scarlette-joel-writing - Tumblr blog

scarlette-joel-writing · 6 years

Text

Something New Pt. 4

Pairing: Doctor!Bucky x Reader

Request: The reader is an avid baker and is married to some pos, and bucky is a doctor (or a medical practitioner) and they end up having an affair and yeah idk how you’d want to end it but that’s a start

Warnings: Language, Emotionally (and physically) abusive relationship, talk of (rough) sex, eventual smut.

Parts:

Part 1, Part 2, Part 3, Part 4

A/N I know that it has been SO freaking long since I have updated and I am hoping that this makes up for that in some sort of way.

It has been 4 days since my little trip to the hospital that resulted in the awkward as fuck conversation between me and Dr. MrDreamy. The conversation that sent me on a downward spiral, wondering how the hell this man who has just entered our small, little community has figured out a secret that everyone else has looked over.

He hasn’t said anything to me about the incident since it happened, but I can still see the way that he looks at me when he orders his cherry scones every morning on his way to work. Even though he doesn’t talk to me about the head injury, he talks to me about other things. Even though I keep telling myself that I dont like this man, I don’t think that I can keep denying to myself how drop-dead gorgeous he is. Or how smart he is. Or how good of a conversationalist he is.

He apparently knows how to get me to babble life a fool whenever he is around, because babble I do. He asks me a simple question with a simple answer, and the next thing I know, we are 20 minutes into a conversation that has spiraled down the rabbit hole and he ends up almost late to work. Which is what is happening now.

“You really are that scared of clowns?” he is leaning onto the counter, both elbows down and his broad shoulders close to me. His face is about six inches from mine and I can smell the subtle hint of a cologne that sends my head swimming. I can see the way that he flexes his jaw, trying not to laugh at me, and I can also see the way that his beard is perfectly groomed and frames his face very well. My husband cant grow a beard to save his life.

“I am not kidding, I was sitting on the floor, sobbing my eyes out for a good 20 minutes,” he laughs at the statement and my automatic reaction is to reach out and smack his arm playfully. I don’t know why I think that is a good idea. There are enough inappropriate thoughts going through my head about those arms without knowing how strong and firm they actually are, but when my hand hurts more than his arm after playfully smacking him, I know that there is a problem. “Holy shit. Why is your arm like a rock?”

This is mistake number one. I am letting myself become more comfortable with him. I am letting him crawl under my skin and into my brain and I shouldn’t be. I shouldn’t be giving him the power that I am.

“Oh, you like?” he smirks at me and gives me a small wink, and I can see out of the corner of my eye that he flexes his arm just the tiniest bit, making his already snug shit just a bit tighter. It really is a sight to see. “I work out a bit. You kind of have to stay in shape when you are working in a Brooklyn hospital. Hell, you have to stay in shape just to survive in Brooklyn I feel like,”

This is mistake number two. I am flirting with the new doctor in town, openly, in the middle of my own bakery. Not that I should be flirting with any man that isn’t my husband at all, but I really shouldn’t be doing it in my own establishment. I really shouldn’t be doing it in a place where people who know me and know my husband can see.

“Show off,” I mumble and I watch as he leans in even closer to me. Our faces are so close that our noses are almost touching. He gives me a side smirk that sends my heart pumping faster and I cant help but notice that this is so wrong. This is probably the worst position that we could be in right now. I keep looking from him to the window to make sure that no one is going to come through that door. That would be disastrous.

“You haven’t even begun to see me show off, doll,” his voice drops an octave and his eyes grow serious, and a feeling that I haven’t felt in a really long-time, washes over me. A sort of buzzing rolls through me. It is like every nerve is on high alert and standing on edge, waiting for the next move. “But if you want, I can,” He leans closer and closer until it doesn’t seem like we can get any closer and his breath hits my face and sends a shiver straight down my spine.

No. No Y/N. I take a step back away from him. I let my senses lose the smell of his gorgeous cologne and I shake my head a little to wash away the goosebumps that have risen over my body. You cant do this. You cant become this girl. You have a husband and a life and it might not be the best, but it is yours. And you cant go around kissing totally fuckable guys in the middle of your own establishment. You cant fucking do it. So turn around and go to the kitchen and tell him to leave.

I turn away from him quickly and make straight for the door to the kitchen. I don’t say a word to him and I don’t look back because if I do, I will stop and I will totally kiss the most fuckable man that I have ever seen.

