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mellowsaturns · 1 year

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in losing grip, on sinking ships (you showed up just in time)

BUCKY BARNES X FEM!READER

summary: when the avengers pick up unusual activity, they realize that not all of hydra was destroyed. one unidentifiable face sends the team into a frenzy but bucky knows it. he could recognize those eyes anywhere.

warnings: heavy angst, one sided enemies-to-lovers-ish, hydra!assassin!reader, hurt/comfort, happy ending, brainwashing, trauma, guns & knives, fighting, implied kidnapping of reader when young, all the feels, misunderstandings, poor attempt at writing action

wc: 4.7k

a/n: sorry it’s been forever but i hope my fellow buckyluvrs are still here <3 i actually wrote this a long time ago but never got around to editing until recently so i guess you can say this is (from the vault) ? inspired by the idea: what-if there was another winter soldier and bucky finds himself in steve’s position this time trying to get you back to him. anyways, i hope you enjoy this one :)

Bucky’s life was a never ending montage of gunfire and bloodshed. It didn’t matter if he was under the clutches of someone else, he still lived through the wars—the lingering smell of smoke and tang of metallic forever ingrained in his senses.

And just when he thought it was finally over—a glimmer of peace at last—it comes and steals that dream away from him.

Like deja-vu, he’s looking at faces that were once responsible for his pain.

On the screen, three Hydra officers stare back at him. All faces identified by Tony’s system. Alive. Last seen in the outskirts of some small country in Europe. Irrelevant low ranking officials that had managed to survive the fall of S.H.I.E.L.D and have been hiding and secretly continuing Hydra’s mission underground ever since. Low officials or not, it was one too many.

Bucky freezes in his spot when Tony swipes the screen. The billionaire goes on a rant saying this particular face cannot be identified, which was according to Tony, bullshit because his face recognition system is the best in the world. The rest of the team is arguing and flipping through countless files and internet archives. But Bucky knows. He knows that face and those haunting eyes that he still sees in his dreams.

“Buck,” a voice calls out. “You know her, don’t you?”

He looks up at Steve from his spot, his best friend's face worried and all knowing.

One thing about Hydra was that they were always prepared. They had backups and multiple plans ready, or else how would two heads take its place when one was cut off? Unfortunately for the world, Hydra managed to make another deadly assassin, one whose work was so discreet and nimble that even intelligence didn't know they existed.

You were a ghost story that lived in the shadows of the Winter Soldier. You were another one of Hydra’s prize possessions—less known, but just as deadly.

With Steve’s comment, all eyes are now on Bucky. A pregnant pause fills the air and he gulps before he confesses, “I wasn’t the only one.”

The room becomes tense. The war that they thought was over suddenly looms over like an unpredicted oncoming storm. “Jesus Christ, Barnes. You couldn’t have informed us about her earlier?” says Tony.

“I thought,” he says, shifting his eyes onto the ground, “I thought she fell with S.H.I.E.L.D.”

Bucky couldn’t find you anywhere after he escaped their grasp. After he joined the Avengers, he tried once again secretly using Tony’s technology but it was to no avail—it always ended up being a dead end. And for that, he assumed Hydra had put you out of your misery the day they were caught.

But the face on the screen says otherwise. And suddenly, Bucky feels very guilty.

Steve clears his throat, “Well, they were picked up not too long ago heading north. If we leave now, we might be able to find them and stop them once and for all.”

Everyone looks at each other, debating on his proposal. “What the Captain said. Everybody, suit up. Quinjet leaves in ten,” says Tony.

On the jet, Bucky stares off into space but countless questions run through his mind.

Steve walks over and sits beside him. “What’s going on in that head of yours?” he asks, voice quiet.

Bucky sighs, “I just… I thought she was gone.”

“Hey, it’s not your fault. You didn’t know.”

He looks up, wondering if he should tell Steve the truth. That he’s not brooding about the fact that he concealed you to them. After a moment, Bucky speaks up. “When we get there, let me handle her. Please.”

Steve didn’t know what kind of history Bucky had with you. But judging from the look his best-friend is giving, it’s more than what Steve could understand or even comprehend but he trusts Bucky and so, he gives him a nod. “She’s all yours.”

After scouting the area and tracing the location to a very hidden underground warehouse in the middle of nowhere, they split up. The warehouse was dark and dusty, surely abandoned, but Bucky knew better—it was their facade behind the most sinister of activities. Through the comms, Natasha announces that she has already taken care of all the troops in the West wing. Moments later, Sam reports that he has eliminated one of the Hydra officers. They wouldn’t last long. Hydra didn’t have much resources or time to rebuild—their current empire was weak, they were no match for the Avengers this time.

The only person Bucky’s truly worried about is you. The fact that he trained you, made you into what you were today already gave him the chills. He’s not the Winter Soldier anymore, but he was certain that you were still in that killer mindset that Hydra forced upon you.

Step by step, Bucky walks through the quiet hallway, the echoes of his footsteps the only noise. It’s cold here, he notices, which gives him flashbacks to those days in his dirty cell and the cryostasis chamber. Down a hallway to the next, round a corner and another, there wasn’t a single soul in the eerily Eastern wing.

But he spoke too soon, because seconds later, a garrote wire was around his neck. The swift invisible steps and the perfect pressure that was being used to quickly cut off his air supply was all too familiar. He knows this move, he taught this move. You’re here, and you’re dragging him backwards.

Before all oxygen gets cut off to his brain, he jabs his elbow backwards and hits you hard on the rib which releases the hold you have on him and sends you stumbling back. Bucky takes a moment to regain his breath but you’re on your feet again. He looks at you and for a moment he freezes, then you let out a sinister grin. “Nice to see you again, Soldat,” you taunt, before running towards him.

