#getting more syringes n shit..... hoping to get enough for the next 2 months but its fine if i cant i just dont like comin here

[transgaysex]

im at the boyjuice department btw. hi

[wienerbarnes]

The Electrifying Mind Reader (2/2)

Pairing: Bucky x Reader (Cheek to Cheek)

Word Count: 2,556

Warnings: not really any major ones tbh

A/N: yay hope yall enjoy! 

MAIN MASTERLIST | CHEEK TO CHEEK MASTERLIST

“No, no, no, this is all wrong.”

Bucky closes the blinds that the young nurse opened for you and rips the socks from Sam’s hands. He approaches where you lay in the hospital bed, unconscious to give your body and heart a break while your system is flooded with IV fluids.

“You don’t know how to put her socks on right; she - she doesn’t like ‘em too tight on her feet. You put ‘em on and you gotta tug on the toes a bit so they fit looser, yeah?” Bucky instructs, not really caring if Sam is paying attention to this lesson of putting socks on your feet.

It’s been six days. Six days since your heart stopped. Six days since Bucky’s CPR probably saved your life, holding you over just until they reached the tower and were able to get you into the MedBay. Six days since they stabilized you and induced you into a coma in fear that your heart would stop again, and also to give you a break from the pain.

It’s also been six days since Bucky’s had a proper shower, too, which Sam is getting really tired of.

It took him three days to even change out of his uniform from the mission; he didn’t want to leave your side.

“Bucky -”

“And as for the blinds, she always likes the room dim. The rest of her may be bright, but she doesn’t like all the lights on and the windows open.” He explains, still holding your feet in his hands, not taking his eyes off of you.

It doesn’t feel like it’s been six days for Bucky. Feels more like six years. Or six seconds. He doesn’t like you like this. Laying in some bed, no color anywhere, tubes sticking out of your nose, eyes closed and not looking back at him.

“Bucky, man, you gotta shower,” Bucky finally looks up at his friend, “Go outside. Touch some grass. I don’t know, but you’re not doing her any good by just sitting here.”

Bucky opens his mouth to disagree, but Sam stops him, “She’s not going to wake up, at least not for now. She’s still induced. They’d need to stop that medication in order to wake her up, which they plan to this afternoon. And even then, it could take her another day or two to wake up naturally.”

Bucky slumps at his explanation.

“And when she does wake up, she’s not going to want to see you like this.”

His hair is greasy, having grown out a bit more over the past couple of months, the circles under his eyes make his face look more his real age, and he can actually smell himself. She wouldn’t want to see you like this.

“I will be back in ten minutes.” He decides, willing to leave your side for a bit in order to clean himself up; clean himself up for you.

Unfortunately for Sam, the nurse returns as soon as Bucky steps out, new syringe in hand.

“Uh, what’s that?” It would be as soon as Bucky leaves that they want to do something to you. They haven’t done anything to you except change your IV bags and now is when they want to change shit up?

“Dr. Cho wants to take her out of her coma. This,” She raises the syringe, “Will help with that. She should wake up either later tonight or tomorrow morning, she’ll be very groggy.”

“Uh, alright.” He replies, not really knowing what else to say, but suddenly regretting convincing Bucky to leave.

It’s fine, she won’t wake up in the next seven minutes while Bucky’s gone.

Except when he only has three more minutes to wait out before Bucky’s return, he hears a soft groan from you. He freezes and looks up at your face, your eyes still closed but eyebrows twisted a bit closer together.

He glances at the clock, panicking. Please, only three more minutes, please.

Eyes force themselves open despite the blinding light and sharp crust around the eyes. Sam watches as your hazy eyes glaze over the room before landing on him, his eyes open wide like he’s looking at a ghost. You move your move a bit but no noise comes out. He can recognize the way you bring your lips together and push out that you’re trying to say something that starts with a B.

“Bucky? You want Bucky?”

“Buuhh,” You breathe out, voice weak from lack of use.

“Uh,” He glances at the clock, one more minute, “He should be here soon, just relax,” He tries, but it seems you take after your boyfriend when it comes to hospital settings.

You reach your uninjured arm to the oxygen tubes in your nose, pulling them away from your face and off your ears, next reaching for the IV in your arm. Sam slaps a hand over yours when you try to tear the tape off. Why would you tell her to relax, you idiot, that’s like the worst possible thing you could’ve told her in this situation!

How did you wake up so fast? He knows you were experimented on years ago and that HYDRA injected you with something while you were captured a few days ago, but are you enhanced like that? Enough for medicine to go through your system that quickly? What the hell did they inject you with?

“Stop -” He starts, reaching for your hands to stop them from pulling at the tubes.

“Sam, what the hell are you doing?!” Bucky’s voice booms into the room.

Sam whips his head over his shoulder to see a freshly showered Bucky, hair still wet and dawned in new clothes, as well as a bundle of more colorful patterns he assumes are for you.

“You’re awake.” Bucky realizes, anger dropping form his face and he completely forgets about what looked like Sam trying to take out your IV.

“I leave for ten minutes and you wake up. You weren’t supposed to wake up until tomorrow and you wake up the first time I leave the room.” He approaches the bed, throat tight as he feels an unbelievable relief at seeing your open eyes.

Your face also softens, no longer frustrated and eager to leave. Your hand leaves from underneath Sam’s and reaches out to Bucky, his metal fingers softly getting a hold of yours, bringing them to his lips to plant a kiss on the top.

He leans in and kisses you on the mouth, too, despite Sam’s presence, despite the cracks and dryness in your lips, despite the fact that you haven’t had any water or toothpaste in your mouth in six days.

Water!

“Let me get you some water, sweetheart, hold on.” Bucky drops your clothes in the chair he’s been sleeping in for six days and walks over to the counter to pour you a small cup of water. Sam realizes that the both of you are very occupied with each other now and takes his opportunity to leave before Bucky remembers the scene he saw when he came in.

I’ll check in later, he thinks, before leaving quietly.

He holds the straw still for you with one hand and gently helps lift your head up with the other, helping you take small sips of water.

“‘M tired,” You whisper, still weak.

“Sleep, my love, you can rest all you want, as long as you promise to wake up.” He brushes a hand along your face, taking in your features, and happy to feel your skin while you’re awake and looking at him now, as opposed to lying in a coma.

“Stay,” You tell him, hand grabbing at his shirt to pull him closer to you, trying to communicate to him that you want him to lie down with you, that you want him close.

Luckily, he takes the hint.

He carefully slides into bed next to you on your good side, making sure nothing bumps your shoulder. It doesn’t take long for you to snuggle into his body and let exhaustion take over once more.

He even sleeps a bit, too. Having you in his arms, feeling your body move with your breathing, slow and steady, instead of the violent shakes he felt a few days ago.

Your heart stopped. He got it started again on the jet, just as they landed and the doctors were able to take it from there. He watched as they rushed you into surgery, needing to work on your heart, brain, shoulder, and any other injuries you may have. All he could do was wait. Couldn’t watch from the viewing room of the OR. Couldn’t ask anyone; they were all in there with you. You were in there for hours. He was sure you died. That you died hours before they came out but they were thinking of how to tell him.

He wasn’t exactly happy with the news that your heart had stopped a second time and that you were in a coma, but you were alive. You were alive.

He’s scared to ask what they did to you. How long you were in that room with them. If you even remember. He didn’t see who in the room with you and there were no cameras anywhere. He doesn’t even know where to start; there were over 500 people at that base.

A lot of things went through his mind while you were asleep. He just thought about you. Your belongings. What you normally eat for your meals. What you normally wear around the tower. How you work out. How you meditate. How you read. He read to you while you were under, but he’s not sure if you were even aware. He talked to you a lot, too. Some of it jokes, some anger that you would have the audacity to almost die. A lot of love. A lot of tears. A lot of hope that you wouldn’t die unless he’s able to put a ring on your finger first.

He hopes you weren’t aware of any of that, looking back.

He closes his eyes and allows himself to relax a bit, dreaming of that ring, a white picket fence, and you.

Your recovery is difficult. Your hands trembled for a few days after waking up, either after effects of electro-shock therapy or just the trauma of being captured by Hydra again.