“Y/N,” I hear his deep voice – no. I feel his deep voice from behind me once I get into the kitchen. Thankfully Marie is at school at the moment and it is just me and James in the back of the bakery… alone. Not the best idea. I feel him grab my arm and spin me around and suddenly I am looking up at a man whose eyes have become dark. It has a commanding tone about him. That kind of look frightens me on a man. His hold on my arm doesn’t lessen and he pulls me closer to him, until we are chest to chest. I feel the panic well up inside of me.

I have been in this situation before but at least it is with a man who is a lot smaller than this man’s 6’2” status. It is with a man that would take a bit to overpower me. Not James though. With James, it would be no problem to over power me. To take what he wanted right here and not think twice about it. That is a terrifying thought. He pulls me closer to him again and I feel my anxiety swell. Do I just attract men that want to hurt me? Do I just seem like the type to be submissive to anyone?

“Tell me to stop and I will,” he breathes out and I can feel my heart stop in that moment.

“Wh-what did you say?” time stands still in that moment. He is running a hand up and down my arm, fueling the goosebumps that I already have, and he stops his action to look me dead in the eye.

“Tell me that you don’t want this, and I walk away. We never speak of it again. We go back to me buying cherry scones from you every morning and you being my patient, and nothing else happens. We forget that this whole thing happened,” he puts his hand under my chin and lifts my face up to meet his. His eyes are softer now than they were before. “But I want this,”

That feeling is back in me and thrumming a thousand times harder. He is asking me. He isn’t telling me or commanding me. He isn’t bribing me or manipulating me. He is telling me that he wants something but that if I don’t want it, he wont pursue it any further. The logical side of me tells me that every man should think like this but my past experiences tell me that that logic is not always true.

My reasoning goes completely out the door and suddenly James’ lips are on mine. My arms are snaking around his neck, pulling him closer to me while simultaneously getting to run my fingers through the hair that I have been dying to touch since I met the man.

He puts his hands on my hips and pulls my hips into his and I finally can place the feeling that is welling up inside of me. It is excitement. It is attraction. Lust. Something that I haven’t felt in a really long time. A feeling that I haven’t been able to express because no one has given a fuck about how I feel for a really long time. I can feel his attraction to me as well and it only spurs me on.

I am doing this. I am really cheating on my husband right now. I am really doing it.

James puts a hand at the nape of my neck and brushes his hands through my hair and I cant help but to moan a little bit. He pulls away from the kiss only to give me a small smirk before pulling my hair gently to get me to tilt my head back. Suddenly he is at my neck, kissing and sucking. The feeling is euphoric. I never thought that I would be able to feel pleasure from a man’s touch again, and now look at where we are.

“Don’t give me a hickey or you are dead, Dr. Barnes,” I am pretty much a puddle at this point in time. Putty in the Doctor’s hands.

“Call me bucky, babygirl,” the feel of his hot breath on my wet skin is something out of this world. The way his stubble brushes against my collar bone sends my body on edge. And the pet name? Lord have mercy, he could get me to cum by just talking like that.

“You know that this is a horrible thing that we are doing, right?” I mumble to him, running both of my hands through his hair as he continues to kiss at my neck and collar bone. He takes special care to never stay in one place too long and I can feel his hands roam over the rest of my body as his tongue continues to explore my neck and jaw.

“You wanna know why I don’t care?” he stops what he is doing and leans back away from me, one hand on the side of my face and the other one rubbing the bare skin of my side. He is giving me that smirk again that is anything but good news. “I don’t care because I know I can make you feel 1000x better than he can,” he kisses me hard and deep again and then pulls back, and like a horny little teenager, I follow his lips, silently asking for more. “And I can look 1000x better while doing it,”

“Well, at least I know that you are humble, Bucky,” the nickname is a little weird on my tongue but the way that his hand grips my waist tighter and he pulls me impossibly closer to him tells me that he rather quite likes the name. His face comes to hover over mine, his lips centimeters from me.

I want him to kiss me again. I want it so badly. I want it more than I have wanted anything for the past three years. You would think that I haven’t had sex in years with the way that my chest rises and falls rapidly and the undeniable twist in my stomach begins. But honestly, Andrew and I had had sex only mere hours after I had gotten home from the hospital.

“Tell me something,” he leans back and I want to pout, but I am too wrapped up in the moment. I just need him to keep touching me. I need him to kiss me and to make me forget myself and my life and the problems that I have. How can this man do this to me?