Bucky’s deflecting your punches one after another. Maybe he’s glad he was the one who taught you everything you know because your moves were predictable—if it were another person, there is no doubt they would’ve been on the ground with multiple concussions bleeding out already. You’re ruthless when you do a triple roundhouse kick on him. On the fourth one, he manages to catch your leg and twists it, sending you to the ground with a groan.

How familiar this scene was, Bucky thinks.

Some forty-years ago, Hydra brought a woman into the training room. There was no further instruction than to train you and that’s what he did. He could tell you were well trained already—compliant and pliable. You were good. And you were just like him, injected with a serum that made you a hundred times more efficient and stronger. In just under a year, Hydra would start sending you on missions. Sometimes with him, sometimes alone.

During training, the both of you would spar for hours, leaving each other bloody and bruised, but it didn’t matter to the overlookers, the both of you would heal in a few hours anyways.

Once you pick yourself back up, he pulls a gun out on you. “Stop this,” he commands.

You smirk, “You going to shoot me, Soldat? I want to see you try.”

He clenches his jaw. You continue to look at him, a dark look on your face that shows no sign of true recognition.

His thoughts are disrupted when you tackle him onto the ground. You kick his gun away and pin his arms down as you straddle him. “I’m going to kill you,” you declare, “I’m going to put a bullet through your head.”

When he looks up at you, your eyes are full of rage. Bucky doesn’t know whether that’s the brainwashed version of you talking or the actual you talking—maybe both.

“What are you going to do after you kill me?” he says, irritated. C’mon, please recognize me. “This is all that remains of Hydra. Half the troops are already dead. One of your new leaders is dead. In a few hours, Hydra will be no more. What will you do after that? What are you going to do after you kill me?”

“What does it matter? You’re my mission. I’m going to finish it.”

He groans at your stubbornness that was identical to his Soldier persona.

He says your name slowly. “Get off. You can walk away from this.”

You frown, but he continues, “I know how you feel. You’re feeling helpless.” He clears his throat, “There’s someone behind this version of you. I want to talk to her.”

“What are you talking about?” you utter in annoyance. “Stop stalling.”

He says that name again, with calamity and care. You want to rip out his tongue.

“Let me talk to her. Please.”

“I don’t know who you’re talking about!” you shout, grabbing for the gun that’s strapped onto your waist. “Stop talkin–”

“I was in the cell next to yours. You liked the colour green. You were wearing white when we first met. You always wanted to visit Bucharest. You hated the leaky cold showers in the Siberian facility,” he rambles, trying to remember every single thing about you in a desperate attempt to get your attention so this version of you won’t shoot him in the face.

And for a moment, it works because your hand freezes on the grip of your gun. He takes that moment to flip you over, so you’re under him now, hands pinned above your head. He takes your gun and throws it behind him.

You snarl at him while trying to escape his grasp. “I know you’re under there,” he says. “Please, come through. Please talk to me.”

Your face scrunches in pain, not from him—he would never hurt you—but from the mental warfare that’s currently going on in your mind. You close your eyes as he speaks again. “Listen to my voice, you know me, don’t you? мой милая.”

My darling.

For a moment, your entire body tenses up and then you let out a painful breath. When your eyelids start to flutter open, he finally sees the eyes he came to know and rely on—eyes he came to love.

The both of you are looking at each other unblinking. A scene neither of you expected but always dreamt about.

You break the silence with a whisper of, “James?”

Bucky slowly nods at your disbelief. Finally, he thinks. But such respite doesn’t last long, because seconds later, you hook your foot under his and flip him over and escape his grasp.

There's darkness in your eyes and he can tell that the Soldate is back and the fighting resumes.

You’re chasing him down the twisting hallway and when you catch up, you grab his shoulder and throw a punch to his jaw. He stumbles back and then a voice comes through the comms.

“Just took down the second one.” Steve. “Bucky, how are you holding up? You’ve been quiet ever since we split up.”

He’s trying his best to block your hand, which now has a damn pocket knife. Your quick movements are starting to tire him out. Maybe he taught you too well, he thinks.

“Buck? Bucky. Confirm your status, right now.”

Groaning in frustration, he taps his earpiece. “I’m fine,” he grunts. A second later, “Shit!” he huffs out as you nearly slice his face.

“You don’t sound fine. Is she with you? I’m sending back up.”

“No!” he says, “Don’t send anyone. I can handle her.”

In truth, he’s struggling right now—your stamina has always been better than his—but he’s worried that you’re going to accidentally get hurt and even more agitated when people appear. His main priority was keeping you safe. Fuck the mission statement they talked about back on the Quinjet.

You’re angry—no, you’re extremely angry at him. It doesn’t take a genius to tell. It’s a mixture of pure rage from both the brainwashed and actual you.

He supposed he deserved it. You should be angry. Because for the longest time, it was you and him.

Other than turning you into a ruthless assassin just like him, an unexpected companionship also formed during those hazy in-between moments when the two of you weren’t frozen or on the metal chair getting fried by those machines—during the times when he was just Bucky and you were just you, two unfortunate innocent souls that shared the same suffering.

They weren’t pleasant moments. It was dehumanising. It was getting shoved into draughty cells with nothing but a blanket until it was time to train or time to embark on a mission. Luckily, your cells were next to each other and it made the endless nights a little more bearable. He was a little off-putting at first, but when he yelled at you to stop crying because they would torture you even more for it, you knew he meant well.

During your shared time together, glimpses of your true selves would seldom come up and you would tell each other about the little bits and pieces of a life once known. And the both of you would hold onto each other's memories and stories in case the other forgets.

And whenever they prep the two of you for the chamber due to there being no current missions for the time being, the two of you would look at each other—a look of longing with the secret squeezing of each other's hand before going under.

Despite the absolute awful situation the two of you were in at the time, the both of you were hopeful for the next shared moments together. Because even when all hope was gone, you had each other. And that was good enough for the two of you.

He misses you. So damn much.

“Shut up,” you mutter.

He didn’t even realise he said it outloud. “Well, I do,” he admits, his back hitting a wall.