You couldn’t remember the men that were there with you. You try, and you remember their hands on your skin, holding you down, the flesh and metal merging together in your memories but it all gets blurred. You begin to catch pieces of that day, and like an old movie with the film being burned, holes erupt and all that’s left is blackness.

You knew two of the men were your old handlers, so you can try to narrow those down. But the other soldier. The man with two arms made of metal. You remember him. You don’t know who he is, but you remember him. You feel sorry for the guy, even though he shot you. Who knows what they’ve done to him.

You’ve since left the MedBay and have tried to get back to your routine as quickly and normally as possible. Tried, at least.

You flinch as Bucky brushes past you in the kitchen, muttering an apology to him, not wanting him to think that you’re afraid of him.

One thing you’ve noticed as of late is that you’ve been particularly jumpy. Sensitive. And you hate it. You hate the flinching, the spike in anxiety, the nightmares. The confusion.

“I wanted to show you something.” Bucky tells you, urging you to have a seat while he puts together breakfast for the two of you. He’s been extra protective lately, but you understand why and let him do things for you.

You hum, taking a seat and stirring your coffee slowly. You know Bucky has noticed the depreciation in your energy levels. You’re not bouncing off the walls, you’re not teasing him and Sam, you’re not dressing up cute to watch a movie with him. No colorful nail polish, they removed it in surgery and you haven’t bothered to paint them again. And you know he wants to mention it. But he doesn’t, out of politeness, or maybe out of fear.

Is he scared of you? What did they inject you with?

Your thoughts of that syringe are forgotten when a folded piece of paper is placed in front of you. You unfold it to see your messy handwriting, names after name after name scrawled out with the first few crossed out.

“The list. You kept my list?”

“I did. I promised you I’d complete it didn’t I?”

“You didn’t…” You trailed off, not wanting to believe that Bucky finished your list in secret behind the Avengers’ back.

“I didn’t,” He reassures, “But I thought it might help jog your memory; maybe seeing the names will help you put it to the face of who was there with you.”

It’s a good idea. But it’s not what you want to do.

“Uhm,”

“You don’t have to do anything about it now, it was just a thought to help you.”

“Buck,”

“I also thought we could -”

“Bucky, stop.” You snap.

He looks up at you from the list on the table.

“I know I’m weak now, but,” You begin, he opens his mouth, face dropping, wanting to interject, but you don’t let him, “I need you to stop. I need you to treat me like normal. I know I’m weak now, I know I’m having nightmares again, I know I’m not going on missions for a long while now, I know that I still have no fucking idea what they injected me with and what it’s done to my body, but I need to pretend like I don’t know all of that right now. I want normal.” You explain.

His mouth opens and closes again before giving a small nod of his head. “Okay.” He agrees, taking the list from the table and folding it up again. He walks over to your desk where a lot of his stuff has started taking up space, slipping the piece of paper into a notebook.

“I don’t ever want to hear you call yourself weak again. You’re my girl and you're as tough as fucking nails, okay?” He tells you seriously after turning around.

You scoff sarcastically before returning your attention to your coffee while Bucky finishes in the kitchen.

As he walks back over to you, hands full of two plates towered high with pancakes, you turn to him, “Don’t forget the syrup, babe,” You tell him, raising your hand to gesture towards the fridge.

You feel a surge of power exit from your hand, shooting Bucky with a burst of energy, sending the plates flying out of his hands.

“Woah!” He yelps, certainly not expecting you to do that because you’ve never been able to.

The plates shatter on the ground, the pancakes slapping on the tile, and you freeze completely, hand stilling in the air, not knowing how you did that and scared to move another muscle.

Silence takes over the room and Bucky looks between the mess on the ground and your eyes that have now blown open wide.

“That’s… new.” Is all he can say.

What was in that syringe they injected you with?

[elatedmarvel]

Arms

Bucky Barnes x Reader

Summary: Bucky learns to accept all parts of himself, even the vibranium parts. 

Word Count: 5,353

A/N: This is the longest one shot I’ve ever written, and it took me like a month. (I’m very slow lol). In keeping with BLM and inclusion, please let me know if you feel the reader is described a certain way that is not encompassing of all. I’ve tried my best, but I’m only human and editing is hard. Hope you enjoy!

He remembers when he first woke up with it. 

He could have sworn that he was dead, and he was in hell. All he could feel was pain everywhere, but specifically in his left arm. Pain he had never felt before and now he thinks he’ll feel forever. His parents always joked him that he would go to hell if he didn’t stop flirting with every skirt he saw, and now he wishes he could tell them they were right. 

Voices float above him, but he can’t make out what they’re saying, everything sounds garbled and distorted to his ears. 

It takes a moment for him to realize that the men are speaking in a different language. 

Blinding white lights greet him as he opens his eyes and squints against the harshness. Silhouettes of shapes is all his brain can comprehend, and he blinks a few more times before he is able to actually see.

The dingy room has seen better days. The walls are lined with tile, with mildew and mold in between them. It’s dark everywhere else, except the bright light that shines down on him. 

It’s hard for him to move his head side to side, let alone move the rest of his body, but he tries to wiggle his toes and fingers. 

A metal appendage lays at his left side.

He stares at the foreign object, trying to make sense of the fact that he can feel his left arm, but what he sees is not the limb he remembers.

His brain commands him to lift it, to see if this was real. When it not only moves where he wanted, but he can see his fingers wiggling, he realizes that this is worse than hell. 

He runs his right hand up the entire metal limb, and he can feel the dull sensation. His panic increases the higher he can feel metal. He gets to the edge of his chest before he feels flesh and bone again. 

Gasping, he claws at where the foreign object meets his chest, trying to get it off of him. The more awake he becomes, the more pain radiates from the arm, like his body was rejecting it. 

His sudden movements and noises of pain alert the men in white coats around him. He’s sure his eyes are frantic; he must look like a caged and frightened animal. 

They rush to him, trying to undo the damage he has clawed in.

When they get close enough, he grabs them both by the neck, trying to protect himself. This only causes them to start shouting and the doors burst open.

It’s hard for him to process what is happening, all he feels is adrenaline pumping through his body, and it reacts accordingly.

He can feel the pop of the bones before he hears the sickening crunch. If he was more aware of what was happening, he’s sure he would have thrown up.  

The man he grabbed with his left hand falls to the floor in a heap, unmoving.

In all his time serving with the howling commandos, he’s killed a few people, but never as intimately. He could just pull a trigger, throw a grenade, or stab someone. He’s never had to look them in the eye, and feel the life drain out of him. 

Sweat and fear pour out of his pores now, he didn’t mean to. His hand moved faster than he could react. 

Not his hand, the weapon attached to him now. 

The shouting only gets louder around him, but it’s muffled now. He stares in horror at the metal fingers, and the lifeless body on the floor. 

He can’t even feel when they prick him with a syringe filled with tranquilizer.

The image burns itself into his mind as everything grows dark.  

The next 10-15 years follow the same pattern. 

He wakes up slowly out of cryo. In his groggy state, he panics every time he sees the arm. He goes to claw at his chest where it is connected, but he’s eventually stopped when they realize he’s awake. 

They try to break him. 

Hydra does everything they can, any form of torture. But he’s strong. He resists every attempt, and finally they have had enough.

One day, they plop him in a metal chair and run currents through his skull. 

It takes 2 more years of this before finally he stops scratching at the arm. Before he fully loses himself.

~~~

When he finally escapes from Hydra’s grip, he hates the arm with everything in him. He tries anything he can think of to remove it from his body, short of just cutting into himself more. 

The arm only causes death and destruction. It is synonymous with Hydra and the evil he unwittingly committed. 

He still remembers how they thought they bestowed a great gift upon him, making him into the fist of Hydra. They think they saved him, but they chipped away at his soul until there was barely anything left in him. 

When Shuri was kind enough to erase the trigger words from his brain, she had offered him a new arm. One that was not tainted with the bloody memories of Hydra. 

It took him months of therapy, and many long, late night talks with Steve, Natasha, and Sam to accept the arm. He wanted to repent for the blood he has spilled, intentional or not, and he couldn’t do it with one arm. 

It was beautiful, gun metal grey with gold intertwining the plates. It reminded him of the exhibit that Steve had dragged him to at the Met. 

Kintsugi, Steve had told him. The art of repairing something with gold.

“It was never broken to begin with, just being made whole and better” Steve had said to them as they wandered around. He pretended the tears in his eyes were from the dust in the museum, and lightly punched Steve on the arm. 

