fucking care.

“You uh, want to hang for a bit?” Bucky asked, stepping around the edge of the bed, the distance between the two men growing smaller, filling the air with pheromones. “I can order some pizza, show you my gratitude for all you did.”

Steve almost let out a groan at Bucky’s proposal. Now that he knew Bucky thought about him while he jerked off, he wanted to say yes, to know just how appreciative Bucky was. But, there was somehow a part of his brain that wasn’t drowning in the way Bucky’s eyes raked over Steve, in how gravelly Bucky’s voice was, in the way Steve could see Bucky’s cock bulging against the towel, and it quickly decided that Steve needed to leave

“I can’t, Bucky. I have to go,” he lied expertly, darting across the room to grab his phone and jacket. “I’ll see you at the meeting tomorrow, right?”

Fuck, he’s cute when he’s flustered.

“I’ll be there,” Bucky promised, giving Steve a playful smile as his sponsor ducked out.

Steve couldn’t get back to his shitty apartment soon enough. It didn’t take him long, twenty minutes, but every minute drug by, reminding Steve that his cock was pulsing, that he couldn’t undo his jeans in the back of the cab.

He tried thinking about baseball, football, even tried singing his favorite song, but nothing worked. God, he was so hard it fucking hurt. He needed to get home, and fast. Otherwise, he was going to start jerking off. The only thing that took the edge off just enough was the fact that if he did do that, he’d get arrested. Again. And, he most definitely did not want to add committing a lewd act to his already mile-long arrest record.

By the time the cab dropped him off, he felt as if he were going to explode. He threw some bills at the driver and bolted inside, took the steps three at a time and dropped his keys twice before he was finally inside. With his back against the door he just slammed, he ripped open the front of his jeans with a snarl. Spitting into his hand with one hand, Steve yanked the top of his boxer briefs down, gripped his cock, and closed his eyes.

It was Bucky’s turn to be on his knees, mouth open wide, tongue splayed between his full lips, a desperate and carnal need shining in his eyes. Steve had a hand in Bucky’s hair when he shoved his cock between Bucky’s lips.

The man on his knees fucking growled at the contact. Hallowing his cheeks, he scraped his teeth along Steve’s shaft with every bob of his head, swirling his tongue hypnotically around the head, flicking it into the slit.

Steve’s hips snapped forward as he fucked Bucky’s mouth, the wet choking sounds, the bite of Bucky’s fingers in his ass and thighs, the fact that he had no gag reflex; all of it made Steve’s balls draw up tight.

“Fuck, fuck, fuck,” Steve grunted, low and heavy. He had never reached orgasm so fast before, not even when he was young and fucking high as a goddamn kite. He choked on Bucky’s name as he came, his hips stuttering, his cock swelling and pulsing.

He slammed his head into the door as he gasped for air, his cock growing soft, his cum on his hands and the front of his jeans. Something about Bucky got his blood surging like no one before, and he never wanted the feeling to go away.

Shit, he was fucking screwed.

FOUR

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Touch Starved

Summary: Bucky desperately wants you to touch him.
Word Count: 1,121
Warnings: Touch deprivation, rough explicit sexual content, utter filth, some dirty talk
Author’s Note: Requested by anon. Okay so concept: touch starved Bucky?

My work is not to be posted on any other sites (AO3, Wattpad, etc.) without my express written permission. Reblogs are fine.

Bucky was strapped to the bed, leather cuffs around his wrists, wrists that could rip apart his bonds as if they were nothing more than paper. He was allowing you to do this to him, to turn him into nothing more than a pool of sweat, whimpers falling from his mouth, begging for your touch. Every inch of him was thrumming with raw desire, filling the room with his musky scent as he writhed on the bed.

“I don’t know how you’ve stayed in control so long, Buck,” you murmured, his sweat-slicked chest was heaving under your barely-there touch, his bottom lip wedged between his teeth, and a dark glimmer in his eyes.

He had cum twice already, the proof of it was on his stomach, chest, and neck, growing tacky under the swirling fan on the ceiling. Any normal human would be spent, would have rolled onto their sides, snoring away, but not Bucky. He was already insatiable before being turned into a weapon of HYDRA.

So, when Bucky said that he, “Could fuck you all night long,” he meant it.

Your hand skimmed down his toned stomach, catching on the opaque pool oozing out of his belly button. With a smirk, you brought your hand to your mouth and licked it clean, humming contentedly. “Taste so good, Buck,” you praised, watching with an arched brow as his cock jumped.

