#I can’t deal with this anymore it’s so frustrating | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

callmedaleelah · 20 hours

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— Pinnacle [ tsukishima kei university au series ]

— you taught me secret language you know i can’t speak with anyone else ; don’t let your self-doubts and insecurities win or else you’ll not going anywhere

author’s notes : no mention of (y/n), written in second person pov, semi alternative universe, timeskip!tsukishima, college life, not proofread, english is not my first language

[ masterlist ] | [ ask daleelah go to box box 🐭 ]

It’s been four days. And you couldn’t shake the embarrassment from your last interaction with Tsukishima. Confessing your feelings to him that night, sitting together in his car as he celebrated your birthday—just the two of you with muffins and a simple bracelet gift—felt like a mistake now. The memory haunted you, the weight of your words and the silence that followed too overwhelming to face.

So, you did what you thought was best: you shut him out, distancing yourself in every way possible. You even archived his chat on your phone. Out of sight, out of mind. The thought of seeing his name sent your heart into overdrive, and you couldn’t afford distractions, not when you were already drowning in assignments. It was easier to pretend he didn’t exist, to focus solely on your work, but it wasn’t sustainable.

Your assignments had become your life. The deadlines, the stress—they consumed you. You threw yourself into your studies to the point of exhaustion, trying desperately to escape the lingering thoughts of him. It was easier this way. Easier to lose yourself in the endless tasks than to deal with the complicated mess of feelings you didn’t know how to untangle.

Still, there were moments when you couldn’t help but remember how he used to help you. Tsukishima would explain things in a way that made everything seem so simple, without the frustration or pressure that usually came with your academic struggles. He’d lend you his old notes, give you study references, and somehow, just knowing he was there made things less stressful. But now, those memories were just a painful reminder of how much you missed his presence—his calm, straightforward way of teaching that made everything feel less chaotic.

But missing him didn’t mean you were ready to face him again. Not yet.

Tsukishima had noticed the shift in your behavior almost immediately. The night you confessed your feelings to him in the car, when he celebrated your birthday privately. You were so vulnerable, admitting how you felt, and all he did was sit there in stunned silence. No words of comfort, no response. He just shifted silently, unable to process it in the moment.

He regretted it now—every second of it. The way he just let the moment slip by without saying anything, how his silence had caused this distance between you two. He didn’t mean to hurt you. The truth was, he hadn’t been expecting the confession. It caught him off guard, and instead of addressing it like he should have, he shut down. Now, that silence was haunting him.

Every time he pulled out his phone to message you, he hesitated. His fingers would hover over the screen, typing out a few words before deleting them again. What was he supposed to say? Hey, why are you avoiding me? It sounded accusatory in his mind, like he was placing blame. But that wasn’t it. He didn’t want to push you away further.

He’d already sent a couple of messages, simple ones—checking in, asking if you wanted to study together or meet up for lunch—but every time, he was met with silence. No response. It was like you had vanished. He even thought about messaging Yamaguchi to ask if he had noticed anything different, but that felt like a step too far. He didn’t want to seem like he was overthinking things.

It wasn’t just about the confession anymore—it was about how he missed you. He missed your presence, your questions, the way you’d show up stressed with assignments, and he’d offer to help. He missed being the one to simplify things for you, to lend you his old notes and references. It was a strange kind of absence, one that gnawed at him more than he cared to admit.

Tsukishima found himself lingering in places where he knew you’d pass by—near the class hall, at the library, even by the volleyball court—hoping for a chance encounter, hoping for the opportunity to casually start a conversation. But every time he saw you, you’d turn the other way, or walk faster, or pretend to be engrossed in something else.

And that stung. More than he expected.

One night, as he sat alone in his apartment, his phone resting on the table in front of him, Tsukishima stared at your contact. The chat was quiet, no new messages. He felt the weight of the silence, the kind that crept into the spaces between his thoughts and made him restless. He wanted to send you another message, but what could he say that he hadn’t already?

Finally, he picked up his phone, taking a deep breath before typing out something simple, something that wouldn’t seem too desperate.

Hey, I haven’t seen you around lately. Everything okay?

He hit send before he could overthink it, before the nagging voice in his head could convince him otherwise.

But again, there was no response. No ‘read’ notification, nothing.

For the first time in a long time, Tsukishima felt uncertain. He wasn’t used to feeling like this—like he was waiting on something beyond his control. And it unsettled him.

He leaned back against the couch, running a hand through his hair in frustration. This wasn’t how things were supposed to go. He wasn’t supposed to care this much. But here he was, sitting in his quiet apartment, wondering why the silence between you felt so loud.

---

Tsukishima and Yamaguchi had just finished volleyball practice, the cool evening air brushing against their skin as they exited the gym. They were chatting casually about their next tournament, already making plans to grab snacks at the culinary festival. The smell of grilled food was enticing, and Yamaguchi was in high spirits, talking about the strawberry tanghulu he was craving.

As they turned a corner in the hallway, a sudden collision interrupted their conversation. Papers flew everywhere, scattering across the floor like fallen leaves in autumn. The three of them froze for a second, momentarily stunned by the abruptness of the accident.

You were kneeling on the ground, hurriedly gathering your scattered notes, mumbling an apology under your breath. “I’m so sorry, it was my bad—”

Yamaguchi, always quick to help, was the first to kneel down, reaching for your papers. “No, it’s okay. We weren’t paying attention either,” he said, offering you a kind smile as he handed over the documents he had gathered. Tsukishima followed suit, quietly picking up a few stray papers, though he paused when he realized that you still hadn’t noticed who you had bumped into.

You kept your gaze lowered, focused on reorganizing your papers, as if determined to avoid meeting anyone’s eyes. “Thanks,” you mumbled, taking the stack from Tsukishima’s outstretched hand, not even looking up at him.