~~~

You were in the ring with Sam. 

Someone new, and that scared Bucky. He had slowly built a relationship with the rest of the team in the last few months he had been at the compound, and trust didn’t come easy. Countless nights he would be invited to movies, or dinner and drinks. He turned them all down the first few weeks he had been there. It wasn’t until Sam and Steve literally dragged him to the bar that he started to open up.

You somehow got along with everyone on the team, and had won everyone over in a matter of weeks. You geeked out over the newest electronics with Tony, and tried to help Bruce with his research. Wanda and you had holed up in a room for days binging the newest season of some reality show you loved. Natasha and you had survived multiple Barre classes, something that even made Sam cry. You and Steve had even started painting to Bob Ross videos together. 

It was like there was a you-shaped gap waiting to be filled on the team. 

He watches from his sparring dummy as you tease Sam. You dance around him easily, and dodge out the way of yet another unsuccessful punch. 

His sensitive hearing picks up on Sam’s heavy breathing, but anyone could see the exacerbated rise and fall of his chest, and the buckets of sweat gleaming under the fluorescent lighting. 

You laugh as he tries to distract you with a kick and punch from opposite sides. 

“Nice try birdy” you call out as you evade him once more.

“Stay still!” Sam huffs, he hasn’t felt this out of shape since he was a chubby 13 year old with a love of cheetos and hate of exercise.

In his last effort to take you down, he swipes left and right, never giving up. You move further and further back, unsure how to handle the sudden change in tactics.

You don’t notice how close to the edge of the ring you are. 

Tony, being the dramatic shit he was, decided to build the sparring ring higher up then normal. Like a pedestal he once proclaimed. He wanted all to be able to watch.

Sam and you had forgone putting up the side ropes, wanting to get in as much sparing as possible. 

The fall was probably only a few feet of the ground, but definitely enough to sprain something, or even worse, get a concussion. 

He sees you near the edge, Sam still swinging a way. His lust for revenge prevented him from seeing you were about to fall.

Bucky leaps the 10 feet in between him and you right as your foot falls off the edge. He reaches up and puts most of your weight on his left arm, catching you before you fell to the floor, holding you for a few seconds before slowly bringing you to floor level.

He sets you down gently and almost laughs at the comical expression on your face. Eyes wide and jaw dropped, unable to comprehend what had just happened in the span of a few seconds. 

“I-I… thank you” you stuttered. Stilled flustered by the fall, but even more flustered that it was Bucky that caught you. You two had maybe exchanged 20 words total in the 2 months that you had been on the team. 

Bucky does a once over at you before nodding and walking back to the sparring dummy.

Sam watches this all with amusement, before coming down and offering to buy you ice cream to make up for the fall. 

~~~

Hit. Block. Punch. Duck. Repeat. 

Watching you take down your opponents was like watching a ballet. You were graceful, and lithe. Moving with your counterpart, they never even realized you were a threat until they were out.

Since your fall a month ago, you and Bucky have been growing closer. It was hard not to when you were so light and bright. It blinded him slightly, before he grew accustomed to the warmth he felt when he was near you. Now he never wanted to be parted from it. 

Naturally, when this mission had come up, Bucky had begged Steve to pair you with him. He knew he would only have peace of mind if he was with you at all times.

Not that you needed the help.

About a dozen men lay sprawled around you, and the last three were soon to join their colleagues on the floor. If they weren’t such vile men, he would almost feel bad for them. Being laid to waste by someone who didn’t look like she could hurt a fly. 

He registers the movement about a second too late, his mouth won’t connect to his brain and shout what he wants it to. One of the men you had already taken down lifts his head and arm, he just sees a flash of silver in the man’s palm before he sprints the length of the room. Your back is to him, and you still have 1 more attacker to take down, he takes all of your attention.

It happens in a second. You take your final shot at the henchman and then you see Bucky running to you. You feel the warmth of him as he embraces you, pulling you forward. The momentum causes you to stumble and brings you both down, you on top of him.

The ping of the bullet is thundering in the echoing, concrete room. He barely even registers the feeling before pulling out his gun and shooting the attacker. Watching for a moment to make sure he was actually dead, he looks down at you.

“Bucky” you stutter out, and he can feel your slight tremors. The whiplash must be settling in and the adrenaline wearing off, not a fun combination.

He looks you up and down, and even though he knows he blocked the bullet with his vibranium arm, he can’t help the anxiety that rises in his chest. He doesn’t see anything wrong besides the bruises and small scratches.

Meeting your eyes, it instantly takes the breath out of him. The look of pure awe spread on your face, but he can feel the admiration that is in your eyes,

It takes everything to not close the 5 inch gap to your lips and see if they are as soft as he’s imagined. 

“You ok?” he asks one more time, voice cracking from the dryness in his throat.

You nod up at him, keeping eye contact. 

Without a warning, you press your face into his neck and wrap your arms around him. 

“Thank you, thank you, thank you” you say profusely. You move to sit on top of him in a flash and grab his left arm. He’s powerless underneath you as you examine the shiny appendage. 

“Does it hurt?” you ask, wonder in your voice as your fingers graze the sides of his arms. He’s glad for the pain he endured when they fitted him with this new arm, he can feel the softness and warmth of your hands, almost like if it were his own flesh. 

“No” he replies, eyes locked on where you hold his wrist.

Gently, so gently he can barely feel it, you press a kiss to the slight dent where the bullet impacted. Now he swears he’s died and gone to heaven. 

There’s a lingering heat where your lips touched, maybe even burning. 

If his mouth was dry before, it’s now the desert, and he clears his throat before looking away. His face is hot, and he’s thankful for the dim lighting in the basement. 

He misses the sly smirk on your face before you get up and offer your hand to him. 

~~~

After the mission, you had gone with him to get his arm repaired. He tried to tell you that it would take a few minutes at most and you didn’t need to go with him, but you just smiled and led the way. You held his flesh hand while they fixed some wiring issues and un-dented the hand. If he squeezes your hand more often than necessary, then who would know?

One month passes and he is always at your side. He goes more often to movie nights, team dinners, and outings. There’s always a spot right by your side, and it takes only a few days for everyone to know it was reserved for a certain brunette. 

The second month rolls around and it finds him as your permanent partner. Missions for two would always be assigned to you and him. You two would spar for hours on end, touches lingering for longer than needed. If you needed to run errands, he would be right there with you. 

Month three passes in a loving haze. It’s rare to see one of you without the other. Even nights were spent in your room after you had both fallen asleep while watching Star Wars. You made him come with you to your yoga classes, and he made you go with him to cooking classes.

It’s like the sun had finally come out. The permanent scowl and dark circles were replaced with grins and smile lines. He can’t remember the last time he was as carefree as he was around you. 

It was hard to ask you out. He was nervous. What if he misread the hand holding and cuddling? Could he go back to being just your friend if it didn’t work out?

But the moment he saw you across the gym, sweaty and heaving but with a giant grin on your face as you box with Steve, he knew it would be worth it.

So here he was, your favorite flowers in hand, buttoned up shirt and nice jeans adorning his body, walking to your door to pick you up for your first date. 

In the back of his mind, he mocks himself for being so scared to ask you. Your face had lit up when he had.

Knocking on the door, he steps away and gives himself a once over. He tells himself he’s not nervous, but the erratic beating of his heart tells a different tale. 

The door opens, and there you are. A vision in your favorite dress, small smile on your face. 

All he can do is stare dumbstruck at you. While you were always gorgeous to him, the fact that you had dressed up for him makes him want to cry.

“Bucky?” you ask, waving a hand in his face and giggling. 

“You’re stunning” he says back, hand coming up to rub his neck. He suddenly

remembers the flowers when he feels the water drip on the collar of his shirt.

“These are for you” and the smile on your face grows. You take a big whiff of them

before sneezing 3 times in rapid succession. 

“Guess I got carried away” you giggle, and just like that the nerves fade. 

The drive to the restaurant he had reserved was filled with would you rathers that made you laugh so hard, you couldn’t breathe. Your impression of the stuffy waiter had him choking on his water.

Everything was going so well, he let his guard down.  