“Y/N,” he ground out. “I think you’ve had your fun.”

You were now between his thighs, nails scraping through the dark hairs, leaving a trail of goosebumps. “I have, but I know for a fact that I’m not alone in my… enjoyment,” you said while bending down, your hot breath blowing over his cock. You let loose a moan when it twitched again, harder than before, slapping your chin.

“You know you’re not,” he snarled, his hands flexing as he continued to refrain from tearing the bed apart and fucking you into oblivion.

Smirking, you moved to straddle his hips, moving so carefully that all he felt was the hairs on his legs moving, and it made him shiver in anticipation. You chuckled low in your throat at the sight of him. He was so close to breaking, to losing the control he desperately craved, and it made your body flush with desire.

With your hands on his chest, you hummed low in your throat. “I don’t know whether I should give in,” you purred, hips rolling, the slick of your pussy dripping onto his rigid cock, “or if I should just keep -” your voice trailed off when you bit your bottom lip, rolling your hips one more time.

Bucky was smirking wickedly, and by the time you figured out why, it was too late. While you had been rocking your hips, Bucky had been timing them, calculating when he should flex his cock, and drive himself deep into your pussy. Bastard got it on the first try.

Your head fell forward as an obscene moan fell from your lips. “Fuck,” you snarled. “Warn a girl.”

“I have,” he shot back, his voice gritty and dark. You barely registered the sound of ripping leather before you were on your back, Bucky between your thighs, his mouth on yours as he fucked you furiously. You couldn’t catch your breath. Every nerve ending felt as if it had just been set on fire, the flames growing hotter, spreading faster with every deep thrust of Bucky’s hips.

“Bucky,” you gasped, nonverbally pleading with him to keep fucking you, that you needed him, that you couldn’t get enough, that you wanted more.

“I know, doll,” Bucky purred, his lips against yours, his shoulders bowing with every thrust. He had your legs spread wide, his knees driving into the bed every time his hips snapped forward, a wet slap of skin echoing the grunts he punched out of you.

You clawed at his sweat-slicked back, searching for purchase that you’d never find, Bucky was moving too much for that. He was like a wild animal, insatiable now that he was fucking you into the mattress, the wooden frame creaking under the pressure.

“Fuck, doll,” he ground out, teeth scraping against your pulse point. “I need you to cum, baby.”

Your entire body was buzzing, lust surging through your veins, your pussy flexing around his cock hypnotically, drawing a groan of your name. You were teetering on the precipice, ready for the orgasm to wash over you, all you needed was…

Bucky’s hand was on your throat, putting just enough pressure to get your attention, to make you gasp. He never squeezed too tight, he had done his research, knew where to squeeze, knew not to make your face turn red. The blood pounded in your ears, roared through you, heightening everything; the heavy drag of his cock, the way it pulsed when it brushed over your sweet spot, his chest hair sticking to your breasts, swirling around your nipples, the blast of his hot breath on your skin; it was just what you needed.

Your back curved off the bed and a scream tore its way out of you as you came, your legs shaking painfully, your nails probably drawing blood, but Bucky didn’t flinch. With a feral snarl, Bucky came after one, two, three more snaps of his hips before he stilled between your legs.

His forehead was on your shoulder as the pair of you gulped at the thick air, aftershocks rolling through you. He had just moved to roll away when there was a loud creak, and an even louder snap. The mattress fell to the floor at an angle, sending the two of you rolling to the floor.

You were laughing wildly, covering your face as you rolled to your back. “Oh, my God,” you cried out. “I can’t believe you broke my bed!”

“That wasn’t all me, sweetheart,” Bucky chuckled.

“It was mostly you,” you pointed out, your hand resting on his chest.

He was on his side, peppering kisses on your forehead. “You started it.”

You were still laughing. “It was made from Asgardian oak! Thor is going to be so mad at you.”

Bucky blew a raspberry on your neck. “I can take him.”

“You think so, huh?”

With his eyebrows wiggling, Bucky moved to straddle you, pinning your arms above your head, a wicked gleam in his eyes. “Oh, I know so, doll.”

“In that case…” you sucked in a breath to scream out the god’s name, to show him what Bucky had done, to tell him that the one and only Winter Soldier had claimed he could beat the Asgardian, but Bucky’s mouth was on yours, kissing you breathless before you could make another sound.

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