“What do you wanna know?” I close my eyes and lean my head back, letting the emotions flood my veins. I revel in the feelings. I revel in the fact that my body can still feel this way? I had thought that the possibility for these thoughts and feelings had gone away long ago.

“You are 22, right?” he is gently kissing my jaw again and I just nod my head at the question. I don’t know old this man is, but I know that he is older than me by at least a few years. He breathes against my neck again. “Why did you get married so young?” I open my eyes to look straight at him and I can see that the question is being asked by a serious man who wants a serious answer. So much for making me forget about my life.

“Really, youre gonna ask me that now? When you have me pressed up against the counter in the back of my bakery, kissing and touching all over me?” he takes his hands off of me and steps away and I can feel the screaming in my stomach. I sigh. The man basically tells me he wants to fuck me and then he wants to know my whole life story. ”I don’t know why I thought to get married at such a young age. I think it was cause my grandparents got married when they were 19 and they were happy their whole lives. They were the epitome of love and I think that I naïve little me just wanted something like that. Happy?” he gives me a level stare and I begin to tap my fingers impatiently.

“So… I was right, wasn’t I?” he speaks again and I can feel the irritation growing within me. I grab his hands with my own and yank him towards me, putting his hands on my hips and making it so that his face is so close to mine again.

“Can you please just shut the fuck up and kiss me, again? We can talk about this shit later if that is really want you want. But right now? I am a bit needy and I am an impatient person,” he pulls his hand up from my hip to run through my hair and then pulls me to him again.

“Yes ma’am,” is all he says and then he is kissing me again.

I could get used to this real quick.

Taglist: nerdyandproud9 georgiiamat dlcute Sexysamsungl Mia-at-work axelinchen Notyourtypicalrose D34d-0n-th3-1ns1d3 nolaimagines Skeletoresinthebasement nolaimagines dragonselene youreahandsomedevil humanexile jjamesbbarness buckyandbruce cobra-anon

#james buchanan barnes #james barnes #james bucky barnes #bucky barnes #bucky imagine #bucky x reader #sebastian stan #sebastian x reader #romance #marvel #marvel universe #avengers #avenger #smut #love affair #kindaromanceifyoulookatitright #part 4 #love #affair

51 notes · View notes

scarlette-joel-writing · 6 years

Note

Update Something New please!!!

I promise I am working on it now!!

3 notes · View notes

scarlette-joel-writing · 6 years

Note

What's the hardest part about college? Is it the roommate?

I was lucky enough to have my best friend of three years as a room mate this year and I also went to a college preparatory school that allowed me roommates two years before that, so room mates definitely aren't an issue for me.

the hardest part of college for me is the fact that I now have classes, a job, and I am doing a lot of stuff on my own. More freedom and responsibility than I have ever had before and it is so hard trying to balance this school life with my work life and not let myself die from anxiety and stress.

1 note · View note

scarlette-joel-writing · 6 years

Note

When is the next chapter of something new coming out ???

hopefully very soon! college has been so stressful but I promise I am working on something!!!

1 note · View note

scarlette-joel-writing · 6 years

Note

Hi, I was wonder if I could be tagged in Something New? Please.

Totally!

3 notes · View notes

scarlette-joel-writing · 6 years

Note

I cannot wait for something new 🙈🙈🙈

I know! me either! I really like the way the story is progressing

1 note · View note

scarlette-joel-writing · 6 years

Note

Can I come on the taglist for ‘Something New’ please? I’m enjoying it so much so far!

of course you can!

1 note · View note

scarlette-joel-writing · 6 years

Note

can i be tagged in something new?? absolutely loving it so far

yesss

2 notes · View notes

scarlette-joel-writing · 6 years

Note

Can I please be tagged in something new it would be neat.

Sure!

1 note · View note

scarlette-joel-writing · 6 years

Text

Something New Pt. 3

Pairing: Doctor!Bucky x Reader

Warnings: Language, Emotionally (and physically) abusive relationship, talk of (rough) sex, eventual smut.

Parts: Part 1 Part 2 Part 3

One – I am sitting in a hospital bed at the moment with an IV in my arm.

Two – There is blood leaking from my head.

How did I get here, you may ask? The answer is that I really don’t remember what happened. Not vividly, anyway. It is more of a slow sequence of snapshots that continue to play over and over again in my head. I remember before the injury and I am aware of my surroundings now, but everything in between that is a total blur.