The men in ski masks that came from the kitchen to round everyone up were a shock to both of you. Instantly, people scatter, some making it out of the door in time, and others being held hostage and led to the kitchen.

You can both tell when they realize they have avengers in their midsts when the guns turn to aim at you. He flips the table to its side as you move to duck behind it. Drawing a gun from your clutch, you hand it to him. Bucky was always the better shot. And you arm yourself with a widow bites and click the button on your Stark Watch 3 times in rapid succession. 

He hears the panic in their voices as they radio to each other. Obviously, they were not expecting any resistance, let alone 2 highly trained agents.

You look at him, and he knows exactly what you have in mind.

The moment you leap sideways and engage, he pops over the table and aims at anyone with a gun. You move quickly and gracefully around those that were foolish enough to actually engage you. He takes down as many as possible with the gun, and when the clip runs out, he engages the targets closest to you. 

Soon there is only 1 left, shaking and yelling at you both to back up. Bucky is pretty sure he’s new, the tremor in his voice and hands gives him away. It wouldn’t be that difficult to take him out.  

Bucky joins your side, and you both approach hesitantly, not wanting to spook him. 

“Stay back” he yells. Bucky sees the glint of green before the man fully pulls out the grenade. His heart sinks into his stomach.  

“Don’t do anything you’ll regret.” Bucky states, already wedging himself between you and the man. He calculates if there was anyway to get you out of the building. 

“Just stay calm, we’re not going to hurt you.” You say, laying the widow bites at your feet. Bucky does the same with his empty gun. 

His wild eyes keep glancing between you and Bucky. He slowly tries to inch his way towards the man, hoping he makes it to the grenade before he throws it. 

The stand-still comes to an end when the man pulls the pin and launches the grenade in the air.

“No!” Bucky shouts, and he pulls you both under the nearest table, his body covering yours. The deafening blast goes off right as you both get under the table.  

He feels your fast breaths against his chest, and he pulls your head into the crook of his neck. Arms in a braced stance, supporting him as he tries to keep his weight off of yours. He’s pretty sure the table above them cracked with the weight of the rubble falling on it. 

He looks down to your face and sees the fear in your eyes. It was one thing to be shot at, but another to be buried alive.  

“It’s gonna be ok” he whispers, and you nod. You know that Bucky would do everything he could to get you both out. Forcing yourself to take calming breaths, you knew it wouldn’t help to panic right now.   

Once he feels the dust settle, he braces himself against the broken table, trying to see if he could lift the ruble off of you both. There’s a groan as the concrete settles more firmly in place, but nothing lets up. 

The Stark watch on your wrist vibrates, and though he can’t see the screen, he knows it means the Avengers are coming. 

“Bucky” you say, voice trembling. It brings him back to the conversation you had about your biggest fears. Being buried alive was at the top of the list after falling into a pit when you were 7 years old. 

“It’s going to be ok” he tries to reassure, but the fear in your eyes has him trying to break you out. 

Slowly, he shifts his weight to his right arm, and braces the broken table with his left. Putting all his weight behind the vibranium arm, he pushes up. He’s not sure if the groans are from him or the concrete slabs, but he feels something pop and then shift above him. 

Suddenly, the weight feels lighter and he can hear the concrete falling. Hope bursts in his chest as more light floods into the burrow and space starts to expand.

Moving his knees and feet, he gets into a crouched position to give himself more power as the rubble starts to fall away. 

Your voice and encouragement gives him a surge of energy and he finds himself standing in the dusty opening of what used to be a restaurant. 

“Y/n!” he calls as he moves back down and cradles you in his arms, lifting you on top of the pile of rubble. 

“Bucky that was incredible!” you shout as he comes to join you and helps you down. Your arms come around his neck and before he knows it, he feels your lips against his. It takes a second for his brain to compute, and by the time he realizes that it was a kiss, you had already pulled away. 

“Thank you!” you shout again with glee as he chuckles. 

He tries to move in and capture your lips again, but the moment is ruined when a certain blonde super soldier clears his throat.

You both pull away, faces warm, to see the captain dragging to handcuffed criminals out of the wreckage. 

“Glad to see you’re both alive.” Steve states smugly, shooting Bucky a not so subtle wink.

“It’s all thanks to Bucky and his amazing arm.” you tell him brightly, pressing a kiss to the vibranium bicep before jumping into to help apprehend the rest of the men. 

Steve had never seen Bucky turn that shade of red before, and lets out a laugh as he escorted the men out of the restaurant and into the cars waiting outside. 

~~~

You’re not sure what triggers it.

One moment you're laying on the couch with your head in Bucky’s lap, content and happy while watching a movie. You’re half awake, no idea what’s going on in the movie, instead paying attention to the way Bucky’s fingers glide through your hair.

It happens suddenly, and you jump up. 

You pace for a moment, before breathing is hard, and the world starts to get blurry. A cold sweat breaks out all over your body and you swear you could throw up at any moment.

Lowering yourself onto the floor, you put your head between your legs and slowly start to rock. Blood rushes to your head, and all you can hear is the loud thumping of your erratic heart. 

Everything is reduced to the few inches in front of your face, you almost don’t notice the cool hand on your forehead, pushing away hairs and trying to soothe you.

You focus on the cold hand moving from your head to the back of your neck, and then going down to stroke and pat your back, before starting the cycle all over again. 

Bucky.

Slowly, you start to break through the surface. 

It takes a few moments, but you start to hear his voice calling to you, and you want to follow the warm sound. 

He moves your hand now to his chest, the gentle up and down continuing to bring you back, and it registers that he wants you to follow his breath pattern.

The first few are too shallow, the next few are too fast, but soon you match his calm in-and-out to a tee. 

Your name, smooth and gentle in his voice, finally reaches your ears. You listen as he tells you how great you are at matching his breathing. He switches between compliments, random, one sided small talk, and humming. 

The heat from his embrace and the coolness from his left arm creates a cocoon of warmth and safety, making you lose sense of time. The cramping from your legs is the only indicator that a significant amount of time has passed.

Sluggishly, you lift your head from Bucky’s chest and look up at his face. Intense blue eyes stare back at you, it’s not hard to tell that he’s trying to stay calm, but the slight worry in his eyes wasn’t hard to pick up on. 

Laying your head back on his chest, you feel his arms start to slide under you. Soon enough, you’re lifted up and he’s walking to what you assume would be your room. 

You close your eyes, when he doesn’t take the right to go down to your room, but continues straight into his wing. 

“Thanks Bucky” you mumble as he sets you on his bed and gets in himself.

Face to face, you use your finger to trace the slope of his nose and the edge of his jaw before bringing your finger to outline his lips.

Pressing a small kiss to the tip of your finger, he smiles before leaning in kissing your forehead. 

“I love you, doll.”

“Love you too.”

~~~

He can feel the drool on his face as he comes too. His face squished into the pillow underneath him, so hard, he’s sure he’ll have indents in his face.

One arm slung around a sleeping you, he breathes in, slowly waking up. Moving his arms, he can feel the soreness that settles in after a good night's sleep. 

A small sniffle from the nightstand catches his attention, and he realizes why he woke up. 

Gently, he crawls out of bed, and tucks in the remaining comforter around you, and grabs the device from the nightstand. He hopes you can get a little extra sleep, he’s pretty sure he fell asleep long before you got into bed. 

Bare feet meet carpet as he paddles down the hallway, a short walk to his destination. He waits outside of the door for a moment, listening for movement in the room. When he hears shuffling, and another small screech, he opens the door.

Against the adjacent lilac wall, a white crib is placed. A sleep dischevaled baby stands, clinging to the bars, blowing spit bubbles and babbling to herself.

As soon as she sees Bucky, her arms extend towards him and makes whining noises.

“Hey baby” he chuckles as he steps fully into the room, and picks her up, nervous that she’ll start screaming if he doesn’t.

“How did you sleep?” he asks, patting her back, and checking to see if she needed a diaper change.

The raspberry she blows answers the question.

Gently and efficiently, he sets about changing her diaper, talking to her all the while.

When he sets her upright to try and find a new outfit, preferably one that doesn’t have stains but the options are slim, she squeals again.

Quickly, he picks her up and sways her against his chest.

“Shh shhh shhh, don’t wake up mommy, you kept her up half the night.” Bucky implores. She tilts her head up at the sound of his voice, her eyes slightly wet and he knows she can’t help it. 