“You talk too much, Soldat,” you say, creeping up on him. “I ought to cut your throat.”

“I’m sorry I left you with them.”

You halt in your steps and your jaw ticks. In a second, you pounce on him, your knife against his throat. He’s gripping your hand to stop you from continuing your job.

He says your name again. You’re pushing but he’s pushing back just as hard. “I’m sorry…” he repeats, “I’m so sorry.”

The desperation in his voice… You glance up at him slowly and he sees the pink forming in your eyes and your trembling lips. “What are you doing? What are you doing to me?” you whisper.

He sees the internal war behind your eyes once again. Bucky gulps for a moment before letting go of your hand, trusting that you won’t do any actual harm, and moves his hands so he’s cupping your face, firm enough so you’re forced to look at him. You look into his eyes for a second, then a minute, and for a moment, everything stops. Your breath hitches, because those eyes… those arctic blues… you know them. You fell in love with them many years ago.

A realisation washes over your face, one that Bucky doesn’t miss. You’re back.

The first tear falls. Then the second. “Bucky.”

“Hey, sweetheart,” he whispers.

You let out a small cry before you press the blade harder against his neck, your grip a vice from his betrayal. He could feel the sharp cold metal pierce through his skin ever so slightly, but he doesn’t try and stop you.

“Give me a reason to not kill you right now,” you grit through tears. “You left me. You left me behind to rot alone. You promised me. You fucking promised,” you say, voice laced with venom and so much hurt.

Bucky’s heart breaks at the sadness of your voice. Because he did promise. There wasn’t much to do in the cells other than throw around false hope. But whenever he told you he was going to escape one day and that he was going to take you with him—it didn’t feel like false promises at all because it wasn’t, and you knew it too.

Until he broke that promise and left you all alone.

“I didn’t mean to,” he says, voice breaking. “I didn’t mean to leave you there with them.”

“I waited for you,” you cry. “Day and night I waited for you to come back. Even when they relocated, I waited for you because I knew you’d find me.”

You remember that day clearly. Everyone was in a frenzy when the death of Alexander Pierce broke out and that they could not locate the Soldat. For a moment, you could taste your own freedom because government officials would come anytime now and finally arrest all these criminals. But right when they came, a few Hydra officers managed to escape and took you with them, and when you woke up, you didn’t know where the hell you were. But even then you didn’t lose hope because James Buchanan “Bucky” Barnes, the name you committed to memory, was going to come for you just like he promised.

Until days, months, and eventually, a year came with no sign of him.

You were angry at first, but it slowly turned into worry because what if something bad had happened to him? But what do you know? You were stuck in this building and only went out whenever they spoke those trigger words to you. And you were always under their watchful eyes, giving you no chance to even attempt an escape. Surely he would never break his promise to you so something must’ve happened to him, you told yourself multiple times.

But he was standing here right in front of you. Alive. We’re under attack, your handler said to you moments ago, Kill the Soldat before he kills you.

“You’re a liar. You never cared about me,” you hiss.

Sometimes, it got too much. But whenever reality was a bit too hard to endure, Bucky was there, always reaching his hand out to you through the metal cage, which you took and held tight. And it meant the world to you, that someone cared.

“All those moments, did it even mean anything to you?”

He uses this opportunity to pull your arms down slightly, knife finally away from his neck and his eyes start to sting from his own tears. “They meant everything to me. I care about you.”

You look up at him with a defeated expression and Bucky never wanted to punch himself in the face more. “Then why? Why didn’t you come back for me?”

“I did,” he chokes out. “When I escaped, the first thing I did was go back for you, but the facility had already been raided and there was no one there. I checked every inch of the building.”

Bucky had never felt so scared, because what if the government took you too? They would never understand—framing you as a villain even though that was far from the truth. But there was no news of your capture, so with a breath of relief, Bucky continued to look through other known Hydra facilities.

“I tried my best looking for you, but I also had to be careful because I was a wanted man at the time. When months passed by and there were no clues, I thought that maybe you had escaped. I was in Bucharest waiting for you. Remember how you said you always wanted to go there? I knew that if you escaped, you’d find me there. Even when you didn’t show, I never gave up. Steve… I think I told you about him once—he found me, he helped me and cleared my name. After that, I still searched for you but it all ended up being dead ends. And…” he pauses for a moment, “and so I thought you were dead. I should’ve tried harder. I’m sorry.”

He had mourned you and blamed himself endlessly for it.

He knows he should’ve asked for help, but instead, he took this task upon himself until it got too much—because that was the one thing he struggled with the most, asking for help.

When his side of the story finally comes to light, you break into a sob. “I don’t expect you to forgive me,” he says, “but please, drop the weapon and let me help you.”

You swallow hard at his confession. He never stopped looking for you. You didn’t even consider how hard it must’ve been for him after everything and yet you’re lashing out on him.

“How are you going to help me?” you say. “I’m a mess. All you have to do is say those words and I turn into a weapon.”

Twelve. Ember. Fragment. Nine. Academy. Order. Frigid. Yearning. Blue.

Those were your trigger words.

“I got you out of your trance, didn’t I?” he says with a gentle smile.

Hydra needed you to rebuild their empire and they relied on those nine words to do so. To them, those nine words were your greatest weakness but one of them, the last one, the one they liked to spit out in vexation, was also your greatest strength—your salvation.

Blue.

You think back, moments prior, when all he had to do was use his voice and all you had to do was look into the blues of his eyes. Hydra can repeat those words all they want, but Bucky would always be able to bring you back.

At that, your grip relaxes and the knife finally drops onto the floor, it’s noise ricocheting off the walls.

“There’s a place called Wakanda and I know someone there who can help you. Her name’s Ayo and she’s amazing. She helped me overcome my words.”

He brings his hands back up to cradle your face and you shutter at the familiar touch—at the calluses on his palms. “And I think you’ll like it there. It’s quiet and there’s so much… green.”