For a moment, he stood there, his hand lingering in the air. Your voice had been quiet—almost too quiet. Tsukishima’s expression was unreadable, but his eyes lingered on you, searching for something in your demeanor. You were more flustered than usual, your movements rushed, as if you were eager to flee from the scene.

“I gotta go. Thanks for your help,” you said quickly, pushing the papers into your bag. Your voice was strained, and before either of them could say anything more, you straightened up and took a step back.

But Yamaguchi wasn’t ready to let you leave so easily. “Hey, wait,” he called after you, his tone light and inviting. “Do you want to grab some snacks with us? There’s a culinary festival at Hall B. They’ve got all sorts of good stuff.”

You stopped in your tracks, hesitating for a moment. Tsukishima noticed the way your shoulders stiffened, your hand clutching your bag tightly. Slowly, you turned to look at Yamaguchi, and then, reluctantly, your eyes shifted to meet Tsukishima’s gaze. His expression was sharp, intense, as if he were waiting for something—anything—from you.

Your heart clenched in your chest. The memory of that night in the car came flooding back—the night you confessed, laying your feelings bare, and all you received in return was his silence. The hurt you felt then rose to the surface now, simmering beneath your skin. You couldn’t stand the way he looked at you, the same cold, unreadable expression. You blinked a few times, trying to push the emotions down, but the frustration bubbled up, filling you with a sudden rush of anger.

“I… I have something to do, unfortunately. Sorry, maybe next time,” you stammered, your voice a little too stiff, the smile you forced onto your lips weak and fleeting. Without waiting for their response, you turned on your heel and walked away, your pace quickening with every step.

Tsukishima’s gaze followed you until you disappeared around the corner. His fists clenched at his sides, a quiet frustration settling over him. He didn’t like the way you had avoided his eyes, the way you had brushed off Yamaguchi’s invitation, but what bothered him most was the tiredness he saw in you. You looked worn out, emotionally drained, and it struck something deep inside him—a protective instinct he wasn’t used to feeling.

Yamaguchi let out a confused hum, frowning slightly as he watched you leave. “What’s up with her?” he mumbled under his breath, turning to Tsukishima. “She didn’t even look at you… that’s not like her, is it?”

Tsukishima pushed his glasses up, trying to mask his own unease. “She said she has something to do.”

“Yeah, but she seemed… different,” Yamaguchi pressed, his brow furrowing. “It’s not like she’s close to me or anything, but she usually doesn’t act like that. She’s always polite and thoughtful. I don’t know, it just felt off.”

Tsukishima didn’t respond immediately, but the tightness in his chest hadn’t eased. He hated how helpless he felt right now, how every part of him wanted to chase after you and explain himself—but he couldn’t bring himself to move. You had your reasons for leaving, and he wasn’t about to make things worse by pushing you when you clearly didn’t want to be around him.

After a moment of silence, Yamaguchi spoke again, this time his tone softer. “Did something happen between you two?”

Tsukishima tensed at the question, his shoulders stiffening. He didn’t expect Yamaguchi to be so direct, but the concern in his friend’s voice left no room for dodging the truth.

With a heavy sigh, Tsukishima relented. “Yeah… something happened.”

Yamaguchi’s eyes widened slightly in surprise but he remained quiet, waiting for Tsukishima to continue.

Tsukishima hesitated for a moment before explaining what had happened in the car that night. He told Yamaguchi about your confession—how you’d poured your heart out to him, and how, in the heat of the moment, he hadn’t known what to say. The weight of his silence, and how it had clearly affected you since.

Yamaguchi groaned loudly, shaking his head in disbelief. “Tsukki… why didn’t you say anything?!”

“I wanted to,” Tsukishima muttered, his voice edged with frustration. “But she ran away before I could even process what she said.”

“Ran away?” Yamaguchi raised an eyebrow, biting into his strawberry tanghulu. “You’ve been an athlete since high school, Tsukki. Don’t tell me you couldn’t catch up with her.”

Silence hung between them for a moment, and Tsukishima sighed deeply. His gaze shifted downward, lost in thought. “It’s not that simple. I mean, I know I’m interested in her. She’s been on my mind more than anyone else… and after what happened with that drunk guy in the park, I just—” He paused, the memory of that night flaring up, the fear he felt seeing you in danger.

Yamaguchi looked at him, a knowing expression crossing his face. “You love her, Tsukki.”

Tsukishima groaned again, rubbing the back of his neck in frustration. “She’s only 20. What if she’s just confused about her feelings? I don’t want to be that jerk who takes advantage of someone who isn’t sure.”

Yamaguchi’s expression softened, and he let out a deep sigh. “I get that, but maybe you’re overthinking this. If she confessed to you, it means she’s thought about it.”

Tsukishima’s expression didn’t change. “Her mom controls so much of her life. She hasn’t even had the chance to figure out what she really wants. I don’t want to get in the way of that… she deserves more than being tied down by someone like me.”

Yamaguchi looked at him incredulously. “Now that doesn’t sound like you at all. Since when did you let anything stop you from getting what you want?”

—-

You sat nestled between the library bookshelves, your legs folded beneath you, your head resting wearily on your arms. The pressure of your biochemistry assignment had drained you, particularly the report on Protein Biochemistry—analyzing enzyme kinetics and purifying a specific protein. You had to design the experimental process for extracting, purifying, and characterizing a recombinant protein, including interpreting results from chromatography, electrophoresis, and spectrophotometry. The sheer volume of data, graphs, and analysis overwhelmed you, and after hours of staring at equations and assay results, your body gave in.

Your papers had spilled out around you, strewn on the floor, as your mind drifted off—not into sleep, but something close enough. Earphones were still in your ears, faint music playing, trying to provide a sense of calm that the stress had stolen from you. You had only meant to rest your eyes for a minute. Yet, here you were, curled up and barely holding it together in the dim light of the library.