Rebecca was a good baby, usually did not fuss, ate like a champ, and slept well. But lately, she had been colickly. 

It had panicked Bucky at first, thinking she was sick or he was doing something wrong. You had quelled his fears by showing him the small bump on her gums, signalling that she was teething. 

Switching his right arm for her support, he brings a vibranium finger up to her mouth. Immediately, she latches on to the finger. 

He can feel the nubs of teeth about to break through the surface, and lets her chew on his cool finger for relief. 

It had started as a joke one day when the teething ring had melted and Becca still wouldn’t stop crying. In your half groggy state, you had stuck one of Bucky’s vibranium fingers in her mouth to let her chew on while you grabbed something else, he couldn’t quite feel the pain the same way his flesh fingers could. But, once Bucky’s finger was in her mouth, Becca happily chewed on it until she fell asleep. 

It was well known now that wherever Bucky was, Becca followed, gnawing on his fingers. 

“Does that feel better Becca?” she couldn’t even spare a second to look at her father, too busy drooling all over his hand.

With Becca in tow, he sits down in the rocking chair, hoping that he could get her to fall back asleep.

Holding her close, he hums some forget tune and rubs her back, moving them back and forth slightly.

The rigid dark grey was such a contrast to the soft baby skin around it, it startles Bucky sometimes.

The same arm that killed people and caused so much destruction was the same arm that his baby daughter used as a teething toy. She would never fear it, or see it as anything other than a part of him. 

He’s unfamiliar with the emotion that bubbles up in his chest and the tears that build up. Sniffling himself, he presses a kiss to her downy soft head, and cradles her underneath his chin.  

“You know, if it hurts that much, you can take it out of her mouth.” you say, startling him slightly. 

Padding into the room, you perch yourself on the armrest of the rocking chair and tuck your feet under his legs. You reach a head out to caress Becca’s perfect cheek, brushing away a few tears with your thumb, as her eyelids start to droop. 

“What are you doing up?” Bucky’s gravely voice cuts through the silence a few moments later. 

“I had a feeling you were getting sappy with her again” you tease. There hasn’t been a day that’s gone by without Bucky marveling or crying about Becky in the short 7 months of her life. 

“I can’t help it, she’s perfect.” he whispers back, getting choked up again. 

“Oh babe” you coo at him. Dropping to sit in his lap, you place your head on his chest, just above Becca, and wrap your arms around him. 

He sits there for a while longer, slowly rocking back and forth. Every once in a while, Becca will snuffle and snore in her sleep and you both chuckle at the cute noises. 

Sitting there, arms wrapped around the loves of his life, he feels calm. 

He can feel your breathing start to even out as you follow Becca’s lead to slumber. 

It still amazes him how much you both trust him. Never looked at the thing that made him a killer with anything but love, and never treated him with any differently. 