It had begun with a fight between Andrew and me, which isn’t anything new between us. We fight all of the time. About the simplest of things. Food and chores, dishes and sex. Fighting with Andrew is a part of my daily routine. I am sure that he probably gets off on it in some way. The thought that he actually likes to fight with me because it gets to show off his dominance is quite scary.

Everything was normal. Until he had brought up some far-fetched rumor that I was cheating on him with one of the many men that came into the bakery on a regular basis. I had laughed at the notion. In our 3 years of marriage, he had never once accused me of cheating. He accused me of a lot of other things, from trying to poison him because I had accidently burnt the coffee to being a gold digger because I had spent money on some nice shoes, but adultery was a new one on the list. He told me that I was a cheap whore and that I didn’t deserve him. I am very used to being called names.

It was when he had told me that he wanted me to shut the bakery down that I may have lost my temper a bit. He had told me that there was no other way that he could be sure that I wasn’t screwing every other man in town while he was the one earning the money that kept my business running. I had told him that he could shove his conceited foot all the way up his ass and fuck himself with it.

That was when he smashed the vase that held the flowers he gave me a week ago over my head.

I don’t remember stumbling out of the house, nor do I remember driving my car to the hospital. All that I really remember is collapsing on the floor of the emergency room and then being put onto a bed with a bunch of nurses looking over me and wheeling me to a room.

Which is where I am now.

My head hurts and my eyesight is fuzzy, but I cant say that it is the worst injury I have ever sustained in this relationship. It is definitely the one that involves the most amount of blood, but on the pain scale, it doesn’t compare to the dislocated shoulder. Not by any means.

“Hello, my name is Dr. James Barnes,” the doctor comes in holding a chart up to his face and reading over it, and it isn’t until he glances up briefly that he realizes that it is me. He looks as amazing as ever. Especially with the white jacket on and the stethoscope around his neck. Even half delirious and bleeding from my head, I can still tell that he is one of, if not the most gorgeous man that I have ever seen.

“Hello,” Is my lame ass response to him. He looks at the folder one more time before setting it in a little holder at the end of my bed and coming over to where I am sitting. He looks a lot more intimidating and much taller when he is this close to me. All brawn and muscle and intensity. Suddenly he isn’t the laughing man ordering cherry scones. He is in work mode.

“What the hell…?” he mumbles to himself as he grabs my chin in one hand to pull me closer to him. He tips my head down to get a good look at what happened to it. “You wanna explain how this happened, Y/N?” the way that he says my name – with a touch of worry and a touch of anger – makes me melt a little bit.

It must be the head injury. It has to be. I would never let myself feel such emotions if I was in any right state of mind.

“Well, as you can tell from our first encounter at my bakery, I am not the most coordinated of people. Im a real klutz. I slipped coming into my house today and fell against the table near the door. It, unfortunately, had a vase of flowers on it and the next thing I know, there is a piece of glass in my head,” it is simply sinful how easy that lie comes out of my mouth. How it flows. How I don’t even have to stop or hesitate before I have made up a story that sounds completely plausible.

“Hm.” Is all he says, stepping away from me. He goes over to the sink, washes his hands thoroughly, and then slips on a pair of plastic gloves. The action in and of itself is enough to make me shiver and Dr. Barnes seems to notice. “Not a big fan of doctors, Y/N?” he seems to be laughing at me in a way. The side of his mouth is tipped upward and he has a laugh hidden in those big blue eyes.

“It’s what doctors do that make me a little queasy,” he laughs out loud at that as he comes over and tips my head downward to look at the top of it. Even with the pain killers running through me, I still wince and hiss as he begins to mess around with the top of my skull. He doesn’t say a word and he doesn’t let my little movement distract him.

“This glass is stuck pretty far in your head for a simple trip into a table,” he mumbles after about five minutes of poking and prodding at my sensitive scalp. My whole body goes rigid at the statement. I have had many doctors care for me over the past three years, and all of them have believed the lies that I have told them. No one has ever thought to tell me that they think that I am lying. “There looks to be a lot more force involved in this,” he backs away from me and raises a single eyebrow at me in questioning. “Looks a lot more like it was thrown at your head rather than simply fallen,” he brings over a rolling table filled with a bunch of different utensils and I can feel the contents of my stomach begin to come up. Both from the utensils that are going to be digging around in my head and from the knowledge that he doesn’t believe my lie.