You let out a small laugh through your tears but doubt still fills your mind. “But… all the things I did,” you whimper, “I did such terrible unforgivable things. There’s… there’s so much blood on my hands.”

Sadness flares around his heart. It was all so familiar. He knows the feeling.

“It’s not going to be easy. God knows how long it took for me to believe that none of it was my fault. But let me be the first one to tell you,” he says, wiping your tears away with his thumb. “None of what you did was your fault. You were a victim.” He swallows a deep breath, “There are going to be days where it’ll be too much too bear and there are going to be nights where all those casualties will haunt you,” he admits. “But… but you’ll get there. Someday, you’ll learn to stop punishing yourself for something you didn’t do.”

And he vows that he’ll help you every step of the way.

You breathe out slowly, digesting all his words. “You can trust me,” he tells you, “I won’t let you down this time. I’ll be here.”

Blinking up at him, the small hesitant part of you so desperately wanted to say, “How can I trust you?” but his eyes were telling you everything you needed to know. Because it was filled with nothing but honour and truth.

He breaks away from you and reaches out his hand. An invitation. You stare at it for a while, then you slowly lift yours and brush your fingers amongst his before grabbing it tightly—a truce of sorts, a promise. He squeezes back in return, a loving smile on his face, just like all those nights many moonlights ago.

Your breath hitches when he pulls you into his embrace, your face burying perfectly into the valley of his chest. He wraps his arms around you in urgency, in fear, almost afraid you’ll slip out if he doesn’t.

“It’s over,” he mumbles into your hair.

Because two floors down an explosion erupts, finishing off the last remaining garrison of troops. Three hallways down, Natasha sets fire to a room that contained the other small red leather book that held those nine suffocating words written in Russian. Outside, the last Hydra officer attempting to flee falls to his knees from an arrow to the chest. And the only hope they had left to rebuild their regime was safely in Bucky’s arms.

He pulls away and uses his thumb to rub gently across your cheek, “It’s over. The war is finally over.”

Now that the worst is over, Bucky’s hopeful. There will be other conflicts to come, that was just how it worked, but this one, the one that held you and him underwater for years was finally over. War always took too much, but this time, it gave something back. Because among the ashes and ruins you came back to him, no more oceans in between.

“What do we do now?” you press nervously. You were taken at a young age and spent years in the Red Room before you were sold off to Hydra. Like Bucky, you’re in the wrong time period, there’s no one to go back to.

There’s so many things you could do, Bucky thinks. You can finally start living the life you deserved, the life that was taken from you too early. He’ll have to explain all this to his teammates but he knows they’ll understand. They treated him so well, there’s no doubt they’ll show the same kindness for you. Then, he’ll go with you to Wakanda, get rid of the words, maybe stay there for a while so you could heal—maybe show you the goats he took care of during his time there.

You’ll probably adjust to the 21st century better than him—you won’t need to start off with a flip phone, that’s for sure. He’ll make you listen to all the great records and watch all the movies you missed out on. There’s so many things he wanted to do with you. He knows you have no memories, no recollection. It didn’t matter, Bucky thinks, he would make new memories with you, ones worth cherishing and remembering. If you’ll have him, of course.

But first and most importantly, “Let’s get you cleaned up, okay? Then we can talk about it,” he says, rubbing the grime off your nose.

He grabs your hand and heads for the exit. But before he does, you pick up your knife from the floor and in one quick motion, you spin around and throw it. The knife embeds itself into the wall a few metres away, right next to a prying face. You stand in front of Bucky and stare at the intruder with a murderous gaze and Bucky’s heart races at the thought of you still wanting to protect him after everything.

The blond raises his arms up in surrender.

“Steve,” Bucky says from behind and you briefly recognize that name. You turn around to look at him and he meets your eyes, nodding. You relax your stance.

“Hi,” Steve says, voice slightly hoarse. “I hope I didn’t interrupt anything.”

Bucky scoffs at him, as if he wasn’t eavesdropping the whole time.

Steve looks at the both of you, then a gentle smile adorns his face. “C’mon, the rest are waiting outside for you both.”

You step forward. This is it. Freedom. A new life. Bucky notices your hesitation as you suddenly stop in your tracks. Intertwining his fingers with yours, he squeezes with reassurance. You take a deep breath, then the two of you follow Steve to the exit, leaving behind the smoke and memories of your old life.

Outside, the sun comes up slowly but surely on the horizon, painting the awakening sky a gentle warm hue of oranges and pinks.

A new beginning awaits.

#bucky barnes x you #bucky barnes x reader #bucky barnes angst #bucky barnes fic #bucky barnes x y/n #bucky barnes fanfiction #bucky barnes oneshot #bucky barnes imagine #bucky #bucky barnes

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weird-is-life · 8 months

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steve request🩷🩷

soo reader is drunk and at a party. maybe someone at the party calls steve who is her bestie to come pick her up. he’s out with eddie, robin and nancy at the time and they go and pick her up. because she’s drunk she’s so clingy with steve and doesnt want to be away from him and the rest of the gang make fun of him for it. he loves it really tho🩷

Ty for the request, lovely💕! Hope this is okay, warnings: fluff, use of pet names, mentions of parties, drinking, getting left alone by friends at a party, (0.6k)

Steve finds you sitting with your head down on the stairs of the house. The closer he gets to you, the louder the music is and he winces as he remembers how he used live for these kind of parties.

Now looking at you, he can only think of it as something he hates. Sure, the dancing, the drinks are fun, but getting left alone by friends isn't. Steve can't even count, how many times he was left alone at some party. It's too many.

He hates that your friends left you alone, but he's glad you called him, because he can now make sure you're gonna be okay.

He approaches you carefully, so he doesn't scare you, "Hi, sweetheart."

You immediately cheer up, lifting your head up quickly. You smile big at him and basically throw yourself around his neck, almost knocking him to the ground.

"Woah, woah, I'm happy to see you, too," Steve chuckles and hugs you back.