Suddenly, the sound of footsteps on the library's quiet floor snapped you from the haze. It wasn't deep sleep—you had only let your eyes close momentarily—but it was enough to make the sound of someone nearby feel like an intrusion. You heard the soft rustle of paper, and when you blinked your eyes open, you saw Tsukishima crouching beside you, one of your crumpled assignment pages in his hands.

"Are you gonna sleep here?" His voice was soft, laced with sarcasm, but somehow not as cutting as usual.

Your eyes widened slightly, startled by his presence, but you quickly collected yourself. With a silent nod of thanks, you gently took the paper from his hand, avoiding his gaze as you gathered the rest of your scattered work. You could feel his eyes on you, watching as you stuffed everything haphazardly into your bag. You didn’t want him to see the state you were in—exhausted, frustrated, and on the brink of breaking down from the weight of the assignment. It was easier to avoid him than to admit how much his presence affected you lately.

You stood up, checking your phone: 7 PM. Five hours had passed since you first sat down to tackle your work, and the time had flown by in a blur of confusion and growing anxiety. Your back ached from sitting in the same position for too long, and you stifled a groan as you slung your heavy backpack over your shoulder.

Tsukishima let out a small sigh as you brushed past him, clearly annoyed that you were still avoiding him. He stood up beside you and followed as you began walking toward the exit of the library.

After a few moments, you noticed him still walking next to you, matching your pace, and before you could ask why, he handed you a bottle of water. The gesture caught you off guard.

You hesitated, but then you mumbled, “Thanks,” as you took the bottle from his hand. You hadn't realized just how thirsty you were until now, the dryness in your throat suddenly impossible to ignore. You took a long sip, your steps continuing in silence beside him.

It wasn’t until you had nearly reached the library doors that Tsukishima finally spoke again. "I want to talk to you," he said, his voice a little firmer this time.

"About what?" you asked, your tone clipped as you kept your eyes ahead, unwilling to look at him directly.

"You know what," he said, the irritation creeping into his voice. You could tell that your avoidance had worn him down, and his patience was running thin.

That anger that had been bubbling beneath your exhaustion finally surfaced. You stopped walking, turning to face him. "Your silence has been clear enough for me," you bit out, your voice trembling with the frustration you’d been holding in.

You turned to leave, but Tsukishima’s hand wrapped around your wrist, stopping you in your tracks. The warmth of his touch sent a jolt through you. "Come on, you’ve been avoiding me for days. And we both know it's hurting us equally,” he said, his voice softer now, almost pleading.

You pulled your wrist from his grasp, turning on him with a glare. “Fine. Talk now, then,” you snapped, your heart pounding. “Tell me it was casual for you to save me, help me, hug me, kiss my hand, let me sleep on your arm—”

“I like you too,” he interrupted, his voice steady, but there was an unfamiliar vulnerability in his eyes. “I like you too, okay?”

The world seemed to stop in that moment. The words you had been longing to hear felt like a balm to your aching heart, but the frustration remained. You felt tears prickling your eyes, the exhaustion and emotions mixing together as your breath hitched. "Then why didn’t you say anything?" you whispered, tears slipping down your cheeks now that the dam had broken.

Tsukishima stepped closer, his hand reaching out to cup your face, gently wiping away the tears with his thumb. His touch was so gentle, so unlike the sharp edges of his personality you had grown used to. “I didn’t expect it from you. I was going to confess too, but… as a man, I was offended you made the first move.” He let out a small sigh. “That’s not an excuse, I know. I shouldn’t have left you hanging, confused.”

Tsukishima’s voice dropped, a subtle mix of uncertainty and self-reflection. He gazed down at you, his usually confident demeanor softened. “Do you really think you like me?” he asked, his brow furrowing slightly. “I mean, I was a jerk. A grumpy TA who gave you hard days. I made things worse for you when you were already struggling…”

His words trailed off, and he looked away for a moment, as if trying to process his own feelings. "You deserve better than that."

You blinked up at him, caught off guard by his sudden vulnerability. You closed your eyes, leaning into his touch despite everything. “But you helped me through things I was struggling with… even when you didn’t have to,” you whispered, your voice barely audible.

Tsukishima chuckled softly, his thumb continuing to wipe your tears away. He pulled you into his arms, wrapping you in an embrace that felt so natural, as if this had been waiting to happen all along. His fingers combed through your hair as he pressed a soft kiss to the top of your head, breathing in your scent, his hold on you tightening as if he feared letting go.

“Okay, okay, stop crying,” he teased lightly, though there was still softness in his voice. “I told you, I like you too.”

You let out a small, shaky laugh, wiping your own face now as you calmed down, still buried in the warmth of his chest. There was a comfortable silence between you as he held you, and you felt like you could stay there forever, the world outside fading away.

You tilted your head up to look at him, your face still flushed from crying but with a small smile tugging at your lips. “So… does that make you my boyfriend now?” you asked, your voice soft but with a hint of playful curiosity.

Tsukishima couldn’t help but smile at your question. He chuckled softly, shaking his head before nodding. "Yeah," he said, his voice filled with amusement and affection.

tagslist (free to mention) ; @theweirdfloatything @snowthatareblack @ilovemymomscooking @nayiiryun @knightofmidnight @kozumesphone @scxrcherr @thechaosoflonging @monya-febrjack

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itsnotbird · 3 days

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Orphic~ File 4

Indelible (adj) ; Impossible to erase or forget

Warnings: Extreme triggers! Talks of kidnapping, abuse, murder, labs, powers

Bucky!Barnes x Fem!Reader

Find previous part here

Masterlist

Sleeping alone is still a strange thought.