“Are you trying to insinuate something, Doctor?” he doesn’t say anything for a while. He picks up a pair of long tweezers and a scalpel looking thing and begins to dig out pieces of glass from my skull, putting them on a piece of paper towel that I realize quickly fills with a ton of crystal pieces. It isn’t until he has put the tweezers down and picked up a needle and thread that he speaks to me.

“I was born and raised in Brooklyn. Went to med school there and did my residency there as well. It was a tough neighborhood, a lot of gang related incidents and shootings. A lot of suicide attempts and people who killed other people for the hell of it. It makes coming here look like a walk in the park,” the needle goes in and I instinctively grab onto his white jacket. He takes a step forward to give me a better chance to hold my death grip on his jacket, and it is only then that I see the position that we are in.

He is standing between my open legs, looking down at me. My head is almost close enough to rest it on his chest, and I wont lie, I am tempted to do it.

“Is there a point you are trying to make?” I probably shouldn’t be snippy with the man that is currently sewing me back together, but I cant help it. He is the first person that has ever been skeptical of my story. The only one who doesn’t want to believe my lie. I shouldn’t be mad that he doesn’t believe a lie, but I am.

“The point that I am trying to make is that even through all of those other incidents, the most common situation I came into contact with was women who had been abused by their husbands,” my breath catches in my throat but I try my hardest to remain calm. I need to remain calm. No one, not even my sister knows about the abuse. I hide it very well. I have learned to. I have had to learn to. I cant bare to hear someone speak the words aloud that I have been trying very hard to keep a secret. “And all of them were sweet and kind and caring. Thrust into a lifestyle that they didn’t choose and that was so hard to get out of,” and then he went deathly quiet.

“I told you, Doctor. I am a klutz,” I am trying to keep my voice steady, but it isn’t working the way I want it to. He puts some sort of solution on my scalp that makes it burn a little before he steps away, drops the needle, and strips himself of the gloves.

“You have been to this hospital 15 times in the past three years alone for different injuries and supposed accidents. No one in the world is that clumsy,” he picked the folder up from the end of my bed. “two months ago, it was a fractured rib,” he looks up at me, and I can tell that he is expecting a story.

Andrew had punched me after we had gotten home from a dinner where he accidently spilled wine on himself. “Slipped off a chair and hit the side of a desk while I was trying to hang lights.”

“Three weeks before that it was a busted lip and a black eye,”

Andrew had slapped me around a few times because I had told him that I was going to spend the night at Viv’s house. “I was hit by a football at a family cookout,”

“Another month and a half before that, you came in with knife slashes all down the back of your calves,” he is just going down the line, not looking up anymore. He just waits for me to give him some sort of excuse.

Like I said, Andrew likes to experiment in the bedroom. “Not knife slashes. I came into contact with a weed eater. Nasty things. They really fuck you up. I still have the scars to prove it,” my voice is calm and steady.

“You came into the hospital at 2:30 in the morning. Why were you messing with a weed eater at that time?”

“I work best at night. Guess that’s the reason I tore my legs up. Taught me a lesson,” a small smile that isn’t exactly happy rests on my face.

“You really aren’t gonna tell me are you?” his eyes are sad as he looks down at the long list of things that have happened to me in the past 3 years and I just keep my eyes steady and my face neutral.

“I have already told you everything that you need to know. Can I go now?” I stand from the bed and even though I can feel my knees wobble a bit, I don’t let it phase me. I cant look weak now. I have to pretend that I have it all together.

“Im gonna prescribe you something for the pain,” he writes something quickly down on a piece of paper and tuns to hand it to me. When I go to grab it from me, he takes my hand and tugs me forward a bit. I end up less than a foot away from him and he bends down to look me dead in the eyes. I can tell that he has grabbed my hand that has my ring on it. He looks at it long and hard for a moment before he looks back at me. “And I am gonna request that you come and see me again in 5 days to make sure that your wound is healing properly,”

There are shock waves running through my hand and I can feel my breath catch in my throat. It is the head injury. That’s it.

“Of course, Doctor,” I take my hand out of his and take the chance to step away and catch my breath. Oh, I hate this man.

“And I will see you tomorrow to get my scones,” he winks at me as he leaves and I just turn without another look at him.

I really hate him.