"Stevie, what are you doing here?" you ask happily. You called Steve to pick you up, which you clearly don't remember anymore.

"I came to take you home," he tells you amused, "c'mon let's get you moving."

Steve stands both of you up and you don't let go off of him, even as he starts to walk you to the car. And he's okay with that, he doesn't mind, that you've leaned with almost your entire weight against him.

What gets him a little flustered are your words. You start whispering all kind of nice words, compliments to him, that he's sure, you would be too shy to say sober.

By the time, you get to the car, Steve's cheeks are burning. He curses under his breath, because he knows, he's going to be teased even before he steps a foot into the car.

And he's right. Straight away Eddie, Robin and Nancy grin at him. You notice the three of them and smile drunkenly at them.

"Hi guys, you came, too?" you ask as you plop yourself without a care in the world next to Robin sitting in the back seat.

"Hi babe, " Robin greets you, while Steve squeezes in the seat next to you.

Your attention immediately goes from Robin back to Steve. You slide closer to him, as close as you can and you almost end up sitting in his lap. They all laugh at that.

"I missed you, Stevie, " you whisper, or more like you tell him very loudly, so the whole car hears it. Steve chuckles, because you were together few hours ago.

"I missed you, too." Steve tells you and puts one arm around you. You snuggle impossibly closer to him.

"I didn't sign up for this cuddle session, when I agreed to drive," Eddie mutters from the front of the car.

"Sorry, Eds. Did you want a hug, too?" you ask innocently.

"No, no, it's okay, you just keep hugging Steve. Lord knows how much he loves it," Eddie teases Steve again and Steve just glares at him. But it's true. He loves being close to you, maybe it's because he loves you. And maybe he'd get to hold you close more often, if he had the guts to confess his feelings to you.

"I love it, too, Stevie," you state and hide your face into Steve's front. It takes you only a few minutes to fall asleep, completely at ease in Steve's arms.

Steve can only smile and hold you tightly, as the blush comes back to his cheeks. He ignores the teasing smirks and looks from everybody.

Steve will survive the teasing, if it means he gets to hold you close. Anytime.

#steve harrington x reader #steve harrington imagine #steve harrington fanfic #steve harrington x fem!reader #steve harrington fluff #steve harrington x y/n #steve harrington x you #steve harrington

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iwillneverforgiveyousunghanbin · 7 months

Text

bully⋆.ೃ࿔*:･

thursday, sung hanbin— poetry ii

⋆˙⟡ zbully1 smut series masterlist! hanbin, jiwoong, hao, matthew, and taerae included. game day (group) chapter here. all 7 endings here.

⋆˙⟡ wc: 3.5k (it's a doozy but it's worth it i literally am so happy with this one)

⋆˙⟡ reader: femme afab (listed first, she/her are used) // gender neutral (alternate version listed second, no pronouns used at all to describe reader— scroll down)

⋆˙⟡ series summary: five bullies. six days. it's gonna be a hell of a week, babe. stay hydrated.

⋆˙⟡ thursday summary: thursday. good news: the week is almost over. bad news: you're stuck in poetry class with sung hanbin as your desk partner. it's weird. sometimes you play off each other so well, you're nearly blindsided by his sudden flipping of the switch. if only you could steal a glimpse at his journal.

⋆˙⟡ warnings: explicit smut. 18+. minors do not interact. please read specific smut warnings under the cut! swearing. angst. slight dub-con. bullying. very toxic softboi/popular soccer star hanbinnie. guys THE LORE. you very well may not survive til the end of the week but we're already on this journey together so let's see it through!!! smut in gn and fem versions are slightly different due to logistics/circumstance. also there's two parts i wrote in here that made me laugh way too hard okay bye. xx

⋆˙⟡ bully scale: ★★★★☆(4.5)

EXPLICIT SMUT 18+ WARNINGS: choking (reader receiving and safely executed lmao), chest groping/brief nipple play (reader receiving; reader is wearing a bra and hanbin refers to you as having 'tits'), heavy petting (reader and hanbin receiving), fingering (brief, reader receiving), erotic humiliation and degradation (towards reader; about looseness of pussy after this week/disappointing chest but not the size of it he's just being a dick am i making sense), slut and whore used to describe reader, one slap across the face (reader receiving), slight dub-con but we know how reader rolls now lol. hanbin is insanely toxic. enjoy.

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scribble. scribble. scribble.

the scratchings of your pencil in your poetry journal are growing increasingly violent. you don’t really care. you’d stayed up all night: tossing and turning and thinking and plotting.

“hey, uh... you okay?” hanbin asks, tapping you gently with the end of his pen. your pencil falls from your fingers as you’re jolted from your anxious thought spiral.

“huh?” you reply, blinking at the star of the soccer team. “oh, um. yeah. i’m okay.”

hanbin’s brow raises slightly at your answer as if it surprises him. “you sure?”

“yeah,” you reply as nonchalantly as possible. “why?”

you follow hanbin’s line of sight to the open page of your poetry journal. you’ve absentmindedly ripped a significant hole through several pages with your vortex of nervous scribbling.

you breathe an awkward laugh, closing your journal and putting your pencil down flat on your desk.

“you had a rough week,” hanbin says, grabbing his journal from his bag and placing it on his desk. you bite your cheeks to keep from grinning at the sight of your target. “or so i’ve heard.”

“i’m sure you have,” you mumble, glancing at the tile floor. “i’m sure everybody has.”

