#who knew ska moshpits are a thing

[itscooltoskate]

Where are all my Mad Caddies fans at?

jk, I know they don't exist and ska is dead caddies

And now I've got a brand new scar bruise

[aquaticalay]

Siren .Chapter One.

Bucky Barnes x Reader

Summary: Bucky Barnes fancies you, a singer who performs at a local bar every Monday and Friday night. After a few months of attending your gigs, Bucky finally got the chance to talk to you. One problem: you are New York's sonic screaming vigilante. And the avengers have been trying to figure out who you are for months. (Post-Endgame)

Warning/s for this chapter : cursing??? Is this even a warning anymore???

Warning/s for the series: cursing, violence, eventual smut (which you can skip)

Word count: 1700+ (a little short, but this chapter is more of an introduction)

Disclaimer: I do not own the Marvel characters. The song I'm using in this chapter is 'Crowbar' by Frank Carter and the Rattlesnakes.

Note: I'M FINALLY BACK. I finally found the time to commit to another multichapter fanfic, which I posted the summary to nearly half a year ago. There were people who requested to be on the taglist already months ago, and I will tag them below. If you want to get off the taglist, just let me know! (No hard feelings, preferences change!) Anyway, I apologize for the long hiatus. The reason it took so long was that I wasn't happy with how the first plot outline turned out, so I had to re do it a couple of times and even tweak the original idea a bit until I was finally happy with the plot. That, and the last few months were hectic for me. I also apologize for reuploading this for the third time, but Tumblr did not show this in the tags.

Anyway, I will be posting a new chapter every two days. Let me know if you'd like to be on the taglist!

Something about punk was liberating. It was empowering. It gave freedom back to the people. Back to you. You could say whatever the fuck you wanted, wear whatever the fuck you wanted.

That's why you loved performing in New York's thriving underground scene.

You sang at bars weekly, usually just performing whenever you could get a gig, but a dive bar in Myrtle Avenue, Brooklyn, booked you twice a week. Mermaid's Tail was an all-ages inclusive bar you've been going to for as long as you can remember.

"We're on in 5 minutes," called Lando, pulling his bass strap over his head.

Lando has been your bestfriend throughout both your childhood and adulthood. He was also a member of your band, along with two other great friends you made along the way, Vince and Luna.

"Alright," you say, dramatically standing up from the speaker you were sitting on, a lopsided grin on your face, "let's get the party started!"

-

The stage wasn't big. Not at all. It just had a slightly elevated floor, and just enough space for Luna's drumkit and a few amps for the guitar and bass.

You head on stage, the crowd still hyped up from the ska band who played before you.

The crowd was as big as two hundred, and it was so diverse, as you liked it. People of all ages, all shades of melanin, and all backgrounds seem to enjoy the music. Some stay at the bar and enjoyed the booze.

You came on stage, a wireless microphone wrapped tightly around your fist like a baseball bat. As Vince started playing a slow and haunting guitar riff, you shouted into the microphone "How are we feeling, Mermaid's Tail?" You said, responded by a couple of enthusiastic 'woo's from the crowd.

"We are a couple of kids from Manhattan called the Submariners, here to play you a few songs. this one is called Crowbar!"

A few people who has been to one of your show recognized it and started to jump up and down. The song started quite slowly, a simple guitar riff, a low bassline, subtle drums and your voice almost a whisper.

"We all come from an explosion in the sky. One day there was nothing and the next there was life. And all the rivers and the mountains and the sun and the moon. And then all of a sudden there's a cloud of doom'

As soon as the chorus strikes, the drums became more complicated, and your voice louder to compliment the beat. The room simultaneously jumped, as if they know the rhythm by heart.

"It's a trap, and there's no comfort fitting in. A fake safety that no one believes in  And if it goes against who you think you are It's the death of happiness  Go and get the crowbar"

As the song progresses, the crowd became more elated. More energetic, more electric. As a result, you did, too.

"We all fell down from a tired dying star,Star dust on the breeze to fuckin' pick an avatar. From nothing into all and then the next thing to arrive is the terrifying fear of how you're supposed to live your life"

The beginning second chorus invited a welcomed chaos that the audience was enjoying, not caring about anything but the sounds that you make.

"People everywhere will try to bring you down. Those jealous motherfuckers they will try and take your crown"

The instrumentals quited down a bit, leaving room for your emotions, anger and rage, to seep out of your voice like honey.

"It's easier for them to put you in a box, Keep you safely locked away because they hate it when the boat's rocked. But fuck 'em all, they don't tell us who we are. So when they try and lock you up, go and get the fucking crowbar!"

You bent your vocal chords, intentionally making it crack, nearly screaming, like you were hiding in something you'd rather be showing to the world. Of course, this was not the full extent of your vocal chords, but any louder and everyone in the block would have their eardrums bleeding. Lucky for them, you knew your limits and controlled it well.

The last bit of the song, you sang freely, the crowd turning into a moshpit, eventually melting into a pot of adrenaline, sweat and excitement.

Finishing the song, you let out a sigh of relief and a chuckle, "You guys are a fiesty bunch, aren't you?"

As the crowd of 200 roared, you continued to the next song, and the next, and the next, until the gig was over.