You only were in a room by yourself when you were being observed…or living through a punishment.

The empty and quiet walls of your new room have you missing the sleeping quarters of that damn place…wherever it is. You close your eyes, grunting as you desperately try and remember all the important things, names, locations, anything that would be more helpful.

There’s nothing but white spaces in your memory.

You huff and bury your face in your pillow. If you soften your breathing just enough, you could hear the overlapping huffs of the girls you once had a bed next to. They’re long gone now, all you know of them is how they look lying still and lifeless.

To say the least, you struggled through the night.

In the morning, you twitch and itch slightly as your body pulses for that fix it’s gotten so used to. If it were up to you, you wouldn’t take the infusion, but your body threatens to give up if it doesn’t have a taste, so Dr. Banner is your saving grace, administering a low dose that continues to get lower until you don’t need it anymore.

It feels like hell.

There’s clothes in your closet that you aren’t a fan of, shades of white and beige, pastel colors of blue and pink.

The things you would do for a pair of pants.

You throw yet another dress on, a different pair of knee socks and those red high tops…the only thing of yours they let you keep. You get lost on your way to the communal women’s bathroom, but you turn back around and find it.

“Good morning.” Wanda greets you as you enter. She’s in front of one of the mirrors, applying makeup.

You smile at the normality of it.

Brushing through your ragged hair, you can’t help but let out a frustrated sigh when it gets knotted again.

“You know, Natasha could help you with a hair cut if you’d like. Maybe a trim? Get rid of those dead ends?”

You look over at her and nod.

Like she was summoned, Natasha appears and is more than happy to assist.

You head to the meeting, free of a few inches.

“Haircut?” Tony asks as you sit down besides Nat.

You nod.

“Looks good.” He approves.

“Good morning, Blue.” Steve greets, causing question from the few Avengers that are in the conference room.

“Blue?” Sam questions.

“Yeah.” He shrugs. “Because her powers…are blue…look, she doesn’t remember her name and I’m not calling her by a number, Blue will have to work.”

You giggle to yourself, and Steve grins in victory.

“Ha! I was the first to make her laugh.” He calls out in victory as he sits down across from you.

“She’s probably laughing because you’re an idiot.” Sam claims, taking his own seat.

One by one, the rest of the team joins.

Headphones on your ears, you aren’t necessarily paying attention to the things around you. Not when Nat argues with the Captain, saying she’s taking you to get clothes and Steve claims you needed to stay here.

“She’s wearing borrowed clothes, looking like the girl from Buffalo 66. She’s a grown woman, and she needs pants.” Nat defends with a glare.

“What’s Buffalo 66?” Steve questions, now side tracked.

“Alright, enough.” Tony calls. “Nat, take the kid shopping, don’t let her you know…do anything crazy.”

That ends the conversation.

Bucky comes into the mix, black coffee in hand as he sits next to Steve…across from you.

“Haircut?” Tony asks, having deja vu.

Bucky just gives him a blank expression, then looks to you.

“What’s her deal?” He asks Steve, questioning the way you don’t bother to look up from your phone.

“Uh…we think it’s best if she doesn’t listen to this first part of the meeting.” Is all Steve says, then passes out files.

“Alright, thanks to our guest here.” He says, motioning to you. “We have a new case.”

Everyone opens their folders, then sorts through the few papers inside.

“The Ring?” Clint questions.

Tony brings up the projection of the information already obtained. “When Fury took E.T. over there, she told agents about this underground organization known as ‘The Ring’. It’s made up of the bosses who run it, their little henchmen, the scientists, and the subjects. It’s grown rapidly into communities all over.”

Everyone shifts their eyes to you, then quickly look away.

“How do they get the subjects?” Bruce asks, brows creased as he looks at the paperwork.

“They kidnap five girls at a time when they’re needed. Doesn’t matter who or where from. Then, they’re brought into labs, turned into guinea pigs for five years while they are conditioned. Their rules are strict, no talking in English, wait for permission to do anything. It takes a whole army for this, there’s teachers and doctors and head agents that are assigned to one of them.” Steve explains, then expands a picture of the brand that sits on the back your neck. “Each division has a symbol, each girl has a number. Blue was 505, she was the fifth of the five in her division.”

You can feel their devastation, it radiates off of them and seeps into your skin. You have the urge to tell them that pity won’t do you any favors, but your tongue stays still.

Natasha leans back in her chair. “What’s the goal? Create super humans for the hell of it?” She asks.

Cap continues. “Once they prove themselves to be exactly what they made them to be, they become hitmen for hire. Some gang leader needs an opponent out of the game? Well they go to one of The Ring leaders, pay them big money, then sit back and wait for the job to be done.”

The team shakes their heads, and Bucky feels his stomach twist. This feels all too familiar, like he’s watching a version of his story play out in front of him.

“What can she tell us?” He speaks, motioning to you then looks to the hologram in front of him.

Tony brings up a few faces of unfamiliar men, newspaper articles of missing children. “She was kidnapped when she was ten, pulled from her bedroom at night. The more she’s adapting, the more she remembers but as of right now, she can only tell us what’s in the files.”

They look further at the notes.

“They develop a relationship with these girls, they give them education, train them to use their powers properly. Each girl has a different ability, they’re all kept together and available for what ever hit they need to do.” Tony explains, his tone almost amazed and confused. “They don’t try to hide these girls, they carefully put them out in society when it’s sure they are rewired properly. They-they give them different aliases, have them play roles perfectly until they can take out their target.”

“If they’re trained so flawlessly…then why’d I find her in the street?” Bucky asks.

Steve brings up the photo of a man named Lawrence Antonov.

“This man was the scientist in charge of Blue’s division, by some accident, he injected them with a serum that essentially cleared their brains. It over powered the previous conditioning, the previous serums given so they would go along with what they were told to do. All of it, wiped clean. Unfortunately, important names and locations were also wiped clean from their minds.”