“they haven’t,” he replies definitively and you know he’s telling the truth. “i promise they haven’t.”

hanbin was a tricky one. the star of the soccer team and undoubtedly the most popular boy at your university, it comes as no surprise that he was also the makeshift ring leader of his stupid group of friends. keeping that spotlight also meant keeping up appearances. while your other bullies made their distaste for you known whenever possible, hanbin had a different preferred method of torture.

he liked to play nice. compliment your poems. share a laugh... reel you in.

until you were so close, you couldn’t escape. that’s when he’d flip the script on you.

like when he sent your poem about the boy you liked to the entire university’s mailing list last year. you’d insisted you didn’t feel comfortable sharing it with him. you recoiled with embarrassment at the thought of junseo, your senior lab partner, finding out. but he pushed. made you think you could trust him.

the next day, it was pinned to every bulletin board across campus next to a picture of you that hanbin had taken on your class trip to the national library. like some sort of sick calling card.

junseo sunbae-nim never muttered more than a word to you ever again.

so that’s how all this started. hanbin recruiting his three (and then four) asshole friends in a sudden and violent quest to become the bane of your existence.

sometimes you still can’t help but wonder if you’d done something to upset him. but you shake off that thought each time. you won’t let him get in your head again so easily.

you’ve about mustered the courage to give hanbin some snarky response when your professor’s chalk hatchings across the blackboard send a hush over the classroom.

“good afternoon, everyone,” professor choi greets happily, underlining today’s date on the board. “let’s jump right in today and start with our weekly journals. please share with your desk partner the poem that this week so far inspired you to write.”

your eyes fix on hanbin’s journal again, anticipation stirring as you think about the clues that could be hidden in his poem this week. could the answers you’re looking for really be inside that black, leather book?

“you should go fi—,” you start to suggest a bit too quietly before hanbin unknowingly cuts you off.

“do you wanna go first?” he asks brightly, smile lines illuminating his soft features. you know you shouldn’t indulge him, but you can never stop the corners of your lips from involuntarily turning up in response. no matter how much you hated him, his fairytale prince looks were undeniable.

“oh, uh,” you stammer, grabbing your journal and flipping it open to your entry from this week. you look at the poem you wrote, eyes scanning over the emotional stanzas as you bite your lip uneasily. “i dunno. i kind of got a bit too... personal this week.”

“oh, you know i don’t mind,” he replies calmly. “that’s what poetry is, right?”

“i’m well aware you don’t mind me spilling personal details to you,” you reply with a glare. “but i mind.”

“(y/n)-sshi,” professor choi’s voice suddenly rings over your shoulder. “let’s get reading, okay? time is limited.”

you swallow hard, looking down at your journal shamefully. “yes, professor-nim.”

“so what’s it called?” hanbin asks as professor choi makes her way back up to her desk, folding his arms across his chest and leaning back into his chair. “your poem?”

“the bird,” you answer softly. “it’s called the bird.”

he nods pensively before gesturing for you to start. you look back down at the page, fingers shaking as you try to hold your journal steady. clearing your throat, you recite:

“from her perch at the window, she will never be much. the vultures jeered at her as they circled above. then one flew down— with taloned-hand, he did touch. and a meek little finch turned into a dove. if a dove she can be, she will be it as such. til another vulture fell to his knees with a glove. parted her feathers and took her in his clutch. and from the fair bird, made a raven thereof. she needs to change back, so she tries to stay hush. but a third brash vulture throws her off with a shove. the reluctant truth is she’s filling with lust... and she’s growing quite scared of the bird she’ll become.”

you blink back tears as you close your journal and place it on your desk in front of you. maybe it’s your lack of sleep or the mentally and physically jarring week you’ve had, but reading your poem aloud had left you feeling quite vulnerable.

“that was beautiful, (y/n),” hanbin says suddenly, prying you from your regret. you turn to him, eyes wide as he nods thoughtfully. “i really appreciated the metaphor of the bird. the vultures are considered bad birds, but somehow they changed the subject from an unassuming bird into the more beautiful bird she seemed to want to be... but never thought she could.”

you stare at him as he glances up at the ceiling, those handsome smile lines crinkling his cheeks again.

“funny how things we could perceive as wrong or immoral can actually have a positive effect on us,” he muses with a chuckle. “but it’s only natural for the bird to question that change. she’s done more of that ‘bad’ thing and now she’s afraid it’s turned her into a raven. a bird that frightens her. or maybe a bird she can’t recognize anymore when she looks in the mirror.”

“it did,” you assert quietly. “it did change her.”

“but it sounds like she likes that change. at least part of her,” hanbin rebuts, meeting your gaze. “perhaps if she embraces that and sheds her own guilt— or molts, if you will— she’ll realize the raven is another distortion of her own making, just like the finch was. she’ll realize she is the dove and she always has been.”

your lips part as you gape at hanbin in awe. it was hard not to let your guard down with him when he always dissected your poems so intuitively like this. memories of intense public humiliation are the only thing that can keep you grounded.

“or,” he adds, a small smirk upturning the corner of his lips. “i guess she could also realize that ravens and vultures aren’t the bad birds she thinks they are. maybe she finds that, after all this worrying, she was meant to be a vulture, too.”

“under a minute left,” professor choi calls out from the front of the classroom.

shit. hanbin had talked so much about your poem that he barely had any time left to share his— the poem you desperately needed to be shared in the first place.

hanbin’s still rambling on about vultures, but you’re not paying any attention as a wave of panic rushes over you.

“you should share yours still,” you prompt a little too eagerly, cutting him off mid-sentence. trying your best to dial it back, you add, “i’m sure it’s very interesting, what with the big game on saturday and all.”

hanbin smiles, holding your gaze for a moment too long. it’s suspicious, but his eyes give nothing away.

“if it’s okay with you, i’d rather not share this week,” he says, throwing his journal back in his bag. “i got a little too... how did you put it? personal.”

you blink at him. “but—. but that’s what i said and you—.”

hanbin mutters something under his breath that you swear sounds like, “not like you’d listen to me anyway.”

but you must’ve misheard him.

your heart sinks, your plan crumbling to ashes before your eyes as professor choi launches into a lecture about wilfred owen’s 20th century use of assonance. hanbin had to have written something about what his friends had been up to. that’s why he used up so much time focusing on your poem.

your pencil moves across your paper, absentmindedly taking notes until you reach the only possible conclusion: you can’t give up. you’ll just have to amend the plan.

after class, you hurriedly gather your things and run out the door, pulling your phone out and typing vigorously as you make your way to the bathroom.