#james buchanan barnes #james barnes #james bucky barnes #Bucky Barnes #bucky imagine #bucky x reader #Sebastian Stan #sebastian x reader #marvel #avenger #avengers #romance #smut #love affair #love #affair #multipart #part 3 #kindaromanceifyoulookatitright

150 notes · View notes

scarlette-joel-writing · 6 years

Text

Erased Pt. 13

Pairing: Bucky Barnes x Avenger!Reader

Warnings: Just generally sad stuff. Very brief mention of rape.

A/N: I tried something different. It is a bit of a different writing style for me. I am sorry if you hate it lol. ONLY THE EPILOGUE LEFT!

Part 1 Part 2 Part 3 Part 4 Part 5 Part 6 Part 7 Part 8 Part 9 Part 10 Part 11 Part 12 Part 13

For the first time in 25 years of existence, I dream.

The first dream, I am sitting next to my 5-year-old self in the living room of my childhood home. There is a huge Christmas tree in front of her and a mountain of presents so high, it looks like it could topple over and crush her at any moment. Her parents are sitting on the couch, her mother curled up into her father’s side. She kisses him every once in a while, as she beckons the young girl to open present after present.

I remember this day. It was the last Normal Christmas that we ever had. The last Christmas before my parents realized that there was something wrong with me. That I wasn’t like the other children. After this year, Christmases just never seemed as festive and love-filled as they once had been. They became almost clinical.

Her mother tells her to open another present, and as she opens the large box in front of her, a pair of hands in blue surgical gloves reach out and pull her into the dark box. Everything goes black.

The second dream, I am standing next to my 11-year-old self at the front of a classroom somewhere in Minnesota. She moved because a woman had claimed she had made her spill coffee on herself and smash a cream puff over her face. She wasn’t the first woman who had claimed something similar to this and she surely wouldn’t be the last. 24 6th graders snicker and whisper with their friends, subtly pointing at her when they think she isnt watching. She was always watching; that was the problem. She knows that they are looking at her shaved head and her stitches. That wasn’t new to her.

This was the first time that I was ever in school. Up until this point, my mother had had me in online classes. Wanting to keep my far away from other children my age. She thought that being more isolated would help me become more normal. After 2 brain surgeries and multiple doctor visits, my mother decided that maybe being around kids my age would make me more normal. She was willing to try anything to make the weirdness go away.

A kid screams from across the room and when she looks over, a tidal wave has crashed through the door and it is quickly sweeping her under the water and far away from the Minnesota classroom.

The third dream, I am standing next to my 16-year-old self who is wearing a navy-blue prom dress that sparkles like the sky on a cloudless night. There are tears running down her face as the boy who was supposed to be her date tells her that it was nothing but a joke and that he has heard the stories of what she has done. He talks about how he knows that she was the one that killed the rabbit in the science lab and she cries harder because she knows she never meant to hurt the bunny. She saw that it was cold and she just wanted to warm it up. She had no idea that it’s blood would become so hot. He tells her that she will never find someone. That she will die alone.

She doesn’t even remember her mind telling him to put his head in the punch bowl until he is on all fours, crying from nearly drowning, red punch falling to the floor like blood.

The fourth dream, I am sitting next to my 21-year old self at a bar. She drinks like she has walked through the Sahara. Shot after shot after shot of anything and everything the bartender will give her. He tells her to slow down. She doesn’t. She had just come from her mother’s funeral. A funeral that she had never been given an invite to. A funeral where she was called a freak and a sin and a demon. All she wanted to do was see her mother one last time. Wanted to have a final goodbye for the woman who raised her as best as she could. She remembers the looks of hatred on the frozen faces of the people at the funeral. They way that their eyes had been frozen in mid glare and their mouths had been frozen in mid slur. She said her peace, unfroze the room, and gave her father one final hug. A hug that told him that this was the last time that he was going to see her. At least, until she came to say her peace to him as well.

She drank so much that night, she is surprised she didn’t die from alcohol poisoning. She swore she would never drink a drop again.

The fifth dream, I am sitting next to my 24-year-old self on the couch in her small apartment in downtown Manhattan. 2 PHDs and a lot of meditating later, she has learned the extent of her capabilities and has come to accept her own self. She could be a millionaire, but instead she chooses to help people, like she is right now. She pulls the memory of a rape out of a 7-year- old childs head. She refuses to let the mother pay her even though the mom says it is no trouble at all. They leave and she is once again alone. She tries to force the memory to the back of her head where she will never think about it, but it bubbles the surface every time she closes her eyes.