Sam groans. “It’s never easy, is it?”

Tony glares. “Yeah, tell that to the kid who was a lab rat for almost 15 years of her life.”

Sam sinks a little in his chair.

“Moving on.” Steve says, trying to defuse the situation. “Blue fought her way out, she remembers leaving a warehouse in Vermont, making it as far as she could before her body gave up. Bucky found her, here she is.”

You’re playing a game on your phone, making Nat look over and hum approvingly. “She’s winning.”

They all watch you with a strange look, then shift their attention back to Tony.

“So, Vermont is where we start?” Clint asks.

- - - -

It’s sometime after the meeting ends that you run into him.

Bucky curses to himself as you stop in your tracks, looking him over. He just gives a tight lipped smile and tries to walk past you. Though, as he goes, he can’t help but turn back.

“You’re cooperative, that’s good.” He says, then realizes how off putting that sounds. “I just mean with the case, you’re actually being helpful.”

You just blankly stare at him.

“Not trying to sound like a dick, that’s supposed to be a compliment.” He clarifies, then decides it’s a lost cause anyway. So he huffs. “You get the idea.”

A pleasant smile plays on your lips as he turns his back and walks off.

“Your hair looked nice before.”

Bucky stumbles in his step, then pauses, trying to see if he’s imagining it. As he slowly turns, you’re still standing there, headphones in hand, round soft blue eyes. He doesn’t miss the way you have some sort of twitch about you.

“Did you…did you just talk?” He asks, brows furrowed.

Instantly, your smile drops, afraid you’ve upset him. He sees the expression and panics.

“No, no, I didn’t mean- you just…don’t talk.” He sighs.

“You gave me a compliment, right? So I give you one back.” You smile once more. “Your hair looked nice before, but it looks good now.”

This is happening?

“Thanks…” He says, adapting to the odd situation. “Nothing major…I fixed it this morning.”

You nod.

The two of you stand there in complete silence for an uncomfortable amount of time before Bucky walks away again.

“James.” You call out one last time.

His ears ring.

Was he supposed to feel dizzy when you call his name?

“Yeah?” He looks back at you.

Your fingers curl into the sleeve of your sweater. “Don’t tell the others I spoke…I’m not ready for the floods of questions they’ll ask me.”

He lets out a little huff.

You thought about speaking to him before you did it, you could’ve stayed silent as always, but you trusted him to not be overbearing.

“It’ll be our little secret.” He says, nodding.

Next Part

#bucky barnes #marvel #bucky #the winter soldier #bucky barnes fanfiction #steve rogers #the avengers #bucky barns x reader #james barnes #james bucky barnes #james buchanan barnes #bucky barnes x you #x reader #bucky x reader #the winter solider x reader #captain america #Orphic series

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gothushi · 1 day

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ultimatum

pairing: simon x f!reader

warning: angst, physical alteration, mention of blood, creampie

note: went in a bit of a different direction for this request but i’m quite happy with the angst of it. this is kinda tame though, i wanna do this idea again but more… nasty… dirty…

word count: 4.2k

———————♡

He’d just helped Brendan Brady clean up a dead body, and now he has to deal with you showing up to his motel room? How did you even find him? The dim lamp on the side table illuminates his frustrated face.

“What the fuck am I gonna do if Brendan sees you?”

“I’m tired of you letting this consume you, Simon, I want you to come home.”

“Come home? Abandon my entire case?” His brows furrow, obviously hating the idea. He’s done all this so far, why stop now?

“This is going too far, Simon. Is this what you want? Is all this seriously going to make you happy in the end?” You retort, stood by the bed. The ugly red walls hurt your eyes, a musty smell coming from the room.

Simon huffs out a frustrated sigh, throwing his hands up in a ‘what do you want me to do’ motion.

“This is what I want, Y/N. It’s what I have to do. I’m so close to bringing him down once and for all, you have to see that! If I stop now, all my work so far will be for nothing.”

He takes a few steps closer to you, his brows turning up slightly as his voice drops. “Don’t you want me to finish it?”

“Don’t do that.” You snap, pointing accusingly at him. “You know I was all for you doing this. Don’t you dare try to make me feel bad here. I wanted you to finish this, but that was before I knew how absolutely ruined of a person it would make you.”

A scowl forms its way onto his face. He scoffs, turning his head from your gaze. “Ruined.” he repeats, shaking his head. “You think I’m ruined?”

His blues shoot back to you, taking another step closer. His anger and defense is starting to build, something he isn’t used to projecting onto you. “I’m still the same bloke. I just-.. I just have to go further than I originally thought I would. That’s all.”

“Look at yourself, Simon.. really.” You mutter, “You said you’d be home months ago. This is turning you into-.. something you’re not. Someone I don’t recognize.”

Simon has to hold back a groan when you bring up his previous promise, his expression hardening. He shakes his head, he really doesn’t want to hear any of this.

“You don’t get it, love. You don’t know what I have to do. And you never will.”

“And I’m scared I never will because you won’t end up coming home.” You bite back, your throat tightening with welling up emotion, staring up at him.

His face falters, seeing just how upset you’re coming off. He can’t show vulnerability though, not now. Not when he’s built this up for so long.

“I’ll be fine. I know what I’m doing.” He comes over, standing directly in front of you. “Why can’t you just trust me?”

It’s your turn for your brows to furrow now, “Trust you? Don’t pull that- not when I do trust you with my entire life. But I miss the man I’m in love with. I don’t see him here anymore.”

Simon’s quiet for a moment, looking down at you with a mixture of frustration and pain. He runs a hand over his face, jaw clenching.

“I can’t afford to be that man right now. Can’t you just let me finish this?”