WHEN DOES THE BOYS’ SOCCER PRACTICE GO UNTIL TONIGHT!? mina: ??? NO QUESTIONS. JUST ANSWERS. mina: jiwoong oppa is picking me up at 7. so i assume about 6:30. THANK U BYE and... please be careful around him. mina: yeah, yeah, yeah i’ll use protection ily

totally not what you meant. and you’d hate to break it to her, but after his little stunt on monday, you’re not sure how fond her jiwoong oppa would be of that request.

6:30. practice would start soon, giving you plenty of time to slip into the boys’ locker room, read hanbin’s journal, and slip out undetected.

you catch a glimpse of yourself in the bathroom mirror.

a raven’s beady eyes stare back.

you kill some time in the library, waiting until practice is well underway before making your way across campus to the gymnasium. your heart is already pounding in your ears just thinking about the little heist you’re about to pull.

but your legs keep propelling you forward.

pulling open the building door, you step inside cautiously. the women’s badminton team is stretching in the atrium of the building, but there’s no sign of anyone else. you head right down the hallway, walking past the cardio fitness center and the weight-lifting gym until you’re in front of the boys’ locker room door.

you put an ear to it, hearing nothing but the whirring of a fan on the other side.

fuck it.

you pull open the door and step inside, white and grey tiled walls and rows of blue lockers surrounding you. your heart races as you look back at the door, wondering if it’s not too late to abandon your mission.

you shake your head. no. you need to find that journal.

with a steadying breath, you begin to walk through the first row of lockers. when you don’t spot hanbin’s bag, you proceed to the second row. and then the next. and then the next until you finally spot it.

tucked under the wooden bench running down the middle of the aisle is a familiar brown, leather messenger bag. you run to it, picking it up from the floor and setting it down on the bench. you unclasp the latch on the front of the bag and lift the flap, opening it up and reaching inside it.

your hand hits something... fluffy. you grab the fuzzy item and pull it out, squealing when you see that it’s a tiny, cream-colored hamster plush. it’s the cutest thing you’ve ever seen in your whole goddamn life.

and you are disappointed to find yourself thinking it bears a striking resemblance to its owner.

you stuff the little hamster back into the bag. as cute as he is, it’s not what you came here for. you gasp when you feel the cold leather-bound journal in your hand, pulling it out hurriedly and examining the cover.

you open the journal, flipping through the pages rashly until you locate an entry with today’s date at the top. it reads:

“if one is a vulture, it’s assumed they’re no good— despite all the research that they’re helpful to earth. does the finch know that if that vulture could, he’d hunt for a mirror and show her her worth? if that finch is a dove, there’d be something that would still keep her away from achieving true mirth. it’s the vultures, she’d cry before she understood: the vulture has always been a sign of rebirth. a dove, raven, vulture, or finch from the woods, the vultures will find her and double their search. but for someone who claims they feel misunderstood, it’s repulsive the lengths she would go to unearth... something that does not belong to that bird. seems the dove was a raven afterall.”

“pretty good, huh?” the sudden voice behind you makes you jump. “wrote it in, like, ten minutes after class. what can i say? i was inspired.”

you don’t turn around. your face is already on fire from how mortified you are. of course, you’d considered the possibility of being caught. but you hadn’t really realized the weight of that consequence until this moment.

“actually, i think it might be even better than the original,” he continues, footsteps echoing against the tiled floors as he draws nearer. “i mean, you really should’ve thought to flesh out those vulture characters a bit. and you didn’t even consider looking up the well-known symbolism behind them.”

a hot breath fans across the back of your neck, causing you to shiver as a hand wraps around the leather-bound journal and pries it from yours.

“i have to admit, i didn’t really think you had it in you,” he says with a chuckle, fingers suddenly hooking into your waistband and turning you around to face him. he’s in his red and white soccer uniform, skin glistening from the practice meet he should be at right now. “but just in case, i wanted to be prepared. write you something worth reading.”

“h-how did you know?” you stutter quietly. “that i—”

“well, you weren’t exactly subtle, now were you?” hanbin smiles but the light doesn’t reach his eyes. “‘you should read your poem, hanbin. i’m sure it’s exciting with the big game coming up’. like you give a fuck about my poetry.”

that last sentence reminds you of what you thought you’d heard him mumble in class today: not like you’d listen to me anyway.

what was that about?

“aw, don’t get sad now that your plan didn’t go your way,” hanbin coos, lifting his hand to caress your cheek. “i thought it was kind of cute. i can forgive you for stealing, right? you just wanted my attention so badly that you had to play a bit dirty.”

you shake your head quickly. “no, it’s not like that! i swear i wasn’t trying to get your attention, i just—”

“well then, jesus fucking christ, what do i have to do to—,” hanbin snaps before promptly cutting himself off. there’s something in his eyes you’ve never seen before: desperation.

a large hand wraps around your throat in an instant, shoving you up against a blue locker. the motion knocks the wind out of you and you find yourself gasping for air. your hand flies to remove his from around your neck, but he catches it in his free one and brings it gently back down to your side.

“i told you in class that if you needed help calling off the vultures, you should ask me while you still can,” hanbin rasps, rubbing his thumb up the left side of your throat. “but you weren’t listening, dove. the gulper got first bite. the rippers tore you apart...”

you breathe shallowly, glancing from side to side for some route of escape.

“but now the king has landed,” he says, tongue flitting across his teeth. “and he’s fucking starving.”

you blink at him, lips parted in stupid shock. “i—... i honestly had no idea you knew so much about vultures.”

“THAT’S WHAT YOU TOOK FROM THAT ARE YOU KID—,” he yells, finger pads digging in tighter to the skin of your neck. his gaze falls to your lips, supple and pretty even in fear. he trails down to your shirt, a button-up front that seems to entice him. “take it off.”