It will be like this for a couple of days until it gets washed away with everything else. She has to tell her clients that she doesn’t even think about the memories once they are in her head, but that Is a lie. A small lie she must tell in order to help all of the people that she can. Her 2 PHDs and all that meditating cant help her from seeing all of the horrible things every time she closes her eyes (except for dreaming of course).

There is a knock on the door. She answers it. And standing before her is a tall man wearing an eyepatch. He hands her a card that reads SHIELD across it in big letters. He tells her she is destined for great things.

I wake to the familiar settings of the med bay. The lights are still too bright and the walls are still too white and that is how I know the exact place I am laying. The heart monitor and the blood pressure monitor and the oxygen level monitor all beep in a steady and soothing melody that ring out in the small but sterile room.

I am really starting to hate this place more and more.

I don’t know how long I have been sleeping or what day it is, and I cant even tell if it is morning or night because there are no windows down here. All I know is that I am alone in this small little white room and that I can feel absolutely nothing on my body.

Not only can I not feel any pain, I cannot feel any anything. I cant feel my fingers or my toes. I cant feel where clothing meets skin or where my body meets the bed under me. I can move my head just enough to see that I am covered almost head to toe in bandages and casts. I look like the guy who easily breaks his bones in SpongeBob and is laying in a hospital bed with a full body cast on.

I can hear the heart monitor slowly start to increase as my breathing becomes more labored. There is no way. Could it really be possible that the damage that Dr. Orlov dealt me was so severe that it caused me to be paralyzed? Is there a way that he could have messed with my spinal chord or something and when I got rescued, it triggered the paralysis?

“Friday,” I croak out, and I am so happy that I can still speak. At least I can do that.

“Hello, Ms. Y/N. The team has been notified that you are now awake and is en route as we speak. They should be arriving in 32 seconds,” the room is quiet once more and as I hear the elevator doors open, more relief floods through me. They are here. I am here. I am not stuck in some old hydra hideout, waiting to be killed because I wouldn’t give them what they wanted.

The first person through the door, coming in at a sprint, is none other than James Buchanan Fucking Barnes. His hair is ruffled and he is wearing pajama pant with no shirt and no shoes. Dark circles under his eyes and it looks like he hasn’t shaved a while. An almost complete beard adorns his face. Well, I know I have been out because he was clean shaven the last time I saw him.

“Y/N,” he breathes out and then he is next to me. He doesn’t reach down to touch me and I can only imagine how many broken bones and cuts, stitches and splints I have to try and counteract all of the shit that has been done to me. He doesn’t touch my body, but he does reach down and capture my lips in his.

It is a kiss that holds fear and regret, anger and contempt and relief. So many different emotions that he must have been feeling while I was out. All the happiness of having me awake and the tenderness that comes with knowing that he could possibly break me at any moment. His hands come up to cup my cheeks and I can hear the heart monitor begin to climb upwards.

“Why cant I feel my body, Bucky?” is the first thing that I ask as his lips disconnect with mine and he pulls away from me. By the look of utter terror that crosses his face, he had no idea that I wouldnt be able to feel my body when I woke up either. I can see the way that sweat begins to form at his temple.

“Merely a side effect of the healing inducing drugs that we have been pumping into your system for the past 5 weeks,” Tony steps into the room followed closely by Steve and Bruce, but that is it. The others must be on a mission of some sort.

“Did you just say 5 weeks?” I have been laying here for five weeks. Five weeks of my life is gone forever? Holy shit.

Tony walks over to the machines and begins to look at them one by one and Bruce is checking the IV’s in my arms. He puts a flashlight in front of my eyes and after he has stepped away and my vision has returned to normal, I see Tony begin to fill the drip with a neon pink liquid.

“This will hopefully reverse the paralyzing side effects without bringing back the pain,” he flicks the drip a few times and I watch as it flows through the tube and straight through the IV. I can hear Bucky look at Tony and say ‘hopefully?’ to which Tony shrugs his shoulders and looks over my chart. “I don’t know what you want me to say Bucky. Do you know how long it would have taken to heal all of these injuries without the help of this medial miracle?”

I can feel the liquid begin to course through my veins and it feels like concentrated energy drinks are flowing through my blood. All of the sudden, my hand spasms.

“Y/N,” Steve, who had previously been leaning up against the door frame of the medical room, comes over and stands right next to Bucky by the side of my bed. He puts his hands on the rail and looks down at me. “you went through hell, kid” he continues to look over my extensively bandage covered body, “4 broken ribs, a skull fracture, your left leg is broken, your right knee cap was blown out. All 10 of your fingers were completely broken, multiple stab wounds to the torso area, and that isn’t even counting the bruises from your beatings,” he looks back to me and I almost think I can see remorse in his eyes.