“No,” you whisper, staring up at him with a shake of your head, “I-.. I can’t. I can’t just watch you turn into this-.. this. Just to lock him up? He’s ruining you, Simon.”

Those cold blues narrow at your refusal. He grits his teeth, all that built up anger he’s been collecting for months bubbling up.

“If that’s what it takes to get him in handcuffs, then so be it, I don’t care!” His hands rake through his hair, irritated. “You’re not making this any easier, y’know. Coming here and trying to stop me.”

“I didn’t come here just to try and stop you.” Your tone dips lower, almost remorseful. “I came here to give you a choice.”

“Me, or Brendan.”

Simon is silent for a heartbeat before his expression morphs into incredulous anger. “You’re giving me an ultimatum?” He scoffs a laugh.

“Yes! I am. Me. Or him. Because by the time you’re done with him-... I won’t still be here with open arms.” You swallow, avoiding looking directly at his face for now.

His thoughts are racing, processing what you just said. If you weren’t still home when he finally came back.. thoughts of an empty house plague his mind. The thought of returning to find your things gone, no trace of you-

That anger in his veins ignites ten fold, stepping right into your personal space. “You’re telling me I have to choose?”

“Maybe I should have found you months ago.” You sniff, looking up at him. “Maybe then you wouldn’t be so angry-.. the man I know wouldn’t even hesitate to side with me.”

“I can’t just choose you.”

His voice is nearly strained. It’s not what he wants to say, but he needs to finish this, he needs to bring Brendan down. Right?

You feel tears brim your eyes, afraid that was the answer you’d receive. Looking down at your hands, you take a deep breath before returning your gaze to his face. “Okay. Guess I’ve got my answer then.”

It nearly pains him, to watch you tear up like that, as if he wants nothing more than to pull you closer against him and comfort you.

But the anger is still there.

“Stop it with the tears. Don’t. Why are you putting me in this position, making me choose?”

“Why are you acting like it’s a difficult choice?” You bark back, voice wavering. You may be devastated, beyond torn up, but you’re also angry.

A scoff escapes Simon.

“You have no idea what it’s like!” He snaps, exasperated. “What I’ve had to do, what I have to deal with just to get closer to him-”

“I may not know what it’s like but I can see the way it’s tearing you apart! I can’t just sit back and watch you be torn apart by him!” You don’t back up physically, nor mentally. You won’t back down.

That stubborn and resilient side is what he fell in love with, and now all it does is piss him off. “You just don’t understand! You think I’m so weak, that I can’t handle this, that I’m broken or something- I’m fine!”

That yelling only fuels your emotions, your upset. Before you know it, your palm is stinging with the contact against his cheek in a hard slap.

The sound ricochets off the glaring walls, his head snapped to the side. Slowly, he turns to look at you, a ruddy red blooming over his skin. He looks absolutely pissed, brows hardened, eyes cold, and he doesn’t hesitate for a single moment to shove you against the wall, pinning you there with a hand on your shoulder and his forearm across your chest.

The action pulls a gasp from you, arms pressing on his to try and shove him off. You’re not weak by any means, but overall strength, Simon has you beat. His eyes lock with yours, staring down at you.

“I don’t care how upset you are. You don’t hit me, ever again. Understood?”

You groan, “Well if this isn’t the most emotion you’ve shown me in months.” You grumble, trying to shove at him.

An annoyed scoff is pulled from him, breath hinted with cigarette smoke. “You wanted me to react, is that it?”

“Yes! Dammit!” You cry back, eyes bleary with tears. “I want anything other than you having some sick obsession with Brendan!”

“It’s not an obsession, Y/N. He’s nearly destroyed my life, and I need to be the one to end him.”

“What’s left of your life is sat in the hospital!” You snap, throat straining with the yell. “Not here!”

The mention of his poor, coma-ridden little brother immediately causes his anger to boil over. His strength urges you against the wall more. “Don’t bring Cam into this!”

Your head knocks into the wall, groaning out a pained noise. It all happens quickly, before you even realize what you’re doing. Your hand reaches for the dinky lamp on the table beside you both, slamming it against the side of his head. The shitty porcelain shatters with a high noise, and then your hands are pushing on his chest, and an altercation breaks out within the blink of an eye.

With a growling noise, Simon grabs your arms, his fingers wrapping around them like a vice. In an instant, he has you bent over the shitty bed, wrists pinned behind your back. A grunt sounds from you. Unfortunately for him, he had spent months teaching you self defense moves. He insisted on it actually, for your own safety.

You kick a leg up between his thighs, using the way he almost doubles over to then kick on his stomach, sending him away from you. A pained noise comes from his throat, not giving himself the chance to recover before he lunges for you again. Using his own momentum to your advantage, you side step and shove him in the direction of the wall. Your hands are grabbing onto each other, hitting, as his weight crushes the small table he lands against. The wood splinters and you both tumble to the floor, trying to pin his arms.

Even with the wind being knocked out of him, he’s still got the advantage. Despite a fist to the face, his own retaliates, hitting somewhere on you, before flipping you over, holding you down with his weight.

Thudding to the floor with a whine, you feel wood pressing into your leg, your hands pinned. You don’t fight anymore, already tired with your heart pounding in your ears. Blood leaks from your lip, and there’s a stinging on your right palm, probably from the lamp.

You look up at Simon with lidded, wet eyes.

He’s staring down at you, breathing heavy with anger, frustration, and helplessness. His blues dart to your lip, then back to your eyes. This wasn’t supposed to happen.

“Why’d you come here?”

You swallow, panting out a breath as you shift under him, wincing.

“Because I love you.”

He falters. He truly falters finally at those words. It’s not the first time you’ve said them, but this feels different. Like a last effort.

His grasp on your arms lessens, just slightly.

Sniffling, hot tears roll down your temples and into your hairline.