One person caught you attention at the corner of your eye. The sharp-featured man sat at the bar with a drink, wearing a black jacket and gloves. His hair was black or brown, depending on the light, tied to a messy bun. His eyes, however, were somewhat still a mystery. He had aviator sunglasses on, though it wasn't that dark a shade. It dark enough so the color of his eyes were hidden, but light enough for you to see the movement of his pupils, where your very motion seemed to act like a magnet to his sight. Something that disturbed you was that he was always there when you were performing, downing unholy amounts of alchohol, but somehow he didn't flinch. His posture indicated that he was always sober. He was alert, never slouched, not even for one second. As much as you tried to ignore him, you couldn't shake off the paranoia.

As your show ended and the band head off the stage to the back room, Lando whispered in your ear discreetly, "Meeting in the back room. Now."

You nodded ever so slightly, and replied, "give me 10 minutes."

And with that, Lando, Vince, and Luna went one way, and you a seperate route.

-

You made your way through the crowd as a another band took the stage, a thumping rythm accompanying your movements.

You quickly spot the man on the bar. He looks like he was going to leave after finishing his drink, but you swift take a seat on the bar stool next to him. You signal to the bartender and ordered, "two beers!" You exclaimed, handing him a few bucks, "One for me, and one for the gentlemen. Keep the change."

You delicately glanced at the man, who only raised his eyebrow in fascination. Before neither of you could say anything, the bartender slid the bottles your way.

You grabbed it both, and handed one over to the man, who graciously accepted your offer.

You took a sip, then turned to face him, "And does the gentlemen have a name?"

He hestitated, but told you, "James."

"James," you said, a forced sweetness coming out of your voice. You did not bother to introduce yourself. You figured if that if he's seen you perform, he must know your name."You look familiar," you continued, "Have you been at the Mermaid's Tail before?"

"A couple of times," he admitted, taking a sip on his own.

You weren't stupid, nor ignorant. You knew it was more than a couple of times. More like a couple dozen times, but you knew better than to confront him directly. You had to coax his intentions out of him in order to get the truth.

"You like the music?" You asked, and he shrugged, easing into the conversation.You noticed the charm hidden behind his secretive demeanor. "I like the atmosphere."

You didn't know if you should believe what he said, but decided to go along with it. Nodding a little, you chugged the beer until it was half empty and pretended to lose balance on the stool, dropping the rest of the beer on the floor. You let yourself fall into James' arms, propping yourself up, pretending to regain balance. James gently helped you, while you trace every inch of his clothing, trying to find a wallet or a phone— anything that could give you a clue about his identity, but frustratingly, you can't seen to find any. He either forgot everything at home, or was smart enough not to put important things in places where he could get picked. You had a feeling it was most likely the latter than the former.

He helped you back to the bar stool, both his hands on your hips, steadying you. You were aware of the inconsistency on his left grip, as if it was somehow more certain than his right. Unfortunately, his gloves kept you from getting more information.

You forced a chuckle, "sorry," you said, "the adrenaline's still pumping. Y'know, after a gig."

"S'okay," he let out a smile as if your display of joy was contagious.

"Well," you said finally, "I think my friends are waiting for me. See you around, James?"

He nodded sincerely, "See you around."

Turning around, you could feel his eyes linger on you as you disappeared into the crowd.

-

"There she is!" Vince, rolling his eyes, when you entered the back room, "Finally!"

Vince was on a chair, Luna on the table, and Lando had his eyes glued to his laptop screen, which was on the same table Luna was sitting on.

"Done flirting with mr. sunglasses indoors?" Luna laughed, but you just took the joke lightly and shook your head. "His name is James. And there's something weird about him."

"Besides wearing sunglasses indoors?" Luna taunted the obvious with a cheeky smile, and Vince smacked her upside in the head playfully. "He is sketchy. He's been going to our gigs here for months."

"Maybe he likes music," Vince suggested, "Did you pick his pocket?" He asked, knowing that pickpocketting was your usual method of finding out who people are.

"I tried. Found nothing," you said, a hint of defeat in your voice.

"That is sketchy," Luna agreed.

"Will you shut up!" Lando complained, "I'm working here!"

"Geez," Luna said, getting up from a table, and grabbing a briefcase from a cupboard, "Someone's sensitive." She opened the briefcase, revealing a gun in it. It was a glock 19x, which she and Vince modified specifically for stealth and tactical shooting. "Did you bring the bullet rounds?" She asked Vince. He replied by tossing her two rounds, which she prepared for use. It was always this way. Luna and Vince were the weapon specialists, Lando the tech genius, and you? You did all the dirty work by yourself.

You didn't mind, though. In fact, it was addicting.

"Yes!" Lando suddenly exclaimed. He stood up and faced you, "Suit up, (Y/n)," he said, "I found another lead on our guy."

You smirked, knowing what to do.

After all, you and your misfit friends were musicians by night, a vigilante team by midnight.

-

Taglist:

@thejourneyneverendsx @ispepeagain @magykal-777 @sfxsucker  @justanothergirlwithdemons @ciochesono @allonszassbutt @hennessy0274-blog​ @chubby-dumplin @talk-geek-to-me @moli1497

Please let me know if I missed anyone!