There will always be scars, physical and emotional, but slowly falling asleep in his baby daughter's room, he knows everything will be ok. He’s not afraid anymore.

~~~

Thank you for reading! Feedback is always welcome!

[vechkinfan]

End of Me ~Part 2 (Bucky Barnes)

A/N: I hope you guys enjoy this second installment. I’m thinking of making it a few more parts longer. So if you’d be interested in more, please let me know!!!

Words: +4k…. (I know, its ridiculous, I can never seem to make this short and sweet)

Warning: angst, sadness, HYDRA dreams, Bucky being and idiot

Summary: Calin’s vivid dream about her past has her breaking her promise to Bucky. Seeking him out in the dead of night for some comfort, however comfort is the last thing she gets.

Part 1 // Part 3

The room was cold, unbearably so, just like it always was when they had her inside it. Her bare skin exposed to the frigid temperatures causing a shiver to run through her body as they lowered metal restraints onto her arms. Locking them so tight it had instantly started to cut off the blood supply. Making her hands tingle, feeling as if a thousand needles were being poked into her skin. They always did this, harnessed her in before an experiment, before the pain would come. If they didn’t, it would have most certainly ended in all their lives.

Calin was biting down hard onto the rubber mouth guard, growling loudly when a guard dressed in black brushed his own hand up along the length of her arm. His fingers deftly smoothing her bare skin until he got to the strap of her sports bra, where he snapped it against her skin painfully. Her eyes flooded with darkness instantly, her inner demon being beckoned to the surface. It didn’t appreciate the confinement or the touching, especially when this seemed to be the only time Calin let it take over. When she was desperate…. and weak, when her emotions were at the highest. That’s when she allowed it in.

Spitting out the mouthpiece, she turned her attention to the man, grinning playfully.“Touch me again, and I will rip your throat out.” Her voice was no longer its own as she spoke. The noise so guttural that if her mouth was not moving you would have never knew it was from her. “Oh how I would enjoy seeing you bleed out.” She laughed out, as the man began to lower the vibranium harness down on top of her shoulders, the only thing that had successfully kept her caged.

“I see we are not speaking with Calin now, so who is this today?” From the corner of her eye she saw movement. A large man in a white lab coat, hobbling his way towards her. The same man who had bought her, the same man who had done all this to her.

“Does it matter who I am?” Calins black eyes glow brighter in excitement as she saw the brief flash of fear cross the man’s face. The man visibly gulping back the terror she smelled coming off him in waves. It amused her demon, to see the terror it invoked on its creators. Is this not what they wanted? Did they not want someone so powerful that they could take down an entire army by themselves?

“Perhaps I may speak to Calin, if you are not willing to cooperate?” He grew closer, busying himself at the stainless steel tray that was a few feet away.

His hands gliding over the various instruments, staring at each one of them with interest before moving onto the next. Calin watched cautiously, growling out when the man finally landed on a large syringe. The needle filled to the brim with a red substance, one she had only come to know as liquid fire. The concoction was something that they had been trying for years, just different variations. It was their attempt to find away to control her demon, making it manageable, make it complacent instead of the hostile creature it was now. They wanted a soldier not a loose cannon who would kill anyone and everyone that got in its way.

“Calin is asleep, there is no need to wake her.” She bit, her arms struggling in the bindings roughly. Trying to see if there was a weakened bolt or sauder. Something to snap the restraints, so she could kill them all. “I believe she has experienced enough from you shit heads.”

Narrowing his eyes at her, he just watched with a quizzical gaze. It was the same song and dance, every time they went about experimenting. She’d threaten their lives but was  never able to follow through, unable to break the confinement. All she needed was a flick of her fingers and their necks would be snapped. But they had never given her the opportunity, they had been very vigilant with keeping the bindings tight and secure.

“Oh I’m afraid this is still just the beginning, my child.” A sick smiled spread acrossed his greasy, drawn in face. One that had even her demons skin crawling in disgust.

He didn’t move very quickly, drawing out his little sick fetish for torture. Spinning the needle in his hand he glided towards her. Hesitating only a moment to look up into Calins eyes, before a toothy grin spread across his face again, letting the tip sink into the flesh of her upper thigh causing her to scream out. A scream so ear piercing that the objects in the room began to shake violently. The substance coursing through her veins like liquid fire, the skin around the puncture mark already blistering up. With each pump of her heart it pushed it deeper into her body, magnifying the pain even more. Her muscles all stiffened till she was lifted off the metal chair, struggling against the restraints with more vigor. Desperately trying to get away, get far away from the pain.

Gritting her teeth, her vision blurred as she watched the man step back. Placing his hands in the pockets of his lab coat, silently waiting out the episode. But she couldn’t keep this up, she couldn’t stand another one of these injections. So with what little strength she could muster she tried to move her hand. The appendages the only thing numb at the moment, making it so difficult to move. But somehow she managed to will her fingers to twitch slightly, giving her a glimpse of hope.

Just as another surge of agony pulsed through her body, she screamed out again. It was just want she needed though, the hatred and rage inside her at the moment allowing her to clench her fist. Which instantly had the man flying into the air. Gasping for breath as his fingers clawed at his neck, desperately trying to pry away the things strangling him. There was nothing there, so the struggling would just wear him out quicker and make this death to fast for her liking.

Flicking her fingers she threw him against the concrete  wall, his body making a horrid bone snapping thud as he fell to the floor. Causing a grin to tug at the corner of her lips, the suffering she knew he was feeling, fueled her. It gave her life, like nothing before.

“Y-you kill me… I will have them kill him.” He spat, dark crimson liquid spattering against the grey concrete.  His shaky arms coming out to help hoist himself off the ground.

“Kill who?” Calin growled louder, her hand moving downward causing the man to be shoved to the floor again. Her powers crushing him, making him squirm under the pressure. He never answered though, his hearty laugh filled the room instead, echoing off the walls menacingly. Taunting her with hints of information like they always did. “Kill fucking who?” This time she screamed it, and that’s when the world went dark.

Calin violently jolted awake, her body nearly cerening itself off the bed. The fucking bed she so desperately despised, but had hoped it’s softness would truly engulf her body into nothing. Oh how that plan royally backfired. Her heart was was currently slamming against her chest, it’s rhythmic beat so hard and fast she could hear it pounding in her ears. The adrenaline coursing through her veins making it nearly impossible to calm herself, which wasn’t good.

This wasn’t the first time this nightmare plagued her dreams, and frankly how could it truly be a nightmare if she had experienced it in reality already. It was just a memory, a bad fucking memory, that seemed to haunt her like a angry ghost. Even more so since Bucky asked for a break. It had been almost a nightly occurrence now, the minute she’d close her eyes she’d be back there in that musty old concrete room. Strapped down, unable to move or fight back, just waiting for the pain to start all over again. It played on a constant mentally draining loop.

Running a shaky hand  over her face, Calin let out a breathy sigh. Her body felt like it was on fire still, like the serum was coursing through her veins ten years after the last needle punctured her skin. It made her tremble, and a cold sweat to form in a thick sheen across her face. Even the sweatshirt she had worn to bed was completely soaked through. Clinging to her chest and arms uncomfortably.

Glancing over to her bedroom door Calin had hoped to see Bucky standing there. Leaning against the wooden frame with his usual small heart melting smile. Hoping he would be close by to help calm her down, to tell her everything was going to be ok. She had done that for him more times then she could count, striding over to his room when she heard the restless noises coming from within. In truth she also did it for herself, because being next to Bucky had a weird effect on her. It was like his presences sucked all the shit HYDRA did to her away. He made her feel like she wasn’t so broken.

However when her eyes panned the darkened doorway, her heart sank further into her chest. There was no one, the door was shut and the tower seemed to be completely silent. In that brief moment Calin had wished she didn’t pull away from him because he asked her to. She wished she had fought for their… their friendship, especially if that’s all she’d ever share with him. It had been almost a month of her waiting for him to come back, waiting for him to finally end this break but days drew on and she found herself losing hope. And there was no chance she was going to demand him to come to his senses, this was his decision, Calin had no right to deviate from what he asked for.

The burning sting of tears washed over her, causing Calin to aggressively wipe at her eyes. It was uncomfortable, feeling the urge to cry, to just let all her emotions out. Wanda had told her a good cry every once and awhile was good for a person. That it helped clear a foggy mind or ease a troubled soul. But she could never bring herself to that point. Calin had spent to much time locked in a cage with her hands plastered over her ears, trying desperately to shield herself from the sounds of HYDRA agents shooting kids she was held captive with. Any sign of weakness, any cries or pleas was met with a bullet. And even though she had escaped them years ago, the images still plagued her, they still held power over all her actions.  

Throwing the covers off herself aggressively, she shook her head trying to clear her thoughts. The last thing she needed was to dwell on her past, it would only upset her further. So she found herself getting to her feet, the cold wooden floor sending shivers up her spine as she wandered towards the door.

She knew it was a bad idea but she needed him, her Bucky. Even if it was just to sit on the floor at the end of his bed. His proximity would hopefully ease her tense body in ways that it would take her hours to accomplish. Calin just hoped he would let her in. Afterall he was seeing someone, so he had every right to refuse her at the door. Bucky could slam it right in her face if that’s what he wanted to do. She just hoped  he wouldn’t, because the thought had her already aching heart hurting even more. It was a pain, like someone jabbed a red hot poker straight into her chest, causing her breath to hitch and her heart to tighten.

Wrapping her arms around herself she found her way out of her room and down the hall. Her pace was slow and cautious, giving her every opportunity to turn around. To slink silently back to her room and pretend everything was fine, like everything was just fucking peachy, like she usually pretended to do. But Calin wasn’t about facing anytime soon, there was a part of her, deep down, that wanted to see what he’d do. After all she had done for him, would he even reciprocate a fraction of that back to her, even if it was only for a moment? Because a moment was all she needed, a moment to wipe her mind and try to start fresh. To reset herself.