“b-but—.”

“take it the fuck off, (y/n). you should know by now how this goes,” hanbin snarls, grabbing your hand and bringing it to the trail of buttons. you start to fiddle with them, but you have some trouble under the pressure of his gaze. “can’t even undo a button? hm? too fucking stupid, dove?”

you find yourself nodding against all odds.

“need binnie to do it for you?” he coos, smile lines illuminating his face again.

you just nod. it seems to be what you do best.

hanbin unfastens the buttons one-handed and with ease. once your shirt is open, he undoes the center clasp of your bra and exposes your chest. then, he sighs with dramatic disappointment. “seriously? that’s it? got me all excited to see your tits and this is what you have to show?”

you look down at your incredibly normal and attractive chest. you’d never really doubted the allure of that part of your body before. should you have?

the humiliating comment causes a lump to form in your throat... and an embarrassingly intense ache to shoot through your heat.

he tugs the center hem of your shirt, pulling the fabric further off your shoulders. “it’s a good thing the other guys didn’t see them. they’re far more superficial than me. you should be grateful you found a guy who can look past the disappointment. ”

hanbin’s free hand gropes your chest, thumb rubbing circles around one nipple and then the next as you let out a soft whimper.

“mm, i heard that,” he breathes with a smirk. “even though you never hear me. probably didn’t even fucking clock the first line in that stupid poem. but i hear you, dove. so let me give you what you want. all you have to do is ask.”

you gulp, softly responding, “w-want you to... touch me.”

“yeah?” hanbin affirms, finger trailing down your stomach.

you nod again, this time more assuredly under the guise of his encouraging smile. that is, until a harsh slap stings your cheek.

“well that wasn’t a fucking question, was it?” hanbin hisses, rubbing soothing circles into your cheek with his thumb. “you’re in an advanced poetry class and you don’t even know how to form an interrogative sentence? just must be doodling all the time, huh? about all the boys who’ve made a mess of you this week? like the dumb little slut you are.”

hanbin’s free hand slips under your skirt, fingers brushing over your clothed core before pulling it out again. you gasp when you see his fingers already covered in your arousal.

his eyes darken as he reaches up your skirt again, tearing a hole right through your lace panties and stuffing two fingers inside of you immediately as you cry out.

“oh, dove, why would i wanna put my cock in here, hm? can already feel how much those other assholes have stretched you out,” hanbin says with another sigh of disappointment.

another bout of worry clouds your mind. was that true? was matthew right? you thought he was just being a misogynistic pig, but... had you really been physically tainted from the events of this week?

“so fucking lucky, dove,” hanbin whispers, removing his hand from your heat and taking one of yours. he brings it down the front of his athletic shorts and then wraps it around his impossibly hard length. you look up at him, wide-eyed. “where every other man would see damaged goods, i see prime real estate.”

“what—”

“gonna fuck you now, m’kay?” hanbin interjects, pulling his shorts down and exposing himself to you. you hadn’t really seen the other boys up close or at all like this. hanbin’s cock is pretty, long with just a few visible veins and a pink head that’s leaking a bit of pre-cum. it makes your mouth water. maybe you are a dumb slut.

maybe you like it like that.

or maybe it’s just hanbin’s large hand covering your throat, pressing at the sides tenderly that’s making you start to feel a bit high. he brings himself to your entrance, lining up the tip and coating it in your juices. he’s about to push himself inside of you, when he suddenly freezes.

“you want me to, right?” hanbin asks, tone suddenly much softer than it was before. his eyes are locked with yours, holding you there with him against the wall of lockers. “you want me inside you? just me. not those other guys? not junseo hyung-nim or—”

BEEEEEEEEEP. BRRANG. BRRANG. BRRANG. BEEEEEEEE....

a fire alarm rips through the locker room, loud and annoying as ever. you try to jump out of hanbin’s grasp, but his hands stay fixed around you.

“let me... let me go!” you assert, hitting his chest with your palm. the pressure on your neck that felt so good just a few moments ago is now filling you with fear, “are you trying to kill me or something!?”

his brow raises slightly, as if he only just noticed the alarm. his grip loosens and you take the opportunity to scramble away from him.

“of course i’m not,” he replies dejectedly, re-situating his shorts before huffing, “like you have a body worth going to jail for.”

“oh, shut up,” you retort, rolling your eyes as you race to re-button your shirt. “this is all YOUR fault. whatever’s going on this week, i know you’re behind it. you’ve run out of ideas to keep me small. but i’m not small. in fact, i’m a much bigger person than you are! so... i’m sorry for whatever i did that made you hate me so much in the first place. now, please, let’s get out of here.”

you start to run down the aisle of lockers towards the exit door, but a lack of footsteps behind you causes you to stop and turn back.

“come on,” you urge as hanbin continues to stand in place and stare at you, unmoving. it might be the most infuriating thing he’s done all day. “oh, fucking burn then.”

the tangible anger in your voice startles both of you. hanbin blinks quickly back at you, wide-eyed as if you’ve just slapped him across the face. whoever gave him the right to feel that way is sorely mistaken. you turn back around, throwing over your shoulder:

“are there birds worse than vultures?”

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gender neutral version below

EXPLICIT SMUT 18+ WARNINGS: choking (reader receiving and safely executed lmao), chest/abdomen groping (reader receiving; no anatomical descriptions or gender specific language), heavy petting (reader and hanbin receiving), finger penetration (brief, reader receiving), erotic humiliation and degradation (towards reader; regarding looseness of hole (non specific) from desperation and disappointing chest/abdomen region (not related to gender or anatomical gendered parts he's just being a dick to you i hope this makes sense)), slut and whore are also used but not in a gendered context, one slap across face (reader receiving), slight dub-con but we know how reader rolls now lol. hanbin is insanely toxic. enjoy.