“Simon, I love you, dammit.”

The words break through his anger, his frustration, his hurt. For a moment, he doesn’t say anything, just stares. Seeing those tears, the blood on your lip. Seeing the damage he caused.

And he can’t find the words to say.

His expression crumbles, and suddenly Simon looks so weary, so tired. Like there’s so much weighing down on him, weighing down his heart. Because there is.

The air is thick, nearly making it difficult to breathe as you stare up at him. Your eyes dart to his lips, then back up to those blues.

Without a second thought, he releases your arms, letting them go to instead cradle your face. In a matter of a single breath, his lips are crashing against yours, in a hard and desperate kiss.

Your free hands tangle into his dusty brown hair, probably smearing blood on the strands. Melting into the kiss, you match the pure need his actions invoke as your tongues meet.

He lets out a groan, the taste of your blood hitting his tongue, and God he’s not supposed to be enjoying it. He tilts your head with his hand, gripping on your jaw to aid in exploring your mouth, like he’s trying to devour you whole.

A whimper escapes you, panting against his lips for a desperate fill of air. Your hands, albeit trembling slightly, find the zipper of his coat and tug it down. He aids your efforts, sitting up just enough to pull his coat off, tossing it aside somewhere. Diving back down, he continues to kiss you like you’re the most delicious thing he’s ever tasted.

After a moment, Simon pulls back enough to rip your shirt over your head, letting it join his coat, leaving you in just your bra and jeans.

Shuddering at the cold hardwood beneath your sore back, your hands roam his now bare arms, squeezing his muscles and reaching down to grab the hem of his shirt. He now mirrors you, naked on the top half as he leans back down. Instead of kissing you again, his lips find your jaw, then your neck. He presses open mouthed kisses to the sensitive skin there, trailing to your collarbone, before nipping and sucking on that spot.

Your head tosses back, gasping, nearly wheezing for air as you scramble for the buckle on his belt. Your hands are shaking too much to get it right away, instead feeling too weak to even grab at it properly.

Simon notices, turns his kisses more gentle. You were always his strong one, always the one who supported him. Seeing you like this does something to him, it makes something primal snap inside him. He reaches down for you, grabbing your wrist and pinning it above your head with one hand, using his other one to undo his belt and button.

You interlock your fingers with his, feeling the sting of the cut on your palm. Glancing down with a slight whine, you watch him undo his belt, cheeks flaring with heat in response. Once his jeans are fully undone, your free hand reaches to pull him in for another kiss.

He groans, tongue lapping over yours with a desperate need. His other hand twists and undoes the button on your jeans, yanking the zipper down.

His actions cause a whimper to sound in your throat, hips shifting, canting up towards his hand as you gasp against his lips. “Bed- please-”

He’s not one to deny you that request, not now. He lets go of your hand, blood smeared on his own palm now. That same hand dips under your back, and the other hooks beneath your legs as he stands with you. His lips barely leave yours, not even as he gently lays you down, covering your body with his own. A moan is pulled from you, looping your arms around him in a hug as he cages you against the sheets. Those dusty strands fall around your face, so you reach to smooth them back.

The sight of you under him, the feeling of your body against his, it’s like an addiction that he can’t get enough of, he’s been missing this, and he craves more.

His hands move down your body, brushing along the cup of your bra, shifting his knees wider apart to grind against you.

You choke on a groan as his hips meet yours, the swell of his cock pressing against your cunt, rutting up against him. Leaving his hair, your hands dip behind your now arched back to undo the clasp of your bra, hastily pulling the garment off and tossing it aside.

Those blues dart down to your tits, a big hand coming to grope over them as his lips travel along your neck, back down to the marks he left near your collarbones. The actions make you toss your head back, eyes falling shut, hands grasping at his broad shoulders. They wander wherever you can reach until you decide to squirm and grab the waistband of your jeans, trying to push them down.

Simon pauses his efforts on sucking another hickey on the swell of your breast, instead sitting upright. Hands grab onto your ankles one at a time, tugging your sneakers off, letting them thud to the hardwood before he pulls your jeans and panties off in one go. He takes a moment to just admire you, the blood on your chin, your hand, the softness of your skin, the heaving of your chest. The sight of you, splayed out on the white sheets, cheeks hot, messy hair, it’s like a sight taken from his dirtiest and most yearning dreams.

He takes too long for your liking, even though his strong gaze is enough to make more slick leak from your now exposed cunt. You sit up some, flipping the two of you over so his back meets the bed and you crawl ontop of him. Leaning down, you reciprocate his earlier actions, latching your reddened lips to his neck.

Simon is grasped by a fierce need to touch, to taste, to have. His head tilts back, giving you better access to his neck, letting out a groan at the way your teeth scrape on his skin. You nip and lick, traveling down until you’re kissing over his chest, his abs. Finding his jeans, you mimic his actions from before and tug them down with his boxers, only struggling for a moment to get his boots off which earns a huffed chuckle from him.

No words are shared as you clamber back up his body, settling over his cock to rut down with a whine against his pulse point.

A strangled groan works its way from his chest, hands finding your sides as his knees part. You’re so slick, warm and soft ontop of him, grinding down onto his cock with a desperate need.

“Simon-” You breathe out, something pleading, as your hips roll and your tongue explores more of his neck, up his jaw over a faded bruise he must have got from Brendan.

Simon whines at the sound of his name. He can hardly do anything but tighten his fingers on your sides, pressing into your skin as he cants his hips up into you, the head of his cock pushing between your folds. He runs his hands up along your back. Feeling the skin to skin contact has him groaning in a mixture of need and relief, he hasn’t had this in so long, and he hasn’t realized how badly he’s been craving it.