The short trek down to the end of the hall had Calin stopping in front of his bedroom door.  Typically she would have just reached for the knob to let herself in. And the path she had just taken had been so ingrained in her mind from the years of following it, she actually found her hand reaching for the handle. However she stopped herself, just before her fingers touched the metal, knowing it wouldn’t be appropriate. Instead her knuckles gently rapped on the wooden door softly. The sound barely audible, but she knew he would be able to hear it.

She stood there quietly, arms still wrapped around her aching body, waiting… and waiting. When he didn’t answer she knocked once again, this time slightly harder. But with each passing second she knew her stupid idea had become a horrible idea. Bucky never even made an attempt to come to the door. There was no movement  or shuffling around, just the low garbled sound from the television.

Frowning to herself, Calin finally turned around and started the seemingly long walk of shame back to her room. At least no one was around to see the dejected look on her face at the moment. If Tony had been watching he would have made sure everyone, and she meant everyone, knew about what an idiot she was for even thinking for one second Bucky Barnes truly cared. He’d happily spend thousands of dollars for banners, balloons and probably a fucking parade, if it meant telling her ‘I told you so’. He had warned Calin numerous times from the start about Bucky, she just never saw what Tony did. The Bucky Tony knew wasn’t the same man that became her friend… at least that’s what she thought originally. But she was wrong, she had just been used until the convenience wore off. Just like HYDRA, only needed when they deem the situation useful.

Calin couldn’t contain the low growl that escaped her mouth as she continued down the hallway. Her fists balling at her side so tightly, her knuckles turned a ghostly shade of white as a new wave of betrayal and anger consuming herself. She needed to calm down, especially after that fucking nightmare which her body was still coming down from. It wouldn’t take much to set her over, and with Bucky refusing to help, Calin knew it was only a matter of time before she’d crack. A monster can only be contained so much before the constant pounding on the glass barrier between it and her shattered. And oh boy was it on the near brink of shattering currently.

“Calin, what are you doing up?” She had been so busy in her head, she never saw Steve round the corner nearly running into one another.

Even from where he stood Steve could see she wasn’t alright. Her normal sun kissed skin had turned to a sickly shade of white. So pale that it seemed like she hadn’t seen the sun in years. Sweat beaded on her forehead in tiny droplets, only vanishing when she used her sleeve to wipe them away. Even her eyes were darker, the usual jovial Calin was now shadowed by a version that sent chills up his own spine.

“Couldn’t sleep.” She answered simply.

“Kid you don’t look alright,” Steve carefully started to reach for her, wanting to push a wayward strand of dampened hair  out of her eyes. But her hand moved at an inhuman speed to grip his wrist, stopping it in midair.

“I… I just had a nightmare, nothing to worry about.” She cautiously let go of his hand, knowing Steve was ever the worrier and would do all in his power to figure out what was wrong.

Narrowing his eyes slightly at her hunched form, he settled his hand back at his side. Steve knew she had a past, one that would give anyone nightmares. Not unlike Bucky, she was found in a HYDRA facility, but by Tony several years back. She had been locked in a four by four cell… if he could even call it that. It was hardly big enough for his former self, let alone a girl who shared his current height. Tony never did figure out what they had been doing with her, by the time he arrived files had been burned and people who knew anything shot. And it wasn’t like Calin was ever going to tell them. She had refused to speak on the subject, even to this day. When ever the topic was brought up, she would get agitated, on the verge of meltdowns sometimes. To top it all off, the mere mention of being checked over by the doctors had her locked in her room for days until finally Tony gave up.

The guy had a soft spot for the girl, and even if she didn’t recognize it, Tony loved her like a daughter. He’d spend any amount of money to help, but you can’t help someone that doesn’t want it.

That’s why Steve assumed Calin and Bucky were so close. They shared a similar history, a similar story that tied them together on a level no one else could ever be. The friendship had grown so quickly, even Steve was surprised. But in the past weeks it had seemed to crumble away to nothing. Years of being friends thrown away, over what? He’d never know. Bucky shrugged off his concern when he noticed their pull several weeks back, but even then Steve knew his friend was keeping something from him. Whatever it is was Calin must have been at the receiving end, for she turned cold quickly, refusing to address Buck at all, she barely even glanced his direction.

She was hurting, and the worst part was she’s prefer to suffer in silence. Years of HYDRA brainwashing he supposed.

“Come on Kid, I have a nice hard wooden floor calling your name.” Steve gave her a small smile, hoping it would lift her spirits.

Calin knew her friend was only concerned for her well being. Steve would always be a constant positive presence in her life whether she wanted it or not. So when he offered her a spot on the floor she returned his small smile. “I would very much appreciate that.” Running an absent minded hand through her disheveled hair.

Steve shrugged softly, leaning over tentatively wrapping a strong arm around her shoulder, pulling her against his side. When he noticed no sign of protest he relaxed a bit. His hand rubbing up and down the length of her upper arm through the thick damp fabric of one of his old faded hoodies, trying his best to soothe her wandering mind. He was taking a page from Bucky, cause it always seemed to calm her down to some extent.

“Steve?” Calin quietly called out as they began their journey towards his room.

“What is it kid?” Tilting his head he watched her from the corner of his eyes. Seeing Calin take a few swallow breaths, the hand at her side stiffen a bit.

There was an inner monologue being spoken silently as she continued to walk. One that she wasn’t entirely sure she wanted to say out loud. She was torn between suffering in silence or being a normal human for once and just telling them she needed help. But the thoughts, the visions of her friends dead at her feet, the blood on her hands. To wake up after her demon finally broke through her last wall of resolve and to see that. It was a sobering moment that had her stopping in her tracks. Turning so she could look at Steve.

“I…. I need help.” It was a statement so unlike her Steve wasn’t even sure he heard Calin correctly. “It’s getting worse everyday, and Bucky isn’t around to help. I’m on the verge of cracking, Steve, and if I do… I don’t know if you guys could stop me.” Her voice got increasingly more pleading. Knowing this was really her only chance at conveying her issues.

Steve sighed softly, pulling the girl into his chest, Calins body tensing a bit at the sudden intimate contact but soon relaxing against him. “We’ll talk with Tony and Bruce in the morning, if anyone can help it will be them, ok?” Calin nodded her head silently, Steve was right the two might be able to help. But deep down she knew that likelihood was slim. “Do you want me to get Buck? He cares you know, no matter what is going on between the two of you right now. He’d be here if he knew you were hurting like this.”

Calin shook her head from the moment the word Bucky spilled out of Steve’s mouth. “No… I don’t need to bother him.” It was a lie, a big fat fucking lie but it was clear Bucky didn’t care. And a part of her didn’t want to break Steves vision of his best friend.

“Ok, if you’re certain.” Tugging her body easily, Steve had them walking back down the hall again heading towards the elevator. He was just thankful his room was only two floors above.

Bucky had just returned from the kitchen with a glass of water when he heard voices. His brows furrowing instantly, recognizing the two starkly different tones even before he peered around the corner. What he didn’t expect was to hear Calin so defeatedly say they didn’t have to bother him. She could bother him all she wished, and he wouldn’t even care. He craved it actually, this month break bullshit that his nightmares started was wearing him down. Bucky needed her, even if it took being strapped down in vibranium restraints every night so he wouldn’t hurt her. He would do anything at the moment.

It hurt him to watch Steve comfort his girl, something Bucky should be doing. He might have never expressed his true feelings to her, but she was his, on levels no one else could ever come close to.  It caused his metal arm to whir softly as his fist clenched, watching Steve wrapping an arm around her as they spoke. Touching was a gestured earned by trust, it took Bucky almost a year to even be able to hug the girl. He knew what was acceptable and what would make her flinch. Skin to skin was still a no fly zone, he had tried to trace her bare back with his metal hand one afternoon hoping to feel her heat even more than usual. The instant she felt her sweatshirt being tugged on, it was a whirlwind of panic. Bucky nearly lost his arm again that day.

Steve didn’t know those unspoken rules, he didn’t know what Calin needed… Bucky did.

As Bucky watched them slowly disappear down the hall, he let out a sigh. He vowed to himself that he’d get her back, make her understand why he did what he did. Things he should have done to begin with, instead of being an idiot. Bucky knew it was going to be a struggle,  Calin had been expertly evading him since the day he asked for the stupid break.

He’d get his girl back, even if it was going to be the end of him.

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[thecupcakeconsumer]

Seeing Red pt. 1 - Injection

A/N: Welcome to part one of a five-part series about the same Claybourne reader and Hi as my others. Enjoy!

Part 1 (You are here!) | Part 2 | Part 3 | Part 4 | Part 5

Request: @writers-block0o0​ asked for some more with the same Claybourne reader, with the question “what if she was a Viral too?” She's still Hi's girlfriend, but this is less about them as a couple and more about her!

Navigation: Masterlist is here.

Taglist: @writers-block0o0​. Tell me if you want to be added, because I’d love to add you.

Summary: Something's up with your half-brother, and there's no telling what it is. With his new job at Candela Pharmaceuticals, you expect him to be concerned with his work, but that doesn't explain how much time he's been spending in your father's study.

Warnings: There's no swearing in here! Not that I can tell, anyway, which is really quite surprising. However, it does contain needles, blood mentions, and vomiting, so there's always that.

Word Count: 2,345. Yes, really.

Other Notes: Female reader, and yes, this will have a part two! (Spoiler alert: it’s going to be a series.)

Something was up with Chance Claybourne.

Living almost alone with his half-sister, one didn't see him much around the house, but recently he had spent a suspiciously long amount of time in his father's study.

Our father's study, you tried to remind yourself, padding along the hallway in your socks, exhausted.

You walked by the door to the study, before pausing a moment and putting your ear to the door.

“Useless!” muttered Chance under his breath, the distinct thump on the desk what could only be him hitting it. “It makes no sense.”

Footsteps that started to near the door signaled not only that your brother was wearing shoes in the house, but that he was going to exit, and you scrambled away from the door, walking back so it would appear that you were approaching the study again.

The door swung open, hitting the wall with a loud bang, and Chance stormed out, startling when he saw you so close before starting to near you.