“I remember the going through hell part, Cap. Its everything else that’s a bit hazy,” my arm spasms again, and I have to remember to thank Tony for whatever this antidote is once I can fully move again.

“Dr. Orlov is dead. The Hydra base was destroyed. And we are once again the only people on the planet that know that the super soldier exists,” a wave of relief so immense washes over me and I can feel my body go slack. Relief. Peace of mind.

Speaking of mind.

“Steve, can we have a moment?” Bucky says and Steve just nods his head once and heads to the door, following out Tony and Bruce who both tell us to make it quick, the process of recovery doesn’t stop for love. And then we are alone. Bucky turns back to me and places a palm to my temple.

“how is your head?” to anyone else, it would seem that he was talking about my head fracture. Most people would believe that he was asking if I had a headache or if my skull hurt, but I know without a doubt that he is talking about something much different than that.

“There is nothing,” I hadn’t been letting myself worry about my head because I was too preoccupied with my body and with not having anyone here when I woke up. But now that I have come to realize that I am in fact not paralyzed from the neck down, and now that Bucky is beside me, I slowly start to address the fact that I cant hear anything in my mind. “Absolutely nothing. No thoughts. No energy. No memories. Nothing…” I can feel the first tear slide down my cheek.

And that breaks a dam somewhere inside me. And the tears flow freely down my cheeks and the sobs rack my numb body.

“Oh baby…” Bucky mumbles and I can just barely feel as he slightly pushes me to one side of the hospital bed before he climbs over the railing and lays beside with me. You would think because of his broad shoulders and pure muscle body, that he would be awkward and rigid. That he would be rigid and wouldn’t know how to move with any fluidity. But that is so wrong. He moves like water as he lays beside me and he doesn’t let the bed move at all.

He is laying on his side as I am laying on my back and t is strange to see him curl up to me instead of the other way around. It is him who very gently lays his hand over my waist. It is him who nuzzles his face up into my neck. It is him who whispers calming things into my ear to try and soothe me.

But I just continue to sob.

“I am an ordinary fucking person,” is the first thing that I can get out through the tears and the labored breathing. “Everything even semi-interesting about me is gone,” is the second thing that I can get out, and the final words to leave my mouth are. “Ill never be an Avenger now,” and I sob and sob and sob.

It sounds so childish of me. So pathetic. I escaped death. I escaped a man that was hell bent on destroying my sanity, and I am worried because my powers are gone? I should be grateful that I am alive. But the thing is, if I dont have my powers. I have no way to help people anymore. I have no way to make sure that other people dont have to suffer through horrible memories like the ones that I now have.

“Y/N,” Bucky’s voice is stern as he lifts his face from my neck and turns my head to face him. His eyes are dark and although he looks tired, he looks serious as well. “You have always been an Avenger and you always will be. I know that your powers were a part of who you were, but they are not the only part of you. There are still so many amazing things left about you. Your beauty and your humor. Your compassion and your strength. All of these things existed outside of your powers and they will continue to exist now. Don’t doubt yourself because you believe yourself to be unworthy,” He kisses me again and I can feel the sincerity in his words.

“So youll still love me even though I am not a super anymore?” the smile that I give him is a sad one, and I watch as he wipes the tears from my cheeks and places a small kiss to my forehead.

“I would love you even if you were the villain,” he kisses me again and when I wrap my arm around him, he gives me a big smile into the kiss.

I don’t know if I will ever be the same. Now that I dont have my powers. Now that I cant do what I had always dreamt I would do.

But I saved Bucky. I saved him from the horrible clutches of Hydra. And if that is the only thing that I do for the rest of my life, I will die a happy woman.

Taglist: @jacks-on-krack @tbetz0341 @haleypearce @buckybarnesappreciationsociety @zestygingergirl @jemjem-chan @rachelmc97 @fesslasuisse @vvonder-lands @ran-randomness @zohoffman @Jentismyname @weirdowiets @teawithbucky @geeksareunique @pvnk-bivch @m4df4n

#bucky barnes #james buchanan barnes #james bucky barnes #bucky imagine #bucky x reader #marvel #avenger #avengers #writing #love #saving #erased #romance #kindaromanceifyoulookatitright #multipart #part 13

47 notes · View notes