Nosing at his cheek, you moan loudly against the flushed skin as you spear yourself on his cock. The stretch burns, but that’s what you want, to feel him, the effect he has on you. Your trembling hands find his chest, fingertips pressing into him for support, breath catching in your throat.

“Simon.”

His hands grab onto your hips, trying to ground himself through the pleasure, through the need that’s starting to consume him with the way your pussy grips onto him like a vice. He lets out a whiny, wanton moan. “Fuck- sweetheart..”

You immediately get to work rolling your hips, riding him and burrowing into his neck with hitched breathing. Your hands find the sheets beneath him, thin fabric bunched between your fingers.

Simon tosses his head back, arching up slightly as his strength aids you in grinding back and forth on his dick. He drives his hips up into you, matching your rhythm with panted gasps.

“That’s it- fuck-”

The huskiness of his voice makes your veins flood with more arousal, gasping wildly as you find a steady pace. Your heartbeat can be heard in your ears, muffling out everything other than the slick sounds of your cunt and your whiny moans.

Simon can’t hold back anymore, that broken little whine you let out has him flipping the two of you over again without pulling out. He hides in your neck, whimpering out a moan as he starts to fuck into you.

You yelp, a gasped noise as your arms hug him again. Heated flesh on heated flesh, you feel your sore back get pushed into the bed with every thrust. “Simon!”

With his hands, he pins your own up above your head again, but there’s no anger, no frustration in it, not this time. He feels your fingers interlace as you hold onto his hands for dear life. You have trouble even catching your breath, all of it fucked out of you with his rapid pace. You hook your thighs on his hips, writhing beneath him.

“Simon-!” It comes out as a squealed moan, whiny.

His lips return to yours, muffling your moans. He chest presses flush to your tits, urgently, trying to get as physically close as possible. Simon’s whimpering, like he’s drowning and you’re the one thing keeping him afloat, like he’s been starving for years and you’re the only thing he needs to survive.

A lewd, slick smack sounds for your cunt, arousal leaking down your skin and staining the sheets below your ass. It almost hurts, but you’d rather feel this than the pain you’ve felt for months without him.

All the tension, the cravings, it’s built up over months and you-.. you just need him. You feel emotion tighten your throat. His navel grinds into your clit with every thrust in, whining against your shoulder like he’s on the verge of tears, like he’s finally letting out the pain and loneliness that’s built up over the past months.

Tears are spilling from your eyes before you even know it, arching with a sob. “I love you- Simon-”

That coil is twisting tighter and tighter-

His own eyes grow wet as his hips speed up, rabbiting his cock into you with ferocious want, and the words are spilling out of his mouth suddenly.

“I love you- ah! I love you, sweetheart. I’m so sorry- God, I’m so sorry. I love you, I love you, I love you-”

The coil snaps, right into a million pieces as your orgasm crashes over you. You weep, face hiding against his neck as you writhe under his weight. Your heart is in your throat, lungs crying for air as your cunt tightens on his cock. His hips press flush to yours, balls smacking against your ass as he grinds in deep with a stuttered sob. A whiny groan of a plea, a curse, and then he’s spilling into you.

Simon’s weight drops down onto you, both of you wheezing for air, sniffling, his hips jerking with aftershocks. He turns his head, pressing wet, tender kisses on your cheek.

He feels weak, worn out, but in a way that’s entirely different from what he’s used to these days. He pulls out, flopping down beside you as you swallow the drool in your mouth, interlaced fingers resting on your stomach. Your now free hand finds the top of his head, carding through his hair. He’s practically boneless against the bed, a deep, blissful numbness taking over his entire body. Groaning softly, he lets go of your hand to wrap his arm around you, pulling you against his chest as he lays back.

Tossing a leg over his lap, you blindly pull the duvet up over your bodies, snuggling into his side with a sniffle. Chaste kisses are laid at the base of his neck. He gives you a comforting squeeze, turning to press a kiss at your hairline.

The two of you lay like that in the darkness, the only light coming from the too white bathroom. Your finger draws lines along his collarbone, sniffling every now and then before you speak.

“I’m sorry I came here.. I just-.. want you home.”

When no words come from him after a breath, you continue. “I just thought-.. maybe if I gave you a choice, it’d work.”

A sigh escapes him, not an annoyed one, but.. a tired one. His hand drags up and down your back, squeezing you firmly to his chest, like he’s desperate for as much contact as possible. He lays another kiss to your head, before burying his face into your hair and inhaling deeply.

Simon’s voice is slightly hoarse when he speaks. “Okay.”

Your brows furrow, lifting your head to look at him. “What?”

He can’t help but give a watery chuckle, sniffing. “I said okay,” he says, his voice low. “I’ll come home.”

“You-..” You sit up on one elbow, the other hand flat on his chest. “You mean it?”

He nods slowly, his eyes never leaving yours. His other hand reaches up to tuck some hair behind your ear, his brows relaxed and gentle, a resolve in his eyes that wasn’t there before.

“Yeah,” he nods once more. “I’ll come home with you.”

You stare for a moment, as if you don’t believe him. Then, you lean up and capture his lips in a deep, passionate kiss.

It pulls a groan from him, his cock twitching weakly, arms hugging you tightly to his chest. He kisses hungrily, like he wants to convey in his actions how much he’s missed you. He’ll need a lot more time for that though.

The injuries of your fight are a dull pain compared to the warm joy in your chest as you pull back with lidded eyes. “Can we leave.. right now?”

He stares back for a few moments, before whispering. “Yeah,” he murmurs, “right now.”

Getting dressed is a silent task, stepping over the bits of broken table and ceramic. Your clammy skin is chilled by the night air, a harsh breeze blowing past as Simon tugs on his biking globes, helmet tucked under his arm.

The purring of his bikes engine is the sweetest sound you’ve heard in months.

———————♡

#simon walker #simon walker x reader

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