Backing away instinctively, you asked nervously, “Chance, why are yo- what's that in your hand?”

The long metal tip that was pointed out from his hand could only have been that of a syringe, and, terrified, you yelped as he pushed you against the wall.

“I'm sorry.”

He knocked you up the back of your head, sharply forcing your head forward and causing you to black out for a moment from the sudden loss of oxygen to your brain.

When you came to a few moments later, you were on the floor, your brother nowhere to be seen, and feeling the same as you had a moment ago but trepidation crawling its way through your skin.

What did he to to me?

Walking into the kitchen the next day after school, your eyes darted around the room, looking for what was out of place in the usually spotless room.

You saw it.

Raw ground beef, unwrapped but still on its tray, dripping.

Gross.

Who would leave that out? Unless it was a subliminal message telling you to cook dinner, there was no reason to have such a thing on the counter.

It looks good.

You froze, your eyes focusing on it, the urge making you want to vomit.

No, no, no, that's disgusting, there is no way I'm eating that. Realizing suddenly how close you had come, standing in front of the counter before even knowing that you had moved, you backed away.

To the other side of the counter.

Out of the room, for good measure.

What was that?

You walked decisively to your room, closing the curtains, before sitting down on your bed and pulling out your homework, hoping to take your mind off of what had just happened.

It was a shame that algebra wasn't intellectually stimulating enough to absorb you fully and keep you from your thoughts.

What had just happened in the kitchen was most definitely not normal. While it was a tendency of yours to check what was in the fridge right after getting home from school, you never would have pulled out any raw meats, nor noticed them as you just had.

So what had it been that possessed you in that instant, to think that the globs that were useless unless cooked were something that you wanted to eat?

“Y/N?”

“Chance?” What are you doing home? “Buzz off.”

You were still mad at him over what had happened yesterday, though you still weren't sure of how much of that you had imagined. After all, since what happened with the Gamemaster, you had had far too many intrusive thoughts and imagined being knocked out by a stranger in a thousand ways.

It wouldn't have been the first time.

Then, “I thought you were working late?”

“I got off early.”

It seemed too convenient.

“When did you get home?”

“Just a couple of minutes before you.”

“You left something on the counter.”

“Did I? I'm surprised you noticed.”

You scowled at the door suspiciously before proceeding to ignore the person on the other side in favor of silently wondering why he had been acting so strange recently without his voice to prompt more questions.

Lunch had never been so awkward as it was here, sitting with Ben, Tory, Shelton and, of course, Hi, and it certainly wasn't because of the conversation.

Oh, no. While it wasn't always interesting, the attitudes of everyone made any discussion topic into something far more passionate than it usually was. That wasn't the problem.

The problem was that you couldn't bring yourself to eat the food in front of you, and the first bite of your salad had almost made you gag.

In fact, you'd been nauseous even before that, almost passing out in the hall and catching yourself just in time on your way to the cafeteria.

“He was too,” argued Hi, as you tuned in to the conversation, before pulling out his English textbook, turning to the page on which Shakespeare's portrait was and holding it up to his face. “Wherefore art thou, oh opium? A poppy by any other name would taste as sweet. Perhaps I doth need to eat some more of this.”

Shelton and Tory snickered while Ben groaned at his impression of the English poet, complete with a ridiculous accent, but you didn't even crack a smile.

“Y/N?” Hi poked you on the arm which was holding up your head. “That was hilarious. Why aren't you laughing?”

“Sorry, it was so funny I forgot to laugh,” you replied bitterly, glaring at the back of some random student's head for lack of any better place to look.

Your boyfriend looked from you to Ben. “She's behaving like you, Blue. Which can only mean one thing, and that's that you infected her with your updog!”

“Shut up, Hi. That didn't work the last fifty times, what makes you think it'll work now?”

At least I'm not the only person in a foul mood. Shame it wasn't as common for you as it was for the oldest of your friend group.

“I'm going to the washroom,” you announced abruptly, standing and ignoring how you almost collapsed.

“Don't fall in! I love you but there's a line!” called Hi as you left.

Though grateful for the quiet that started to bring back your appetite, it certainly wasn't a salad that you were hungering for.

Like the other day, all that you wanted was meat, and the very thought was disconcerting as you turned and entered the bathroom, going to the sink and washing your hands, hoping the coolness of the water would help to jerk you back into reality.

Looking up at the mirror, what you saw caused you to blink rapidly, not convinced that it could be real.

You leaned forward to try and see more clearly what you had thought you had seen – a fringe of vibrant red around your iris, the flecks seeming to fade before your, well, eyes.

I must be imagining things.

“Y/N?” Tory frowned at you concernedly from the doorway of the bathroom, startling you. “Everything okay? That time of the month?”

Desperate for any way to explain what was happening, you found yourself nodding in agreement.

“Want some chocolate?”

Chocolate. The very thought was repulsive for some reason, tinging your skin with green as the nausea you had managed to distract yourself from worked its way to the surface, and you scrambled to move into a stall before chucking up what little you had managed to eat.

“This isn't just your period, is it?” asked Tory, holding back your hair. “Does it have something to do with Hi? You’re not as you usually - did the two of you?” 

“Jesus Christ, no! I think it's just a stomach bug. Probably just a twenty-four hour thing. I'll stop in at the nurse's office and get some Pepto, I should be fine.”

“Can I grab you anything? Are you sure you want to stay the rest of the day?” If there was one thing that could be said for Victoria Brennan, it was that she cared – and while her compassion was a comfort on most days, right now you just wanted her to leave you alone. “Do you want to come back and sit with us?”

Shaking your head, you replied, “I'll be fine. I think I'm just going to walk around a little bit before class starts.”

“What should I tell the boys?”

“I don't care. I'm in a dramatic love affair with Jason Taylor and you caught us in a steamy make out session in the science lab,” you suggested sarcastically, before moving to the door and leaving to collect your thoughts.

Privately.

What's Jason got that I don't? was the first thing you saw upon opening your phone, a joking text from Hi that he had sent at lunch.

You were seated in the passenger seat of Chance's car, the drive seeming excessively long, when it happened.

Time seemed to freeze for a moment and begged you to let it go faster, to give in to something distinctively animal, and without hesitation you embraced it.

Your vision seemed to clear, and you caught your reflection in the mirror, eyes gleaming red.

Shit.

It wasn't just your imagination. Something was distinctly wrong, and you turned to stare pointedly out the window, desperate to ensure that your brother wouldn't notice.

The drive home was too short. You couldn't risk whatever sort of episode you were having not ending before you got there.

You needed a different destination, and quick.

What Tory had said earlier was what first came to mind.

“I need to go to the drug store.”

Even looking out the window, you could practically feel your brother's suspicious glance. “Why?”

“I need supplies.”

“What supplies?” he pressed.

“Supplies,” you emphasized, hearing the breath Chance sucked in as he realized what you meant.

It might make the awkward drive longer, but it would give you more time to try and snap out of whatever you were going through, the car's air freshener becoming so suffocating that you rolled down the window.

Whatever you were going through, it was suspiciously close to what Hi had described when he was talking to you about flaring, and that was what scared you the most.

How would he react?

How does he snap out of this? Once he had described how slapping Ben in the face had ended a flare, and experimentally, you lifted your leg before violently jamming it against the bottom of the glovebox.

SNUP

Well, that worked well.

“You good?” asked Chance, voice tentative as if somehow the implication that you were on your period made you suddenly prone to lashing out at any given opportunity.

Eyes no longer red, you turned to meet his. “Yes. Just fine.”

As if. Something was wrong. And considering that it probably had something to do with whatever he had done to you the other day, it was probably best if you didn't tell him.

For some reason, the syringe didn't seem so much like your imagination any more.

Eleven o'clock, the numbers at the top of your phone screen read.

Late. Late enough that nobody would see you for several more hours.

Late enough that it was safe to slip out of bed and go into the bathroom, turning on the light and closing the door before turning to the mirror.

Before you lost your courage, you closed your eyes, trying to summon the feeling that had overwhelmed you in the car.

Animal. Letting go of what you thought was right, forgetting about school.

Forgetting about everything but your instincts.

It came almost too easily.

SNAP

Flare.

You inhaled deeply, the smell of the bar of soap in the dish on the counter sharp and bitter, eyes now able to distinguish the slimmest of cracks threatening to form in the porcelain of the sink.

It was exhilarating. It was wild.

And it was terrifying how easily it had come.

“Y/N Claybourne,” you whispered, your name seeming twice as loud as it should have been in the otherwise silent room, all of your senses heightened.

There was no hiding from it. Something was wrong with you.

Something that seemed suspiciously similar to what the Virals had been going through, but your eyes weren't yellow.

They were red as blood.

It hadn't taken several days. It had come on almost instantly, but with the same symptoms.

Just… more control.

What is it? It couldn't be the same as what Hi and Ben and Shelton and Tory had gone through, but it was remarkably similar. It couldn't be the same virus - that had been eliminated along with Dr. Karsten.

It has something to do with Chance.

Shuddering as you felt bile rise to your throat, you turned off the light, the only thing you could see in the darkness the haunting reflection of the red eyes in the mirror, taunting you with questions that you weren't sure you could trust anyone to answer.

Frustrated, your fist reeled back, thumb on the outside as you Ben had taught you, before ramming into the glass of the mirror and shattering it.

SNUP

Your amplified strength had caused it to break with far more force than anticipated, shards starting to fall into the sink and the sharp pain enough to kill your flare. 

What was that?

You sucked in a ragged breath, blood starting to drip from your hand, before turning away, unlocking the bathroom door and crying out as you find a breathless Chance on the other side.  

“Are you okay?”

“Fine,” you bit out, fighting the urge to look over your shoulder. “I'm going to bed.”

And with that, you pushed past him, ignoring his calls and idly brushing your hand to remove the shards of glass.

Breaking a mirror, you were alright with him finding.

Why? Not so much.

Let's hope he never finds out.

You could only pray that he wouldn't notice how much more force it took to make such a break than you possessed.

A/N: That’s done. And there we go! Thanks for reading. Leave a like or comment? Part two is here!